A little before the appointed hour, I ordered a palankeen, and proceeded to the general’s residence, situated in a pleasant domain, some two or three miles from Calcutta. On arriving, I was shown up-stairs into the drawing room, which commanded a pleasant view of the Hoogly, with its moving scene of boats and shipping, and a distant peep of Fort William. I was standing gazing on the prospect, admiring the boats under sail gliding from side to side, walking as it were the minuet of the waters, the shadows skimming over the river, and the milk-white villas on the opposite bank starting out from amidst the bright green of surrounding groves, when the rustle of a gown and a slight touch on the shoulder aroused me from my state of abstraction. It was the young widow of whom I have already made mention, “the softened image” of the rough old general, my Hibernian host. “How do you do, Mr. Gernon?” said she, extending her hand with exceeding frankness and smiling cordiality; “I am so glad to see you again and not looking in any way the worse for your sojourn in Calcutta.” (Oh! that our English pride and sensitiveness, those adamantine trammels of caste, which strangle so many of our virtues, would let us have a little more of that single-hearted openness “which thinketh no evil”—it is so comfortable!) “Have you seen my father yet?” asked Mrs. Delaval, for that was her name. I answered in the negative. “Oh, then,” she continued, “he will be here immediately when he knows of your arrival, for he is anxious, I know, to see you; he is somewhere in the house, amusing himself with his violin. But pray, Mr. Gernon, be seated,” she continued, “and tell me how you like India, now that you have seen a little more of it.” “I like it much,” I replied, “and never was happier in my life. I have got my commission, and as soon as posted to a regiment, am off to the Upper Provinces by water. I have some idea of applying for a particular corps, but have not yet decided on that point: they say you should not interfere with the operations of the Fates, but leave yourself to their direction. What, madam,” continued I, “would you advise me to do?” “Oh! really,” said Mrs. Delaval, smiling at the idea of my asking her advice on such a point, “I fear I am incompetent to advise you, not knowing all the circumstances of your position; you ought, of course, to consider well before you act, and having so done, leave the result to Providence. I am, however,” said she, somewhat seriously, “a decided predestinarian, and believe that ‘There is a providence that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.’” “It is a puzzling subject,” said I, “and one that is rather beyond me; one if I remember rightly, that even bewildered the devils in Pandemonium. However, I think the safest maxim to hold by is, that ‘conduct is fate.’”