I was destined not to remain long at Cawnpore.
I was regularly posted to a regiment at Calcutta.
Between the time when I had last seen Benton
and the time I reached the Presidency, a period
of nearly twelve months had elapsed. I had
heard nothing whatever from him, when one day,
much to my surprise, he made his appearance at
the door of Spencer's Hotel, where I happened
to be standing. He was dressed in the shooting-
coat, pith helmet hat, long boots, and all
that constitutes the regular garb of an Anglo-
Indian, whose time is chiefly given to shooting,
and who cares little for the ordinary
conventionalities of civilised dress. He told me that,
he had never been to England at all, but that,
after resigning the service, had embarked a
portion of what little money he had in an indigo
factory, of which he was now managing partner.
From this factory, situated about a hundred
miles from Calcutta, he had just ridden in,
having placed horses along the road at intervals
of ten miles, and got over the ground in about
ten hours. He was glad to see me, and insisted
upon my paying him a visit at Bovenpore, the
name of his factory, as soon as ever I could get
leave. We dined together, and I could not help
observing how, in one short year, the quiet-
mannered college man had become the rough-
and-ready, loud-talking indigo-planter. He told
me that the constant occupation of his present
work, together with the quantity of exercise in
the open air which he was obliged to take, made
him delighted with his new life, and that he
received a considerable amount of interest on the
small amount of capital which he had sunk in
the concern.

I promised to pay Benton a visit as soon as
the cold weather set in, but some weeks before
the time when I hoped to fulfil my promise,
found me on my way to England, having been
very ill, and ordered home as the only chance
of recovery. My furlough, or sick certificate,
was for three years, and I lost sight of Benton.
I had been upwards of a year in London, when,
happening to pass through Throgmorton-street
one day, I ran up against Benton. But what a
change had come over him? The long beard,
big boots, linen shooting-jacket, and pith hat, had
given way to the ordinary frock-coat, tweed trousers,
and black hat of European life, and Benton
was now bustling about Capel-court and its
neighbourhood as a busy stockbroker. To see him with
pencil and book in hand, and the peculiar air
which members of "the House" have of ever
running a race with time, any one would have
thought that to deal in shares and scrip had been
his sole occupation from early youth. Soon
after I left London, and did not return for a
period of six months. I called upon Benton at
his lodgings, but found he had left them, and the
present occupant did not know his address. Nor
could I obtain any information as to his
whereabouts in the City, further than he had some
two months previously withdrawn his name as a
member of the Stock Exchange, and had gone
no one knew where. This much I ascertained,
that he had not failed in any of his engagements,
nor had he left any money matters
unsettled.

My three years' sick leave I managed to spin
out into four; that is to say, according to a
practice common enough in the days of the East
India Company, after my furlough was over, I
got appointed to do duty at the military college
of Addiscombe. At last the time came. I
returned through Europe, intending to make my
way gradually to Alexandria, and so on, viâ Cairo
and Suez, to India.

After visiting parts of Northern Germany, I
made my way, viâ the Tyrol, Trent, Verona,
Bologna, and Florence, to Rome. There an
Indian friend whom I met persuaded me not to
proceed by the regular beaten track to Naples,
but to join him on a riding excursion through
parts of Calabria, and to make our way to the
capital of what was then the kingdom of the
Two Sicilies. My companion was a skilful
draughtsman, and at one part of our road
we turned some twenty miles out of the way
to visit the ruins of an old castle which he
wanted to sketch. Night came upon us
unawares, and there being no inn of any sort
within half a dozen miles, we asked shelter
for the night at a neighbouring convent of
Capuchin friars. Such humble fare as the fathers
had was placed at our disposal, and with a good
supper, tolerable wine, and our own store of
cigars, we soon began to feel more comfortable
than before our meal. When the repast was
over, the Padre Guardiano, or superior, joined
us; but as we sat talking, he found that our
Italian carried us but a very short way in the
art of conversation. "Oh," said he, "one of
our fathers is your countryman, and will serve
as interpreter between us." He then
summoned Father Paulo. In a short time Father
Paulo appeared, and, notwithstanding his shaven
head, long beard, and coarse brown serge dress,
no sooner had he opened the door than I at
once recognised my old fellow-cadet, Benton.

For some minutes I could hardly speak for
astonishment. To find the man whom I had
known as an officer in the Indian army, then
as an indigo-planter, and subsequently as a
stockbroker, now transformed into a Capuchin
friar, in one of the remotest corners of
Europe, appeared almost incredible. Benton
seemed very glad to see me, and we sat
up talking for several hours. He told me that
he had given up the Stock Exchange because
he disliked the never-ending wear and tear of
mind and body in the pursuit of Mammon. He
had left England with the intention of travelling
on the Continent, and by degrees had found his
way to Rome. There he had met with two or three
old Oxford friends who had joined the Roman
Catholic Church, and were now clergymen of
it. Either by these gentlemen, or from his
own convictions, or perhaps a little of both,
Benton had been induced to follow their
example. Being a man who never did anything
by halves, he became a Capuchin friar, and,
after a year of the novitiate, took the final vows.