After those infantine seven years, the captain took her with him to his station up the country, where she lived she knew not how long, in a strong hill-fort, one Puttymuddyfudgepoor, where there was a great deal of fighting, and besieging, and storming, and cannonading; but it ceased at last, and the captain, who then soon successively became both major and colonel, always kept her in his own quarters, making her his little pet; and, after the fighting was all over, his brother-officers would take her out hunting in their howdahs, and she had plenty of palanquin-bearers, sepoys, and servants at command; and, what was more, good nurse Mackie was her constant friend and attendant.

Time wore on, and many little incidents of Indian life occurred, which varied every day indeed, but still left nothing consequential behind them:  there were tiger-hunts, and incursions of Scindian tribes, and Pindarree chieftains taken captive, and wounded soldiers brought into the hospital; and often had she and good nurse Mackie tended at the sick bed-side.  And the colonel had the jungle fever, and would not let her go from his sight; so she caught the fever too, and through Heaven’s mercy was recovered.  And the colonel was fonder of her now than ever, calling her his darling little child, and was proud to display her early budding beauty to his military friends—­pleasant sort of gentlemen, who gave her pretty presents.

Then she grew up into womanhood, and saw more than one fine uniform at her feet, but she did not comprehend those kindnesses:  and the general (he was general now) got into great passions with them, and stormed, and swore, and drove them all away.  Nurse Mackie grew to be old, and sometimes asked her, “Can you keep a secret, child?—­no, no, I dare not trust you yet:  wait a wee, wait a wee, my bonnie, bonnie bairn.”

And now speedily came the end.  The general resolved on returning to his own old shores:  chiefly, as it seemed, to avoid the troublesome pertinacity of sundry suitors, who sought of him the hand of Emily Warren for, by this name she was beginning to be called:  in her earliest recollection she was Amina; then at the hill-fort, Emily—­Emily—­nothing for years but Emily:  and as she grew to womanhood, the general bade her sign her name to notes, and leave her card at houses, as Emily Warren:  why, or by what right, she never thought of asking.  But nurse Mackie had hinted she might have had “a better name and a truer;” and therefore, she herself had asked the general what this hint might mean; and he was so angry that he discharged nurse Mackie at Madras, directly he arrived there to take ship for England.

Then, just before embarking, poor nurse Mackie came to her secretly, and said, “Child, I will trust you with a word; you are not what he thinks you.”  And she cried a great deal, and longed to come to England; but the general would not hear of it; so he pensioned her off, and left her at Madras, giving somebody strict orders not to let her follow him.