About a twelvemonth prior to the outbreak of the great Sepoy mutiny, it pleased the authorities to change the scene of Mr. Barton’s labors from Chowringee, that Belgravia of Calcutta, to Goolampore, a military station of some importance in the northwest provinces, or more properly speaking in the Goozeratte country.  This act of the Government, although particularly objectionable to Mrs. Barton, was exactly what her lord and master desired.  His term of service would shortly come to a close, and therefore, in his opinion, it became expedient, not only to retrench his expenses, which he could not do at the gay Capitol, but likewise gather in a few more of the loaves and fishes of office, which were said to be found in greater abundance at a distance from the seat of Government, besides Mr. Barton was in the decline of life, and felt that the harness of office life did not fit so easily upon him while under the immediate supervision of the Suddur Aydowlett, as it would do when removed from its immediate influence.  However, be this as it may, he was quite content with the change, nor was he the only one to whom this change was a sort of relief.  The City of Palaces and its surroundings had become distasteful to Edith; not that she disliked the Capitol or the pleasures to be found there; but she felt wearied and annoyed by the attentions that were showered upon her by the numerous suitors who thronged around her, using all the powers of persuasion they had at command, to induce her to listen to their respective suits.  The parchment visaged Nabob, with his sacks of rupees, the wealthy planter, whose fortune had been wrung from either opium or indigo, perhaps both, the rich civil servant and field officer, with numerous others, all jostling and hedging each other in the race for the hand of the beautiful Miss Effingham; but the prize was not for them.  She cared not a jot for either their persons or their purses and would not consent to be caught, and like a bird in a golden cage, flutter without the means of escape.

But there was one for whom she did care, one whose image was indelibly stamped on her heart, and whom she loved as woman only can love, and this favored one was Arthur Carlton, Lieut.  H.M.  Light Dragoons—­the playmate of her childhood, and companion of her riper years in the golden days at Vellenaux, in dear old England.

“It is absurd in the directors, or whoever has to do with it, to send Horace off to the Northwest, just at the commencement of the season too; besides, we shall scarcely be settled before we shall have to return to England.  I declare we are being treated shamefully,” said Mrs. Barton, as she stepped from the Chuppaul Ghat to the Budgerow that was to convey them to the steamer, in which a passage had been provided by the Government for them, to the nearest port on the coast of Goozeratte, en route for Goolampore, “and to think,” again resumed the little lady to Edith, as they sat together in the handsomely furnished cabin, “that your brilliant prospects will be destroyed; for who is there in the interior that will compensate for the loss of those eligible suitors for your hand?” Edith disclaimed against brilliant alliances or the admirers referred to.