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.

Through the wide open doors one caught glimpses of more pillars in the entrance hall. The banisters and staircase landings were decorated with great pots of glossy greenery. Peons were flitting about; an aide-de-camp, gorgeous in gold lace, his nether man cased in tights and Hessian boots, was in waiting in the hall; while groups of gentlemen, both civil and military, stood talking together preparatory to making their entrance.

The fashionable unpunctuality of arrival which prevails at home functions did not at this period find favour at Government House. Most of the guests of the evening were now streaming in as quickly as the thronging of their equipages on the great gravel sweep outside would permit. The ladies cloak-rooms were vocal with a chorus of English voices as Hester Rayner entered. It seemed to her a happy babble as she smilingly returned the greetings of various acquaintances, while she was being divested of her cloak by one of the many Eurasian attendants.

Miss Clarice Glanton, robed in iridescent filmy gauze, glided dragon-fly-like towards Hester, with a gracious smile on her face.

"Got your card full up, of course, Hester? Your husband says I may call you so, and I mean henceforth to avail myself of his permission. Well, how stands your card?"

"My card! I'm afraid I haven't even thought about it yet," replied Hester simply.

"Why, I thought you were looking so happy that you must surely be in luck! I think I know somebody who will be having many favours from you to-night, but he didn't rise to my bait, though I showed him I had still one or two blanks to fill."

Hester looked so evidently uncomprehending that she added:

"After all, it's only tit-for-tat! If you are to have possession of the Puranapore Assistant, I'm going to have pity on your forsaken husband! I was actually benevolent enough to promise him not less than three dances when he came a-begging to my door this afternoon"; and Miss Glanton glanced with a malicious smile at the young wife.

Her tone and her information both jarred on Hester. She recalled that her husband had pleaded a business engagement as his reason for not accompanying her to the beach, but she held her peace; indeed there was no pause for further talk. Both ladies were swept forward to join their gentlemen in the corridor and take their places for presentation.

Alfred Rayner had been waiting all impatience. Casting a rapid glance on his wife, the result of which seemed satisfying to his vanity, he offered his arm with a gratified smile.

"Come, my English rose is bound to win the prize," he whispered.

Taking their places in the long stream of guests, they moved slowly along a side aisle under the gallery till they reached the neighbourhood of the dais, then their turn came to ascend the flat crimson steps. The A.D.C.-in-waiting stood receiving the cards of the guests and announced their names.

Hester, with a grace which few could equal, at length made her curtsey to the Queen's representative, His Excellency the Governor of Madras, a stout-built, elderly man with scanty dark hair, a bushy grey beard, a pair of keen, shrewd eyes which seemed to take in all his surroundings at a glance. His hostess-daughter stood by his side receiving the guests, while near by were two younger daughters who bowed and smiled in recognition of acquaintances and chatted with members of the house-party gathered on the dais; while the presented guests took their places among the surrounding groups who stood watching the ceremony in progress.

None did so with more pleasure than Hester, whose artistic eye was glamoured by the beautiful blending of colours throughout the stately hall which would have made a worthy setting for any pageant. Every style and colour of uniform was represented, from the brilliant scarlet and gold of the Staff to the pale blue and silver of the Madras Cavalry, the drab of some of the Native Infantry corps, and the artillery officers from the Mount whose uniform was the short, slashed jacket, which, though becoming to tall, slender figures, was by no means so to the fat old Artillery colonels stepping about, serving as foils to the slim young men.

The presentation now seemed at an end except in the case of a few late-comers. His Excellency had turned to talk with some members of the house-party. The regimental band, stationed in the front gallery, was giving forth its first strains of music with stirring effect. A distinguished soldier visitor from North India led forth the hostess-daughter of the Governor, who, etiquette demanded, should open the ball. The beautiful shiny parquet floor was presently peopled with couples, and from the band came the favourite waltz air of the period, "The Blue Danube."

Hester would have been quite contented to gaze on the picturesque scene as a spectator only, but though she had not taken time by the forelock like Miss Glanton, partners were not wanting. She was at once sought after and began to enter into the rythmical waltz movement.

She was glad to see that her husband was enjoying the favours of Miss Glanton, but as yet she had not caught sight of Mark Cheveril or his chief, and began to fear that at the last moment Mr. Worsley had devised some specious excuse for absenting himself. On being whirled, however, to the neighbourhood of the dais, she perceived the Collector descending from it, his arm linked in that of one of the Government house-party who seemed delighted to have captured him, and was now leading him off to one of the comparatively quiet side-aisles to pursue their talk unmolested by the jostling dancers. Mr. Worsley's face broke into a pleased smile as he happened to catch a glimpse in the mazes of the waltz of his late companion on the beach, and he and his soldier friend stood watching her for a moment before they retired to seek a quiet nook.

Presently Hester also caught sight of Mark dancing with the younger daughter of the Governor, a graceful girl who danced to perfection, and not a few eyes followed the handsome pair.

Mark, though courteous in his duty to his partner, seemed somewhat absent-minded. More than once she noticed his eyes following the movements of the beautiful Mrs. Rayner. He was in truth trying to divine how things had gone with her since they had parted that afternoon. He had some fear that on her return to Clive's Road she might again have had to encounter a repetition of the scene which still haunted him like a nightmare. Great, therefore, was his surprise, after he had conducted his partner to a seat, and was standing gazing at the bright scene, to be accosted by Alfred Rayner.

"Good evening, Cheveril!" he said jauntily. "Glad to see you were honoured by one of the Duke's daughters. I shouldn't have presumed—but nothing venture nothing win!"

Mark, not having any reply ready, maintained a grave silence, which the speaker evidently translated into an attitude of offence towards himself, and still assuming a conciliatory tone, he said:

"Look here, Cheveril! I want to apologise in dust and ashes for making such an ass of myself the other morning. The fact is a night at Palaveram mess makes a wreck of a fellow. You must forgive and forget my nasty fit of temper, and as a proof of this do go and ask Hester for the next dance. I see she is at this moment wasting her fragrance on what I should call 'the desert air'—talking to Mrs. Fellowes!"

"Thanks for the suggestion! I shall certainly speak to both ladies with pleasure," returned Mark.

Whereupon Mr. Rayner seemed to take for granted that his favour deserved a return. He laid his hand on Mark's sleeve, saying in a coaxing tone:

"I say, Cheveril, I'm going to ask a favour of you! Will you, like a good fellow, introduce me to Mr. Worsley?—or rather, I should put it—bring me again under his notice, for we were introduced at the Club some time after my arrival in Madras. I left my card on him, but no doubt he has now forgotten the name of the humble barrister."

Mark fervently wished that the Collector of Puranapore had forgotten it, for he feared the requested introduction would prove a thorny business; in fact he quickly decided that for Mr. Rayner's own sake it must not be ventured on. Looking at him with frank, honest eyes he said quickly:

"I'm afraid I must not, Rayner, though in other circumstances nothing would have given me greater pleasure."

He felt greatly relieved when at this moment a Club acquaintance claimed his company and led him off.

"'Other circumstances,' forsooth, just like your half-caste impudence!" muttered Mr. Rayner, as he turned on his heel and moved away. The band struck up a new waltz and he remembered that Clarice Glanton had promised him this dance. Threading his way towards her, they were soon in the vortex of the shining floor. Clarice noticed that her companion's gay mood was now replaced by an absent, gloomy air. She began at once to chaff him concerning the change, and Rayner, who was often communicative when reticence would have stood him in better stead, burst forth:

"Oh, it's that young jackanapes, Cheveril, who always rubs me up the wrong way!"

"What, green-eyed jealousy again! I can't see you've any cause for it at this moment. He hasn't once been dancing with your wife, though he has had several partners—and dances well, I observe. As for your precious Hester, she seems glued to a dark corner there, no doubt exchanging views with Mrs. Fellowes about flannels and petticoats for their 'Friendly'!"

"You're always so literal, Clarice. I don't ever harp on one string! It doesn't happen to be jealousy of Cheveril at this moment. Rayner's wife, like Caesar's, is above suspicion! I'll tell you what's bothering me. I happen, for business reasons, to want to have a word with the Collector of Puranapore, and I asked Cheveril to introduce me to him. The surly beggar shuffles out of it in the coolest manner possible. Very rude of him, isn't it? No wonder I'm a bit ruffled!" Mr. Rayner wound up peevishly.

"An introduction to old Mr. Worsley! Why, if that will make you a smiling partner there's no difficulty about it. He's an old chum of the pater's. I've known him since I was a little mite of a child, and he has always a smile for me, for all they say he's such an old bear. Wait till this dance is finished and we'll seek him out."

Miss Glanton was as good as her word. The iridescent-robed maiden looked very charming, when, with her red lips parted showing shining white teeth, she approached the Collector, holding out her hand:

"Clarice, of course," said Mr. Worsley, "transformed into a dragon-fly or something of the kind."

"So glad you happen to know me this time," said the girl airily.

"Well, I don't take credit for any special intelligence, young lady, but you haven't grown, for instance, since we last met!"

"Mercifully not! I don't admire tall women," she replied spitefully, her eye travelling to Hester's graceful willowy figure gliding past with Mark Cheveril. Then glancing at the man by her side she recalled her present mission.

"I want to introduce my friend here who wishes to know the Collector of Puranapore. Mr. Rayner—Mr. Worsley!"

The barrister made a profound bow, lowering his eyelids as he did so. When he raised them, Mr. Worsley's nod had changed to a frown. Recovering himself instantly he turned quickly to the lady, saying lightly: "I hope you are enjoying the dance, Clarice? Plenty of partners, eh?"

Alfred Rayner divined that he would fain have added, "Of a better sort than your present one."

"Well, seeing we haven't the solace of dancing like you, Sir Frederick and I were about to seek the distraction of the supper-table," pursued Mr. Worsley, glancing round for his friend. "Good evening, Clarice! Tell your father not to forget my little dinner at the Club to-morrow night!" Then he turned on his heel and walked away without even bestowing a single glance on Clarice's companion.

"The naughty old man, he didn't catch on at all," said Clarice, puckering her forehead and looking at her companion with a slightly embarrassed air. "I'm afraid you are vexed—but not with me, I hope. I tried to do my level best."

"Sure you did, Clarice," returned Mr. Rayner, scowling. "But I'll tell you what has happened. That puppy Cheveril has been slandering me to the Collector. That's what it is!"

"More than likely," murmured Clarice, feeling uncomfortable, and pondering what ailed Mr. Worsley at the young barrister. There must be something rather serious or he would never have given him such a downright snub, she decided, and was nothing loth to exchange her discomfited partner for a lively Artilleryman from the Mount, and in a few minutes had forgotten the incident.

Not so Alfred Rayner. He wandered about moodily, occasionally trying to catch a glimpse of Hester and discover what she was about; his ruffled temper being by no means soothed on perceiving that she was again dancing with Mark. On issuing from the supper-room which he had visited alone, he chanced to find himself behind Mr. Worsley and his friend. He watched them as they walked along arm-in-arm till they came to a gap in the rows of white pillars that lined the side-aisle under the gallery, which were all gaily festooned to-night, so that the pair stood in the midst of the greenery watching the giddy maze which, though the hours were flying, did not seem to lose any of its fascination for the dancers. There was at the moment a slightly cleared space on the shining floor, and along it came a couple, evidently engaged in bright talk.

"Now look there, Worsley, that young man and maiden make a pretty picture, don't they? 'Love's young dream,' I should say, and no mistake!" The bright blue eyes of the gallant soldier rested with an admiring smile on the pair advancing with slow and graceful steps, all unconscious of being observed by any.

"Now there you are again, Sir Frederick, letting your romantic spirit run away with you! Commend me to a soldier for that sort of thing!" returned Mr. Worsley, with a laugh. "'Love's young dream,' forsooth! The lady is already a wife, and the youth, who I admit is a rarely comely one, is my Assistant at Puranapore. Now you see how your romance tumbles like a house of cards!"

"Humph! Well, at all events its spirit remains. The pair do look as if they were enjoying each other's company vastly"; and the ruddy, weather-beaten face lit up with a benevolent smile as Mark and Hester passed out of their range.

"I only wish it could be as you say," said Mr. Worsley, with a shrug of his shoulders. "The girl's husband is, I fear, a thoroughly mauvais sujet, and she is as good as gold—quite charming. By the way, you must have known her people—Bellairs, a Worcestershire family. Of course you did, and she's very like her handsome uncle Charlie."

"Why she must be the daughter of Philip Bellairs, the parson."

"She is! But how her father came to allow such an unprincipled scoundrel to carry off his daughter, passes me to understand. A creature not fit to touch the hem of her garment. I have a suspicion that he is——"

Mr. Worsley lowered his voice. It no longer reached the ear of the listener who had been cowering on the other side of the festooned pillar, hiding among its greenery. But Alfred Rayner had heard more than enough. With a flame of fury in his eyes, his long fingers clenched, he staggered forth to the nearest verandah. Leaning on its white balustrade he gazed with unseeing eyes on the peaceful, dark blue, star-bespangled vault, his heart a prey to misery and wrath.

"So I'm 'an unprincipled scoundrel,' am I?—not fit to touch the hem of my own wife's garment, forsooth! Well, he's given me my character anyhow! I know now what to expect from that quarter! No more white-flag business for me—all red, red, red!" he muttered, gnashing his teeth like a beast of prey. "I'll see Zynool to-morrow and put him up to a trick or two that will perhaps make Mister Felix Worsley squirm in his lounging chair!"

He stood motionless by the balustrade for some time, his haggard face resting on his long thin hands as he hatched his evil plot.

Perhaps it was the peace of the starry night that spoke to him, for there came stealing upon him at this unexpected juncture one of those moments of self-revelation which visit even the basest and shallowest of human hearts. Its searchlight seemed suddenly to reveal to the man vistas that stretched back even to childish days. He saw himself again the peevish, greedy little boy who wanted everything for himself only, and domineered over the smaller boys, who cringed to the bully; who lied and cheated on the class-bench and in the playground, hating better boys than himself and loving to hear his doting aunt assure him that there was no one so handsome or so smart as he. Yes, to be sure, Aunt Flo was responsible for a good deal! Had not fibs rolled from her speech as hairpins from her black shiny chignon? Had she not reared him to all kinds of petty deceptions till he became proud of successfully conducted small villainies? How spiteful was her attitude to any boy who seemed likely to outstrip him in the race at school or college, and how invariably she succeeded in inoculating him with her jealousy till he had not a single friend left to whom he could turn with frank loyal friendship!

What chance had he from the beginning with such an environment, he asked himself querulously. And now, after all his efforts to secure a good social and professional footing, he saw himself a distrusted man, for in other eyes he had been able to trace something of the same scornful aloofness which he saw in Mr. Worsley's. It was bitter indeed! And Hester, what of her? Perhaps it was too true that he was unworthy to touch the hem of her garment; but she, at least, had not turned the cold shoulder on him yet! Never again would he subject her to these vile ebullitions of temper. He would try to make her forget the scene of the other morning, he vowed, as he gazed on the moon-silvered landscape and drank in some of its peace.

He recalled Hester's look of kindness as they had driven home together on that last Sunday evening from the little mission church on the Esplanade to which she had been eager to take him, and he had thought himself exceedingly complaisant in agreeing, for once, to accompany her to the "unfashionable conventicle," as he called it, where Native Christians, not to speak of Eurasians, sat side by side with the little company of English folk.

The preacher that evening was a desperately earnest-looking man with searching eyes and a penetrating voice. He had unfolded to his hearers one of the old promises from the Sacred Book, the promise that to those who turned to Him, God would give back the years the cankerworm had eaten. As the organ-like voice of the gallant pleader for God had fallen on his ear, Alfred Rayner acknowledged to himself that he was giving more heed to a "parson's words" than he had ever done in his whole life. And there had been a soft pleading light in Hester's eyes as they met his, the silent meaning of which he could not mistake. What a pretty picture she had made as she sat with reverent uplifted face, her arm round a bright little English child whose parents had brought her to this evening service! The little maid had been assiduous in offering her hymn-book to the winning visitor, and as a supreme mark of confidence had finally deposited her doll on Hester's knee, and then sat nestling her fair shining curls against her arm. The picture came back to him now, a tableau graven on his memory. Would that a little flaxen head like that were their very own! What a changed man such a pledge of love would make of him! How truly the promise would then be fulfilled on which the preacher had dwelt in eloquent words! Then surely would the years eaten by the cankerworm be given back! But no, the dream was fading. He shivered as a light breeze blew softly through the verandah, and turned his gaze from the starry heavens, muttering bitterly:

"The cankerworm has fretted through and through! Old Worsley ain't so far wrong after all. I've got the making of a scoundrel in me. Ha, ha! On the make, am I? Well, I'll give him a sample of my wares by-and-by if Zynool will stir up! I declare this silly fit of introspection has made me quite nervy, or the draughty verandah has given me a chill. I must pull myself together."

Having no mind to join the festive gathering again, Rayner crept back to the outer edges of the supper tables, and seeing a magnum of champagne, which he decided was the best recipe for steadying his nerves, he partook eagerly. He then took his stand again in the wide aisle and scanned the ballroom, which was now rapidly emptying. The Governor and his party had retired, though various guests still lingered, but the room was beginning to wear the air of "a banquet-hall deserted."

Rayner glanced round furtively for his wife, and presently descried Mark Cheveril in earnest conversation with another civilian.

"So far good," he muttered, "he at least is not taking advantage of my absence to enjoy himself with this wife of mine whom Mr. Worsley places on such a pedestal!"

But after he had gazed out from his corner a little longer, he perceived a combination which aroused his anger.

On one of the sofas placed about for tired guests not far from where Mark stood, sat Hester, and by her side, his own now declared enemy, the Collector of Puranapore. Mr. Worsley was smiling as he talked, and his conversation was evidently pleasing, judging from Hester's look of interest and animation. The topic was, in fact, reminiscences of her uncle, who had been Felix Worsley's particular friend at Oxford.

Striding rapidly across the room, Rayner laid his hand on his wife's arm, saying sharply:

"Come along, Mrs. Rayner, our carriage stops the way."

Hardly allowing her time even to bow a good-night to her companion, and himself ignoring his presence, he hurried her away, keeping his hold on her arm till she reached the door of the cloak-room.

"Alfred, why were you so rude?" asked Hester in dismay. "Do you know it was Mr. Worsley, whom you wanted so much to meet, that I was talking to?"

"I knew it only too well, madam! Therefore it was I chivied you off as I did. Sorry I interrupted what seemed, judging from your appearance, a fascinating tÊte-À-tÊte, but a man must use his discretion where his own wife is concerned! Don't be in any hurry, I've got to summon the carriage yet," he called, as Hester, dumb with shame and vexation, was disappearing into the cloak-room. "I'll send and let you know when Mrs. Rayner's carriage stops the way!" Then he added to himself: "Meanwhile I want a little more champagne to steady my nerves after all this worry."