"But, Mark," said Hester, suddenly preparing to plunge into the topic which he fain would have avoided, "how can you meet me like this—how can you ever speak to me again after what happened that morning? Oh, the shame, the misery of it," she added, her voice faltering. "And I was so anxious that poor Alfred should come under your influence! You remember I was pleading for that on our ride home, little thinking that all was going to end as it did—that things were going to happen so soon that would make a great gulf between you. Will you try to believe that really he was not himself that morning? Something at Palaveram must have upset him dreadfully or he could never have spoken so to you. Can you ever forgive him?"
Mark felt glad that Hester should treat the episode in this light and not as a proof of her husband's utter unworthiness.
"Surely we must make allowance for others when we need so much forgiveness for ourselves," said Mark, in a moved tone. "I saw your husband was much unnerved. I hardly think our morning ride could be the cause. Try to forget it, Hester! Treat it like a bad dream—we awake and it is gone."
"Oh, thank you! You don't know how your words comfort me. I thought you would never speak to me again. Now I must tell you what it was that brought me any comfort. It was that poem—'Rabbi Ben Ezra'—in the book you sent me. That it should come from you, who I feared would not look at either of us again, seemed to me the doing of an angel!"
"A very earthly messenger, I assure you," said Mark, shaking his head. "But I'm glad you came on that poem. It has been a possession to me for long."
"It will be a possession to me always," returned Hester in a moved voice. "But what am I thinking of? I must really be off home at once. Alfred may be there and wondering what keeps me," she added, with a frightened air which went to the young man's heart.
He led her at once to her carriage, and saw the lamps duly lit; then after a hurried good-bye to Mrs. Fellowes and the Collector, she was driven swiftly away.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Banqueting Hall, as that important adjunct of Government House, Madras, is called, scintillated with light. The lower branches of the noble trees which line the approach were hung with innumerable lamps of variegated colours, while the great white building gave forth a resplendent glow from its many windows. The colonnades of pillars at its entrance were reached by an immense flight of steps, the centre of which was covered by a broad strip of crimson cloth. Along either side were ranged rows of peons in long scarlet coats, their sashes belted crossways on their chests, ornamented by bright badges, their neatly folded turbans, their dignified and deferential mien, all contributing to the impressive effect of the scene.