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CHAPTER I.

THERE never was such heat before, and there never could be such heat again, as that which we encountered after leaving Calcutta. Such at least was the profound conviction of everybody on board the Peninsular and Oriental Company's steam-ship "Suttee." People in the City of Palaces take to the water as a relief from the land, and the alternative as a general rule is efficacious. But when there is no wind, and the month happens to be May, the change is very apt to be for the worse. In a house, by dint of shutting out light and air — that is to say, letting in about, as much of the one us will suffice for the reading of a novel, and as much of the other as can be blown in by a thermantidote through a screen of khus-khus, and raising an additional gale of wind by a vigorous, though I need scarcely say vicarious, exercise of the punkah — you may obtain a negative degree of coolness, and even arrive at a languid version of existence not without its enjoyment. But in a ship you are necessarily more exposed. Your cabin, even though you have one to yourself, is simply insupportable. In the saloon you may get a little air from the punkah. But here there is always a crowd. There are meals for the most part of the day either going on or going off; and when there are not meals there are people who write letters and diaries, and what one would expect to be three-volume novels from the amount of paper they occupy, but which usually turn out to be complaints to the "Times" of the refreshments, and threats to patronize the Messageries Impériales instead of the Peninsular and Oriental for the future. Or, even worse than these, you find an occasional official with a grievance, who is brooding over a box of papers, which he assures you in confidence will smash some authority or other in India as soon as he gets home. His society has not a cooling influence, and upon every account you betake yourself to the regions above. Here, on the quarter-deck, you may have the shelter of an awning, where the lady-passengers congregate, and in their light and varied costumes form the prettiest of parterres; or you may go for'ards, and not fare perhaps much worse, for you may have a cheroot there, and get the chance of a breath of wind.

       We have been delayed in the Hooghly — people are nearly always delayed in the Hooghly for one reason or another — and shall not reach Madras until to-morrow. As a general rule passengers do not become very intimately acquainted at so early a period of the journey home; but it chances that most of us are old friends and acquaintances, while those who are not among the number seem just as available for companionable purposes as those who are. So although we have been only three days together everybody is quite at home, and tired, as a natural consequence, with the monotony of life. And thus it comes about that private theatricals are suggested at an unusually early period.

       You would think from what I have said of the heat that exertion of any kind was out of the question; and this is usually the theory of persons who shut themselves up in their houses on shore. But there are bolder spirits, who spurn restraints of the kind. They dread heat, but they dread ennui even more. In India they are largely represented by both sexes. They play cricket, or rackets, or croquet, as the case may be, in almost the warmest weather. They drive out to tiffin parties in the day under blazing suns, and they dance at balls in the evening until in danger of dropping from exhaustion. Their theory is, that when you are once very hot, nothing you do can make you much hotter. This at least is the explanation they give; but I am inclined to think that in the majority of cases they simply like the fun, and don't care what follows. The men among this class on board ship are always doing something. They are as fresh at breakfast as if they were in Leicestershire in November, and were laying in stores preparatory to a fox-hunt. From the hot bread to the hot coffee, the hot ham and eggs and the hotter curry, to the cool claret and water with which they conclude, nothing comes amiss to them. This is at half-past eight o'clock or so in the morning; but twelve finds them faithful to lunch, and four equally devoted to dinner; nor are they often scarce when tea is served at seven, while they are sure to he particularly plentiful when stronger liquids, consumed with the assistance of water, are placed upon the table at half-past nine. Indeed, some of their number manage to secure a share of these afterwards on deck, and have convivial little parties, not unaccompanied, it may be, with comic songs. All this seems like an exaggeration of refreshment, and perhaps occasionally is; but the P. and O. are liberal, and it is felt, doubtless, a graceful act to meet them half way.

       But eating and drinking is not all that these active men do. They play at quoits with rings of cable contrived for the purpose, and frivolous youths among them descend even to cockroach races. Lotteries upon the time of our arrival at the next port are a frequent resort; and a sweepstake for the approaching Derby is also a source of excitement. As for miscellaneous betting, men so disposed will always find opportunity for that, just as a couple of Americans would manage to "trade" together if cast naked on a rock. It is rather early in the voyage to start a newspaper, but before we reach Suez we may count upon the appearance of the Suttee Gazette — a journal produced in manuscript upon a sheet of foolscap, which will run, say, two numbers, and by that time give such offence by its personality, as to be discontinued by general consent. There are very quiet persons among us, who shun society, and read or write alone in out-of-the-way places. One, who smokes cheroots all day in the forecastle, and talks to scarcely anybody, is said to be writing poetry. These, however, are the exceptions. The majority are merely killing time, and meeting with more or less success in that sporting pursuit — one, by the way, in which the game must be sought among themselves, as the Overland Route is of course no novelty to any of us, except a few, who, born in India, are going "home" for the first time.

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CHAPTER II.

       You may gain from the above some idea of a day on board the "Suttee;" and one day would have been very much like another but for an element in our society to which it is time to allude. We had a gorgeous collection of ladies on board, and all the chance, therefore, that people have on shore of great events in a small way. There were the usual variety of married ladies with their husbands, married ladies without their husbands, and married ladies who have had husbands and have them no longer; but the remarkable feature was a far larger proportion than is usual on the homeward journey of ladies who have never had husbands at all. Of these all were not of course equally conspicuous. In common with the passengers generally, they were very much divided into "sets." There were quiet sets, and there were noisy sets; there were flirting sets, and there were non-flirting sets; and there were also combinations of these varieties, for some of the noisy people never flirted, while some of the quiet people flirted a great deal. I should not omit, too, to mention sets who talked about everybody else, and other sets who were especially talked about; besides persons who did not speak to one another, and other persons who were thought to speak to one another a trifle too much.

       You were sure to see most of what I may call the representative people — as far as the ladies were concerned — under the awning on the quarter-deck soon after breakfast; and it was there that Captain Lightly of the —th Royals, on the day referred to above, betook himself to see a few in whom he was particularly interested. Lightly was a very pleasant fellow, with easy manner, easy good looks, and easy everything, who knew most people on board, for the simple reason that he knew most people on shore, and made the acquaintance of the rest as if by intuition. Before finding his way to the quarter-deck, he remembered that he had promised a photograph to a certain lady, and went to his cabin to get it. On his way back from the bachelors' quarters for'ard, he was stopped by his friend Bridoon, of the —th Light Dragoons (Lancers), who had apparently some matter of importance upon his mind. Bridoon was a very good specimen, in point of appearance, of what a Light Dragoon ought to be; but he was reserved, and if not shy, certainly lazy, and never troubled himself about society, which he fancied he despised. He had spent his time since leaving Calcutta with very little companionship beyond that of a short pipe, and was understood to look upon ladies as objectionable persons. The latter sentiment was so exactly the reverse of Lightly's way of thinking, that the pair had little in common as far as ordinary intercourse was concerned. So when Bridoon stopped him Lightly thought he was going to be bored; but he was too easy to make the fact apparent, and was superficially pleasant upon the shortest notice.

       "What's the matter now?" said he, as if something was always the matter but he did not mind it, and liked being bored rather than otherwise.

       "I want you to tell me about that girl," was the somewhat hesitating reply.

       "Girl? What girl? The ship's full of girls. How should I know whom you mean?"

       "Ah, you know well enough. The girl; the strange girl that nobody knew until she came on board."

       Lightly laughed. "So you have found her out?" he said. "Well, I'll tell you who she is. I suppose you have not even heard their name?"

       "No."

       "Well, her name is Asmanee, and they are indigo-planters; that is to say, her father was an indigo-planter before he died; and she is now supposed to have the pecuniary rewards of indigo-planting in her own right — to what extent, however, is not known."

       "Never mind. I want you to introduce me."

       "Well, I usually introduce myself in such cases; but as you please."

       So Lightly took his diffident friend to the parterre under the awning; and after a few words and a little flutter, Bridoon found himself sitting by the side of as pretty a flower as a man would wish to wear in the button-hole of his affections.

       Pretty, I said — the word should be beautiful. It was beauty, beyond a doubt. There is beauty that trips you up, and beauty that knocks you down. Hers took the sudden and decisive course of action. You could no more mistake its effect than you could mistake a hit from a round shot. Striking, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, would be a mild description of the mode in which it took you by storm; but some such word must be applied to it. Girls you see who are showy, like a shawl or a carpet. She was not that, but was brilliant, as a gem is brilliant — through its light rather than its colour. You need not expect a recitation of details — beauty is not to be catalogued in the manner of an auctioneer — but I may sum up by saying that her style is describable as fair with dark points; that her eyes were azure, and her general effect that of a star.

       Bridoon had been three days worshipping her from afar — he who fancied he despised women — and was delighted to find how much pleasanter it was to worship at close quarters. But the realization of his dream bewildered him; it felt like aspiring all night to a planet, and sitting by its side in the morning, and remarking that it was fine weather. And no planet could look brighter when spoken to than did Amabel at the smallest remark of this lieutenant of Light Dragoons. She had never known a cavalry man before; for the military station nearest to her father's factory boasted of nothing but native infantry, with the exception of a battery of artillery, also foot; and she was so sensible of her inexperience of the world, that she took omne ingnotum pro magnifico as regarded things in general, her Majesty's forces of course included. She had great reverence for the mounted branch of the service, moreover, because she had read about it a great deal in novels, where its officers were always pictured as superb fellows, irresistible to the other sex, and the conquering heroes of society wherever they went. With regard to intellectual qualities, they were usually represented in a negative character; so Amabel was not at all surprised at Bridoon's feeble remarks. Stupidity she concluded to be as proper to a cavalry officer as his spurs. She was not at all aware that her companion was a very clever fellow, and that he appeared stupid simply because he was in love. So she was quite interested to hear that he thought India un pleasantly hot at some seasons of the year, but a charming country in others; that he had seen several parts of it, and had once been in action; that they had a very pleasant mess; but he was rather tired of always meeting the same men, and spent a great deal of time in reading. Amabel's part in the conversation was not stupid at all. Her being in love or not would have made no difference in this respect. She had perfect self-possession — the proud way in which her head was placed upon her shoulders would have assured you of this — and all the airs and graces that nothing but high birth and breeding, or the most careful culture in the largest capitals of Europe, are supposed to supply. How such a star ever arose in the Mofussil of Bengal I do not pretend to say. The causes of such phenomena are nature's business, not mine.

       The worst thing about Amabel was her mother, a lady of grand physical organization, but a little Mofussilised in mind; not too strong in the head, and exhibiting the not unfrequent combination of the utmost apparent good-nature with that appreciation of self-interest which is known in India as "liking sixteen annas to the rupee." She had never been in Europe, but always talked about going "home." This affectation once drew from a cynical listener the remark that she needed only "eight annas and a hackery" to accomplish the object — the allusion being to the price for which she might hire a native cart to convey her to the nearest bazaar. The sarcasm, by the way, was not quite appropriate, as the lady, like her husband, was of pure European blood.

       The theatricals to which I have alluded were Amabel's suggestion. She insisted, in the spirit of a domineering duchess, that something of the kind ought to be done for her amusement. This was during the first ten minutes of her conversation with Bridoon; and he, delighted to gratify her lightest wish — to have any object with her in common — readily undertook the management of a performance. So when the mamma, thinking that enough had been done for a first interview, took her daughter away on some feminine errand, he at once set to work to keep his promise.

       It was something new for Bridoon, albeit companionable, and even popular, to take an active interest in a proceeding of the kind, and his friends were not slow in ascribing it to the right cause. Lightly, as you may suppose, was especially pleasant on the subject, and wished his friend a success which he did not dream of his obtaining. "However," said he, "the play's the thing for the present; and if we want the play we'd better get hold of the doctor."

       This was the doctor of the ship, who was a very good amateur, kept a collection of Lacy's acting editions, and was himself ready to take a dozen parts on the shortest notice.

       The drama principally patronized afloat is not of the most elevated kind. Serious plays are considered out of the question, and nothing in five acts is likely to find favour. I regret to say that the result of the meeting held upon the subject that afternoon in the forecastle was a very light and frivolous selection — "Bombastes Furioso," and "Box and Cox." A special advantage in favour of these pieces, however, was that they could be cast at once without trouble, having been already studied to any extent by the intending performers; so nothing remained but the dresses and the "mounting," which are matters easily managed on board ship; and it was arranged that the performance should take place on the first night after leaving Madras.

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CHAPTER III.

       The day wore on as days do, and the night arrived with its usual punctuality. Bridoon, with the audacity which belongs to so many men who are believed to be bashful, followed up his advantage with the "Indigo Queen," as the lady of his affections was called by the bold men on board. Except at dinner, sation was very amusing, for the lady laughed a great deal, in a pretty, fluttering manner, and when she talked in return was full of the most engaging superlatives. But she looked with serious interest at the couple whenever they passed in the course of their movements to and fro.

       Another pair of promenaders were not quite so favourable in their criticisms. Mrs. Galloper, the widow of Captain Galloper, who had been A.D.C. to the Commander-in-Chief at Bombay, prided herself upon being a dame du monde, who knew European society by heart, looked down upon Indian society, and would never allow that any good could come out of the Mofussil. She was making a fast impression upon young Tapeling, of the Civil Service, her present escort, and criticized Amabel in a desperate spirit of raillery; when descending to serious commentary, talking of "her manner as something mysterious, her ensemble as wanting in a je ne sais quoi," and so forth. She admitted that she was pretty, however; but, "after all, it is only the prettiness that you see in a picture upon a box of bon-bons, which may be very Watteau-ish and so forth, but is only admired by very young and very old men."

       Tapeling, who could not be considered very old, and did not wish to be thought very young, agreed with this worldly sentiment, and remarked that, "girls who looked like Dresden china ornaments soon got placed upon the shelf."

       In return he was told that he was very clever, but too severe; so you see the conversation went on just as it ought to do; and Tapeling — thinking exclusively of himself all the time — looked down upon his companion's dark inquiring eyes and pale handsome face — not, however, of the bon-bon order of beauty — and fancied himself half in love with her.

       Some of the groups were less charitable still upon the unoffending lovers — who would at least have been unoffending had they not made an unpardonably appropriate pair, and left other people to themselves so as to be disagreeably aggressive.

       "I have no patience with her," said Mrs. Colonel Pommel, as she called herself, to her friend Mrs. Cantle, the wife of a captain in her husband's regiment — the Chillumchee Irregular Horse — with whom she was coming home on leave; both ladies being what are irreverently designated "grass-widows."

       "Well, I can't say that," was the philosophical rejoinder; "for I never take any notice of her, never see what she is doing, or who she is talking to — she may monopolise all the men in the ship as far as I am concerned. But I do think," added the lady with sudden decision, "that girls of her age who go on in that way ought to be whipped and sent to bed."

       "And if I was her mother — that is to say, supposing I was old enough," said the elder lady, who was in her second bloom, and wished to make the most of the season — "if I had the control of her; in fact ——"

       But what the irate lady would do in such a contingency was lost to the world, owing to the sudden appearance of Mrs. Asmanee herself, who wore that air of triumphant suavity which mammas assume under the conditions which were in so rapid a course of development as regarded her daughter. She was a stranger to the speakers — they had taken care of that — but addressed them with charming courtesy, as she was about to seat herself in an adjacent chair.

       "Does this chair belong to your party?"

       "Yes; I am keeping it for a friend," returned Mrs. Pommel savagely, drawing the article of furniture suddenly to her side as she spoke.

       Mrs. Asmanee was nearly falling upon the deck, but recovering herself, bowed with a sumptuous air of pity, and sailed away. Not quite knowing what else to do, she made a point of catching sight of her daughter by accident, and, bowing graciously to Bridoon, asked if the young lady would not like to go "down-stairs" and take some tea?

       As if people ever took tea in dreams of love, with a setting sun leaving its last glow upon the ocean!

       The empty chair was the cause of some mortification to the grass-widows. A Calcutta friend of theirs — a young merchant of wealth and influence — took possession of it, and with careless ingenuousness began praising the Indigo Queen. He had an idea that the ladies, being married, would not dream of being jealous of her, so he declared his opinion that she was one of the prettiest and most charming girls of his acquaintance. Twilight is very brief in the East, and it was almost too dark to see how his companions received this information, but it is certain that they both suddenly discovered that they wanted tea themselves, and went below to seek that refreshment. Even in the saloon they were not free from annoyance, for Mrs. Asmanee had already descended, and, with Mr. Tapeling and his fair friend of the deck, and a colonel devoted to ladies and cards, had just made up a party at whist.

       The deck was now nearly deserted. Indeed the moon which succeeded the sun fell upon little of life except the lovers. It was a new moon — a crescent of promise — and made everything as light as day. The sky was clearer than it had ever been before, and the sea looked grand in its blue depth, with its surface beauties of foam and phosphorescence. There was a fair breeze, which softly cooled the air; the steam was lowered, and the sails unfurled; and the ship went flying through the waters, as though in love with the land, and determined to be in the arms of Madras by the morning.

       It was in such a scene as this that the young Lancer, standing by the bulwark with a little white hand within his own, poured forth to its lady owner the utterance of his heart.

       When the Indigo Queen descended to the saloon, it was noticed that she looked very serious, but happy as a bird. Her mother saw at once what had happened, and trumped her partner's king in the first moment of exultation.

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CHAPTER IV.

       At daybreak there was a great rustling of ropes and chains, a trampling upon deck, the noise of many voices in tongues familiar and strange; then there came a sudden shake and a stop. The ship had cast anchor. Looking through the porthole of your cabin, you saw the surf breaking over the flat shore — the higher ground beyond — the white houses, the lighthouse, and the fort. There was no mistaking Madras.

       The ardent people, as usual, went on deck at full speed; the indifferent people, as usual, remained below to make full toilettes. Some dashed on shore in haste before breakfast; others proceeded at their leisure after that meal. A few hardened travellers, who had seen everything, did not go on shore at all; a few indolent travellers, who did not care to see anything, also remained on board.

       The Indigo Queen was among the dilatory number. She was late in the saloon, not wishing to meet Bridoon in the presence of a crowd. Fortunately there were very few there when she emerged, and she made her way upon deck without being either stared at or talked at. Here were the usual visitors from the land — jugglers, jewellers, and the vendors of red and yellow ices; and there was a whole fleet of Massoolah boats alongside, taking people on shore. Here, too, was her mother, who kissed her affectionately — as she had been doing from the first thing in the morning — and told her that she should pay a visit to the town as soon as they found a gentleman or two to escort them. Of course there was a gentleman close at hand, and you may guess who he was, and what a pretty meeting took place between the pair. So the three went off together in one of the Massoolah craft, where they were "all in the same boat" as far as being bullied for baksheesh was concerned, and stood a chance of being crushed together in affectionate harmony.

       I will not accompany the party on shore, where they spent a hot and, I hope, happy day. During their absence several new passengers came on board, and among them one who was destined to exercise no little influence upon their recently-formed plans. It was by his baggage that the new arrival first became known. The black "overland" trunks were new, and evidently on their first journey, and they were conspicuously inscribed with the name and style of "Lord Topham."

       A traveller of rank is always a great object of interest on board ship, especially if he holds no official authority, and may be tuft-hunted by anybody hardy enough to venture on the chase. People who would have no opportunity of knowing him on shore try their utmost to make his acquaintance afloat, and but that he usually has a friend to protect him, his life would be insupportable. On shore he has the world before him wherein to escape from intrusion, but in a ship he is a prisoner, and tries to be civil to everybody in self-defence. Lord Topham's friend was a half-pay captain named Sharp, who, as fortune would have it, had had some acquaintance with Mrs. Asmanee in Calcutta; so he was duly pounced upon by that lady on her return from the shore, as soon as she was extricated from the depths of the boat, and stood in safety upon the deck. At first he was inclined to give her a very cool reception, not considering her quite bon ton; but the appearance of the daughter disarmed him, and he could not choose but be cordial.

       "And who is this Lord Topham with whom you are travelling?" asked the lady as soon as she could slip in the question edgeways.

       Captain Sharp told her that he was the son of the Earl of ——, naming a well-known statesman of the day; that he was very young, and unmarried; that he was seeing the world with a view to the completion of his political training, and that immediately upon his arrival at home he was to enter the House of Commons, where he intended upon an early day to bring forward a motion for the reform of nearly everything he had seen in India.

       From that moment a new world opened itself to Mrs. Asmanee's imagination. To have a daughter the wife of a baron, who would one day be an earl — a probable cabinet minister, perhaps the premier himself — to "move" in the highest circles and be caressed by society, to say nothing of having a splendid fortune at command, as every nobleman must have, according to her idea! Such was the picture that presented itself in vivid colours before the impressionable mind of this model mother. Alnaschar's vision was nothing to it. She had already spurned from her mind's presence the lieutenant of Lancers, with the contempt which his miserable position deserved. Her daughter, indeed, was not going to marry into the barracks, with this splendid prospect before her! And there could be no doubt of its speedy realization; for as they spoke his lordship joined the group, and after making an inquiry of Captain Sharp as to the whereabouts of his despatch-box, caught sight of Amabel, and betrayed evident signs of admiration. He had a pleasant comeliness, which came principally from a fresh and fair complexion, easy open manners, and well-appointed costume; his general "form" being authentically London, and conveying the idea, as Mrs. Asmanee afterwards declared, with a profound ignorance of her subject, of "every inch the nobleman."

       It was not difficult to get an introduction, for his lordship asked the honour on his own account, and once over the conventional bridge was not slow in availing himself of the advantages of the country. So engrossed was he with his new acquaintances, that he had not time to notice the disgusted looks of Bridoon, who, however, had no excuse for quarrelling with anybody, and was obliged to be content with a place in the background, from which, however, he soon took the dignified course of moving off altogether. He was spared the pain therefore of witnessing what followed, that is to say, the appropriation of his fiancée by the susceptible lord, who, when the anchor was up and the ship once more under weigh, escorted her up and down the deck precisely as Bridoon had done the night before, and under an even stronger fire of remarks from the amiable groups scattered about.

       Mrs. Pommel and Mrs. Cantle were, you may be sure, particularly incensed, though what harm the proceeding did to them it is not easy to see. The former declared her opinion that Amabel was a "minx," whatever that may be; and the latter made the discovery that Lord Topham's family dated no farther back, as far as their nobility was concerned, than the time of Pitt. Miss Kutcherry did not think the young lady so pretty as she had thought her before; and Mrs. Galloper thought that mysterious "manner" of hers worse than ever. As for Amabel herself, she was rather frightened than otherwise; and what made her feel more awkward was that she took it for granted that her new admirer was going through the same course as her old one, and that she would very soon have to make her election between the two. A cavalry officer had seemed to her yesterday a superior being; a lord appeared to-day nothing less than an angel. She knew not what she was doing, but when his lordship proposed to join the people below and play at chess, she acceded as a matter of course. She had an idea that it would be a breach of etiquette to refuse anything to the nobility.

       At the table in the saloon the pair were the observed of all observers, and this fact did not restore Amabel's presence of mind. She had a feeling of relief, however, when she found that Bridoon was not present. She could not play at chess, so they tried backgammon; and the play — in which she regularly lost, I believe also in a spirit of complaisance to rank — lasted until it was time to retire. Once only Bridoon had looked into the saloon. He was very pale, and said nothing. As she met his eye she turned still paler, and could not have spoken for her life. Mrs. Asmanee's triumph may be conceived.

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CHAPTER V.

       The next morning Bridoon sought an interview with Amabel, but could not obtain it; and Mrs. Asmanee, who had become as cold as one of the pink and yellow ices of the day before, would not assist him. As for Amabel, whenever she appeared in public Lord Topham was by her side, and whenever he left her she ran and hid herself in her cabin.

       The theatricals were to come off that night. Bridoon had nothing to do in the first piece, but he was to play Cox in the second. Fancy playing Cox in his state of mind! But men have pride in small matters as well as women, and he had not courage to make a public exposure of his discomfiture. Upon the quarter-deck he saw the stage in process of erection — a raised flooring shut in with canvas, some scenery of general utility, a proscenium made from union jacks, and footlights all in form — appliances and means kept carefully for such occasions. As he heard the hammers going at the woodwork, the cheerful impression came upon him that he had been ordered for execution, and that the men were engaged in putting up the scaffold. However, he made his way to the forecastle, where the ladies and gentlemen of the company were "called" for rehearsal. "Bombastes Furioso" had just been got through, and "Box and Cox" was imminent. Mrs. Bouncer was there in the person of Lightly, who had been used, when an ensign at Meerut, to play young ladies, and could now, as a captain, manage to play a middle-aged female, as his face was bare with the exception of a little hair upon his upper lip, which could be easily powdered into insignificance. The doctor of the ship was to play Box, and he presently appeared, bringing with him the last man in the world whom Bridoon cared to meet, as he had good reason to detest him very thoroughly, but none at all for a formal quarrel. His presence was soon explained. Several passengers were ill: the doctor feared that his attendance would be wanted in the course of the evening, so he thought it prudent to place Box in other hands. Lord Topham, who had several times played the part at Christmas time at his father's castle, had kindly undertaken it upon this occasion, and he would be quite up to the mark after one rehearsal.

       Lord Topham was so frank and pleasant, so utterly unconscious of giving anyone offence, that Bridoon was quite disarmed. And, after all, he thought, how am I justified in supposing that he means mischief, and still less that he means any slight to me? So he met the proffered acquaintanceship half way, as in courtesy hound, and, the freemasonry of society being established between them, entered upon the business in hand with a lighter heart than he had known since they had left Madras.

       The rehearsal over, Lord Topham lit a cheroot, and offered his case to Bridoon. The Lancer would rather have smoked his own or anybody else's cigar, but knew not how to refuse his new friend, whose cordiality was difficult of resistance. So they smoked and talked for a full half hour, found that they had many associations in common, and, in fact, fell naturally into one another's society. It was a bore for Bridoon; but, as he reflected, what could he do? The man had only made up to the prettiest girl in the ship, as he had done himself the day before, and had evidently no notion that he was interfering with anybody else.

       Bridoon's seat at dinner was a long way from that of Amabel, and Lord Topham's was separated from both. When the repast was over, the Lancer did not deign to approach his betrothed, but determined to let matters develop, as we shall find that they presently did. Amabel had looked very serious all the time that they were at table, and he thought that her brilliant eyes showed traces of tears. I am inclined to think that his conjecture was right; for I know that people, passing her own and her mother's cabin not long afterwards, heard distinct manifestations of unwillingness on the one side, and persuasion on the other, as if an elder lady were impressing upon a younger one the necessity of doing something to which the latter was averse; after which came mingled sounds of grief and expostulation. The subject in dispute appeared to be a letter, which the mother was trying to induce the daughter to write.

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CHAPTER VI.

       It was a brilliant night at the theatre. Seldom had the parterre of the "Suttee" been graced with a more gorgeous assemblage. All available space in front of the proscenium was occupied by all available chairs, and all available chairs were occupied by all available ladies, with cavaliers in agreeable proportion. Above was the clear sky and the crescent moon. The west and the east were bound together in beauty. There was no occasion for the lamps to shine over fair women and brave men, or you may depend upon it they would have done so. Upon the present occasion the auditorium consisted of infinite space, and was light enough for all practical purposes. The only artificial lustre was from the cocoa-nut oil floats, and similar illumination behind the scenes. Among the distinguished company we especially observed Miss Amabel Asmanee, who occupied a place in the front row, to the intense disgust of some other ladies, who were not equally favoured with conspicuous positions. She sat by her mother's side, and had no loyal knight and true paying his attentions to her as usual. Perhaps that was the reason why she looked so sad.

       After an appropriate selection of music from the steward's band, the green-baize curtain rose upon "Bombastes Furioso." I will draw a veil over that performance, as it was too much like "Bombastes Furioso" as usually played by amateurs, to call for particular notice. The only characteristic which gave it peculiar distinction was the rich variety of costume, contributed, as far as the male characters were concerned, from different uniforms of her Majesty's service. Thus Bombastes himself wore the jacket of an officer of Hussars, and wonderful boots ornamented with gold, belonging to some regiment of irregular cavalry; while the king wore the scarlet of the Line, and a Highlander's full-dress cap overburdened with plumes. A novel feature was introduced, too, in the great scene with the boots. Those displayed on the tree were not those worn by that distinguished general, but a pair of ladies' Hessians with tassels in front, so much affected by the "girl of the period" — an exhibition which caused a great deal of speculation as to their probable ownership.

       A few more airs from the steward's band, and the curtain rose upon "Box and Cox." There was a scream of laughter at the appearance of Bridoon in Cox, whose eccentric costume, one would have thought, could scarcely have been supplied on board. The aspect of Mrs. Bouncer, in the person of Lightly, was a still greater triumph. He had laid some of his fair friends under contribution for the clothes, and had been dressed by no less distinguished hands than those of the grass-widows, Mesdames Pommel and Cantle. He was much more ornate than is proper to Mrs. Bouncer, but the fault was justly regarded as one on the right side. He looked, in fact, a very comely person of thirty or thereabouts, had on a wig nobody knew from whence, and his moustache was so judiciously disguised as not to matter in the least. Lord Topham, in Box, was an equal success, and the way in which he had made up like Mr. Toole was a marvel to all beholders.

       The piece, in fact, was a brilliant triumph, up till nearly the close, when some incidents occurred which I must relate in detail.^*

* It may be here mentioned, for the benefit of Lord Macaulay's New Zealander, that Box and Cox are respectively a hatter and a printer, who occupy the same apartments without being aware of the fact, one being out all day and the other out all night, and that they have both been paying attention to the same widow at Margate.

       When Mrs. Bouncer brought in the letter from Cox's intended wife, Cox took it, according to stage-direction, when the dialogue proceeded in this manner, the words of the play being interpolated with the private remarks of the performers:

       COX. (Opens letter — starts.) Goodness gracious! [Is it you, my lord, who have caused me to be insulted in this manner?]

       BOX. (Snatching letter — starts.) Gracious goodness! [No, sir; I know nothing about the letter.]

       COX. (After reading the letter again.) He means your intended. [You must know some thing about this.]

       BOX. No, yours! However, it's perfectly immaterial — but she unquestionably was yours. [You are making a mistake altogether.]

       COX. How can that be? You proposed to her first. [You must have been aware that the lady was engaged to me.]

       BOX. Yes. [If you mean Miss Asmanee, I did not propose to her at all.] But then you — now don't let us begin again — go on.

       Then, after Cox has finished reading the letter, they went on in this way:

       BOX. Generous, ill-fated being! [You are under a strange misapprehension.]

       COX. And to think that I tossed up for such a woman. [I shall expect an explanation when this foolery is over.]

       BOX. When I remember that I staked such a treasure upon the hazard of a die! [You shall have it.]

       COX. I'm sure, Mr. Box, I can't sufficiently thank you for your sympathy. [Simply an insult; and I shall consider it in that light.]

       BOX. And I'm sure, Mr. Cox, you couldn't feel more if she had been your own intended.

       COX. If she had been my own intended! She was my own intended! [You must have known of the engagement.]

       And so forth. Matters got worse, too, when Mrs. Bouncer came in with the second letter.

       COX. Another trifle from Margate. (Opens the letter — starts.) Goodness gracious! [This is too much.]

       BOX. (Snatching letter — starts.) Gracious goodness! [I can only say I know nothing about it.]

       The dialogue proceeded in similar style until the incident of the third letter.

       COX. Put it under. (A letter is put under the door.) Goodness gracious! [This confirms my suspicions.]

       BOX. (Snatching letter.) Gracious goodness! [This is as surprising to me as yourself. I have been the victim of some imposition.]

       But the worst was to come.

       COX. Box. [I have had no hand in this.]

       BOX. Cox. (About to embrace — Box stops, seizes Cox's hand, and looks eagerly in his face.) You'll excuse the apparent insanity of the remark, but the more I look at you, the more I'm convinced that you are my long-lost brother. [This is infernally ridiculous.]

       COX. The very observation I was going to make to you. [Yes, and I believe you are the cause.]

       BOX. Ah! Tell me — in mercy tell me — have you such a thing as a strawberry mark on your left arm? [This is too absurd.]

       COX. No! [I'm glad the thing's just over.]

       BOX. Then it is he! (They rush into each other's arms.)

       The embrace was so fervent as to considerably astonish the audience, who had fancied that something must be the matter, especially those in front, who caught a few words now and then in addition to the regular dialogue; and Cox, it was observed, seemed to be laying violent hands upon his particular friend, to the extent, at least, of giving him something very like a shaking. This did not last more than a minute; Box extricated himself from Cox's grasp, and the remaining few words on either side were got over nobody knew how.

       As soon as the curtain fell, an explanation ensued.

       "Once for all, Lord Topham," asked Bridoon, "was it at your instigation, or with your knowledge, that those letters were written to me, and delivered upon the stage?"

       "I give you my honour, no," was the answer; "and I might ask you the same question concerning the third letter, addressed to myself, and also delivered on the stage."

       Of this Bridoon, in his turn, denied all knowledge.

       "All I know," interposed Lightly, "is that I found them in the pocket of my — my dress," he added, glancing at his feminine apparel. Then seized with an idea, he added, "Mrs. Pommel and Mrs. Cantle looked after my get-up, and Mrs. Pommel gave me the letters, which I supposed to be dummies, to deliver in the course of my part. If they gave me real letters instead of false ones, it is not my fault."

       "Do you know," asked Bridoon, "what the letters contained?"

       "Certainly not," was the answer. "I thought they contained nothing at all."

       What the letters did contain was very simple. The first, addressed to Bridoon, was from Mrs. Asmanee, and informed him that, for family reasons to which she need not more particularly allude, she must withdraw her implied consent to Mr. Bridoon's marriage with her daughter, and that she hoped, therefore, that he would not address that young lady for the future except as an ordinary acquaintance. The second, also addressed to Bridoon, was from the young lady herself, informing him that her feelings had changed towards him, and that she must ask him to release her from her imprudent promise; she would always respect him as a friend, and desired that he would not regard her in any other light. The third letter, from Mrs. Asmanee, and addressed to Lord Topham, informed his lordship that his attentions to her daughter having been such as to render a formal declaration on his part unnecessary, she had much pleasure in assuring him of the satisfaction with which she would receive him as a son-in-law; adding that she need not make any addition on the part of her daughter, as he must be fully aware of the feeling of that young lady towards himself.

       These interesting missives, it subsequently appeared, had been taken by Mrs. Pommel from Mrs. Asmanee's Indian ayah, who had been told by her mistress to leave them in the cabins of their respective addresses; and the two grass-widows, suspecting that some mischief would ensue, had taken measures to make Lightly deliver them on the stage.

       There was, of course, no quarrel between Topham and Bridoon. Topham had no intentions, nor any intention of having any. With Bridoon it was different — poor fellow, he had been in earnest. He never spoke to Amabel again. Indeed she gave him no opportunity, but shut herself up in her cabin, thoroughly ashamed of the part she had been weak enough to play. Mrs. Asmanee was furious with Topham for not responding to her advances, and still more furious with herself when, upon looking over some English newspapers at Point de Galle (where Topham and Bridoon both left the ship), she read a paragraph to this effect:

       "The Martingale peerage, by the death of the late lord, descends to his nephew, Mr. Bridoon, a lieutenant in the —th Light Dragoons (Lancers), who also inherits the large family estates." There were some further particulars, but these were quite enough to induce mortification of no common order.

       I asked Bridoon, after his arrival in England, when the news first reached him.

       "I knew of it," he answered, "before I left Calcutta, but did not want to be bored during the journey. I could see I was thrown over on account of Topham's rank, and was, of course, the less likely on that account to tell my own."

       I was glad to see that he was recovering from his disappointment. I saw the Indigo Queen a year afterwards at Baden-Baden, She was still looking like a star, but not so bright a star as when on board the "Suttee." She was not then married, but her mother was trying hard at an Italian Count.

SIDNEY L. BLANCHARD.       

(THE END)