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Volume One – Chapter One.
One of her Victims

Seven o’clock in the morning, and chee-op – chee-op – chee-op – chirrup – pee-yew– a splendid thrush waking the echoes with his loud notes; the blackbirds down in the copse whistling a soft love-song to their silent mates, waiting in their cup-like nests for the first chip of the blotched eggs; Coelebs, the chaffinch, pouring down tinkling strains from the pink-blossomed apple-trees; while the larks high above the young corn and clover, twittered their joyous hymn in rivalling accord to the May-morning sun. The dew lay heavy and cold upon the tawny, sweet-scented wallflowers, and the freshness of feeling in the shade whispered that the silvery whiteness of their hues was not far removed from frost.

So thought the Reverend Arthur Rosebury, as he stood contemplating the flower-beds in front of the quaint old Rectory, whose windows were framed in the opening blossoms of a huge snaky-stemmed wistaria, one of which windows – his own – was wide open, and had been for an hour, while its fellow over the little drawing-room was delicately draped in snowy dimity.

Geraniums formed the subject of the Reverend Arthur’s contemplation as he stood upon the closely-shaven, dewy lawn; and he had just come to the conclusion that he had better wait another week before filling his beds with the scarlet trusses, when there was the sharp sound of brass rings upon a rod. The dimity curtains were drawn aside, the casement window was opened and carefully hooked back, and the kit-cat living portrait of a pleasant plump little woman of about forty appeared in the frame.

“Arthur, I’m sure you are getting your feet wet,” she chirped.

The tall, very thin curate of Little Magnus looked dreamily up at the window, and then down at his feet, stooping a good deal to obtain a nearer view. Slowly rising, he looked up at the window again, took off his soft felt hat, smoothed his thin grey hair, and said slowly:

“No, my dear, I think not.”

“But I’m sure you must be, Arthur; it’s a very heavy dew?” cried the little lady, emphatically.

“Yes, my dear Mary,” he replied, in a slow, deprecating way, “it is a very heavy dew, but I have got on my goloshes.”

“Ho!” exclaimed the little lady, and she disappeared.

The Reverend Arthur Rosebury began to make a peculiar humming noise, somewhat suggestive of a large bumble-bee trying to practise a chant, which was his idea of singing, and was walking slowly off towards a laurel-shaded walk when the little lady once more appeared at the window.

“Arthur!”

“Yes, my dear Mary?”

“Don’t you go far away; breakfast won’t be long.”

“No, my dear Mary.”

“Where shall you be?”

“Down by the bees.”

“You’ll come when I whistle?”

“Yes, my dear Mary.”

The lady disappeared once more, and the curate of Little Magnus went slowly and deliberately down the garden of the Rectory, where he had been for many years resident; the wealthy rector, who was a canon of Dunchester, finding a sermon or two a year nearly all he could give to the little parish.

The bees were visited, both those dwelling in the round-topped, old-fashioned straw hives and the occupants of the modern square boxes, cunningly contrived to enable the proprietor to commit honied burglaries without adding bee-murder to the offence.

The bees were as busy as those immortalised by Dr Watts, and coming and going in the bright sunshine, making a glorious hum in a snowy cherry-tree close at hand, and suggesting to the curate’s mind ample supplies of the cloying sweet, about five hundredweights of which he hoped to sell at a shilling a pound.

The Reverend Arthur went slowly away, smiling in his heart – he rarely smiled visibly – happy and thankful for his lot; opened the white gate in the tall green hedge, and after closing it carefully, began to walk across the drenched grass, a couple of soft-eyed, mousy-skinned Alderney cows slowly raising their heads to stare at him, munching the grass the while, and then coming to meet him, lowing softly.

“Ah, Dewnose! Ah, Bessy,” he said, pulling the great flapping ears of each in turn, and inhaling the puffs of warm, sweet-scented breath as he passed, the cows watching him for a few moments, and then, evidently thinking fresh dewy grass preferable to the best of curates, they resumed their quiet “crop crop” of the verdant meal.

The meadow crossed, another gate led back into the garden, where a long glass-house stood with open door inviting the Reverend Arthur to enter and breathe the warm, deliciously-scented air. The sun was shining brightly and came in a shower of rays upon the red-bricked floor, broken up as it were by the silvery shoots of the vines whose leaves were fringed with drops of pearly dew.

A glance at the leafy roof displayed so much attention needed that the Reverend Arthur, after a little contemplation and a few moral comparisons between the wild growth of the vine and that of the young and old of the parish, slowly took off his coat, lifted a heavy plank and placed it across two of the iron rafter-ties of the building; and after satisfying himself of its safety, mounting a pair of steps, climbing on to the plank, and seating himself in a very unclerical attitude, he began to snap off the redundant branches of the vine.

“Chirrup!” went a shrill whistle as the first branch was snapped, but the Reverend Arthur heard it not, and in a rapt, dreamy manner went on snapping off at their joints branch after branch just beyond where the young bunches of grapes were beginning to show.

“Chirrup!” went the whistle again, but still unheard, for the Reverend Arthur had just placed one of the succulent branches he had broken off between his lips, and, as if imitating the ways of Dewnose and Bessy, he was sedately munching away at the pleasant acid growth.

“Chirrup!” again, but this time in another direction, and, perfectly unconscious of the summons, the Reverend Arthur went on with his pruning, breakfasting the while off the tender acid shoots.

Chirrup after chirrup mingled with the songs of the birds, and at last the bustling little figure of the lady lately seen at the Rectory window appeared at the door.

“Why, here you are Arthur!” she exclaimed. “What a shame it is! You said you’d be down by the bees.”

“I’m – I’m very sorry, my dear Mary,” said the guilty truant, with a look of appeal in his face.

“That’s what you always say, sir, and here is the ham getting cold, the eggs will be quite hard, and I’ve got my feet soaking wet running all over the place.”

“I really am very sorry, my dear Mary,” said the Reverend Arthur, slowly descending from his perch.

“I never did see such a man,” cried the little lady, with her pleasant face a droll mixture of vexation and good-humour.

As she spoke she took up the curate’s long coat, and held it ready for him to put on, tip-toeing to enable him to thrust his long thin arms into the sleeves, and then tip-toeing a little more to reach up and give him a hearty kiss.

“There, I won’t be very cross,” she cried, “only there never was such a thoughtless, tiresome man before. Just look at your hands!”

“It’s only vine-juice, my dear Mary,” he said, looking at his long thin fingers in turn.

“Well, come along. You will have time to go and wash them while I change my shoes and stockings. Just look there.”

Miss Mary Rosebury made no hesitation about drawing her grey cloth dress aside to display a very prettily-shaped pair of feet and ankles, soaked with dew and muddied by the garden paths, before taking her brother, as it were, into custody and leading him up to the house.

Five minutes later they were in the prettily-furnished dining-room, before a most temptingly spread breakfast-table, where everything was clean and neat as the home of an old bachelor, tended by a maiden sister, might be expected to be. There were flowers and hand-painted screens; the linen was snowy white, and the eggs, and butter, and cream were as delicious as the coffee.

The morning prayers were read in presence of Cook and Jane; then the coffee was poured out in a dark amber stream, and for the first time the Reverend Arthur smiled.

“Really, my dear Mary,” he said, “I don’t think any two people could be happier than we are.”

“Than we should be if you would not do such foolish things, Arthur,” said the little lady, sharply.

“Foolish things, my dear?” he replied, rather blankly.

“Yes, foolish things. I don’t mind your being so fond of your garden and natural history, but it doesn’t look becoming for you to come back as you did yesterday, with a bunch of weeds in one hand, a bundle of mosses in the other, and your hat pinned all over with butterflies. The people think you half mad.”

“But I had no pill-boxes, my dear Mary, and Thompson, of the Entomological, asked me to get him some of the large sulphurs.”

“Then I wish Thompson, of the Entomological, would come down and catch his butterflies himself. Give me a bit more fat.”

“For my part I should never wish to change.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said the elderly lady, slowly, as she made a very hearty breakfast. “Little Magnus is very nice and the garden very pretty, but there seems to be a something wanting. Tilt the dish and give me a little more of that gravy, Arthur. Why don’t you pass your cup?”

“And yet we have an abundance of the good things of this life, Mary, that we could not enjoy in a town.”

“Ye-es,” said the little lady, dubiously; “but still there seems to be a something wanting.”

“I think we shall have plenty of honey this year, my dear Mary.”

“So we did last year, Arthur.”

“The mushrooms are coming on very fast in the pit. By the way, what did you do with those Saint George’s agarics I brought home yesterday?”

“Threw them away.”

“My dear Mary!”

“And the best thing too, Arthur. Now, once for all, mushrooms are mushrooms; but I’m not going to have you poison yourself nor me neither with all kinds of toadstools, to gratify your love of experiment.”

The curate sighed, and there came a pause, broken by Miss Mary Rosebury saying:

“Yes, I suppose we ought to be perfectly contented, and I think I am; but sometimes it seems a pity that we should always go on like this without any change. Oh, here’s Brown.”

Volume One – Chapter Two.
A Dangerous Visitor

Miss Mary Rosebury left her chair at the breakfast-table and hurried out to the rose-covered porch as a heavy step was heard upon the gravel; and directly after a sturdy-looking man, with half-a-dozen leather bags slung from his shoulder, appeared at the door.

“Fine morning, miss. Two letters – three letters – four letters. ‘Stan’ard,’ ‘Gar’ner’s Chronkle,’ ‘Beekeep’s Junnel;’ that’s all, miss;” and before the little lady had had time to speak, the heavy step was receding over the gravel. “Four letters for you, Arthur. Shall I open them?”

“Please, my dear Mary,” said the Reverend Arthur, without evincing the slightest interest in the arrival of the post, for he was carefully filling up the holes in some well-made dry toast with the freshest of fresh butter.

Miss Mary Rosebury laid the letters upon the table while she fished a spectacle-case from her pocket, balanced her glasses upon her rather decided-looking nose, gave the two little bunches of curls on either side of her white forehead a shake, and opened the first letter, reading aloud:

“‘Messrs Spindle and Twist beg to call your attention to a very curious sherry, and’ – um – um – um – um – Ah! you don’t want to lay down sherry, do you, Arthur?”

“No, my dear Mary,” said her brother; and letter number two was opened.

“‘Mr Hazelton is now prepared to make advances upon personal security to the clergy, gentry – ’ Bah! money-lenders!” exclaimed Miss Mary Rosebury, throwing aside the second letter. “I wish these people wouldn’t bore us with their applications. What’s this?”

As she spoke she took up a large blue official-looking envelope.

“Looks important, my dear Mary,” said the Rev. Arthur, displaying a little more interest.

“Yes,” said his sister, turning the letter over. “Oh! Arthur, suppose it means preferment at last – a vicarage somewhere.”

“I don’t think I should be very much pleased, my dear Mary. I am very happy here.”

“Oh, yes, of course we are, Arthur; but as I have often said, there does seem to be a something wanting, and – ‘The directors of the New Polwheedle and Verity Friendship Tin Mining’ – Oh, dear, dear, just as if we had money to throw down Cornish mines. What’s this? I don’t know this hand. There’s a crest upon the envelope, and ‘H.B.’ in the corner. Oh! it’s from Doctor Bolter.”

“Postmark Penang?” said the Reverend Arthur. “Wondered I had not heard from him.”

“No, it’s from London. Let me see. All about specimens, I suppose.”

My Dear Rosebury, —

I’m in England for a month or two, and am coming down to see you and chat over old times. Don’t make any fuss, old fellow! Bed on a sofa will do for an old campaigner like me. I’ve got business your way – to see some young ladies at Mayleyfield – daughters of two people out in the Peninsula. Been educated at home, and I am going to be their escort back. Nuisance, but must do it; expect me to-morrow.

Yours very truly, —

Harry Bolter.

The Reverend Arthur Rosebury.

“Why, Arthur, he’s coming here!”

“Yes, my dear. I’m very glad!”

“But to-day, Arthur! What shall I do?”

“Do, my dear Mary? Nothing! Bolter never wants anything done for him, unless he’s very much altered, and I don’t think he will be.”

“But the young ladies at Mayleyfield? Why that must be at Miss Twettenham’s establishment!”

“Very probably, my dear!” said the Reverend Arthur, getting up to walk up and down the room. “I shall be very, very glad to see Harry Bolter. I wonder whether he has brought any specimens?”

“To be sure, I’ve heard that the Misses Twettenham have several young ladies there whose parents are in India.”

“Not India, my dear. Henry Bolter has been in the Malay Peninsula. He was at Singapore and then at Penang.”

“And the house in such a terrible muddle!” exclaimed Miss Mary. “Whatever shall I do?”

“What a little world this is,” said the Reverend Arthur. “How strange that Henry Bolter should, so to speak, have friends as near as Mayleyfield!”

“Oh, Arthur, Arthur, you really have no thought whatever! To-day is baking day!”

“I am very glad, my dear Mary! Henry Bolter was always, I remember, fond of new bread. We used to call him Hot-roll Bolter at college.”

“Arthur!”

“Yes, my dear Mary.”

“I really am thankful that you never married! You would have worried any reasonable woman into her grave!”

“I am very sorry. I hope not, my dear Mary! I think if I had ever seen any lady I should have liked to call my wife, my whole study would have been to make her happy!”

“Yes, yes, my dear Arthur!” said the little petulant lady, placing her hands upon her tall, thin brother’s shoulders once more to pull him down to be kissed, “I know you would; but you are so tiresome.”

“I’m – I’m afraid I am, my dear Mary. I think sometimes that I must be very stupid.”

“Nonsense, Arthur; you are not. You are one of the best and cleverest of men; but you do get so lost in your studies that you forget all ordinary troubles of life. Why, there, actually you have come down this morning without any shirt-collar.”

“Have I? Have I, Mary?” said the Reverend Arthur, looking hastily in a glass. “How very foolish of me! I was anxious to get down, I suppose.”

“What we are to do for dinner I don’t know!” exclaimed Miss Mary. “The butcher won’t kill till the day after to-morrow.”

“Chickens,” suggested her brother.

“You can’t feed men always on chickens, Arthur.”

“No, no, my dear; but Henry Bolter has been a great deal in the East; and you might do a deal with chickens.”

“Oh, I know, Arthur,” said the little lady, pettishly. “Roast and boiled.”

“And curried! Bolter is sure to like curry.”

“And then grumble at it, and say it is not as good as he gets abroad. You never have anything in the garden either!”

“I have some very fine asparagus, my dear Mary.”

“Ah, well, that’s something.”

“And some forced rhubarb.”

“I could use that too. But really it is too bad to take one so by surprise. Men are so unreasonable!”

The Reverend Arthur Rosebury took a turn or two up and down the room, with a troubled look in his face, ending by stopping short before his sister.

“I – I am very sorry, my dear Mary,” he said. “Can I help you a little?”

“What by getting in the way, Arthur?” said the little lady, pettishly. “Nonsense! stuff!”

He smoothed his long, thin, closely-shaven face with one hand, gazing pensively at his sister.

“I – I used to be very fond of Henry Bolter,” he said, in a hesitating way.

“Why?” she said sharply. “I don’t believe in these very warm friendships between men!”

“It was when our father died, Mary, more than twenty years ago; and for want of a hundred pounds I thought I should have to leave college.”

“Yes?” said the little lady, sharply.

“Henry Bolter found it out, and he forced the money into my hand.”

“He did?”

“Yes, my dear Mary, and he never would let me pay it back again.”

“But didn’t you try, Arthur?”

“Four times over, my dear Mary; but he always sent the money back to me in a letter with only one word in it.”

“And what was that?”

There was a dry, half-pitiful smile in the Reverend Arthur’s face as he replied, gazing fixedly the while at his sister:

“‘Beast!’”

“What, Arthur?”

“He said ‘beast.’ He met me afterwards, and vowed he would never speak to me again if I alluded to the money, which he said was a gift; and it has never been repaid to this day.”

“Beast!” ejaculated Miss Mary, thoughtfully.

“Yes, my dear Mary, but I have that sum put away, ready for him to take when he will.”

“Of course,” said Miss Rosebury thoughtfully.

“And I should like to give Harry Bolter a warm welcome when he comes, Mary; not a welcome of corn and wine, oil, olive and honey, Mary – but a welcome from the heart, such as would please him more.”

“My dear Arthur,” cried the little lady, throwing her arms round her brother’s lank, spare form, “you mustn’t notice my crotchety ways, I’m getting an old woman – a fidgety old maid. Dr Bolter shall have as warm a welcome as I can give.”

“I knew it sister,” he said tenderly embracing her; and it was very foolish, but the eyes of both were wet with tears as the little lady snatched herself away.

“There, Arthur, now go, and don’t you come near me again except to bring me the asparagus and rhubarb, for I shall be as busy as a bee. There’s the doctor’s room to prepare.”

“No; let him have mine.”

“What, with all that litter of dried plants and flies?”

“Just what he would like.”

“There, go away.”

The Reverend Arthur Rosebury was about to say something more, but his sister checked him, and in a thoughtful dreamy way, he went slowly out into the garden, where at the end of ten minutes he had forgotten rhubarb, asparagus, even the coming of Dr Bolter, for the sun had shone out very hot, and the bees in the fourth hive beginning from the top were threatening to swarm.

Volume One – Chapter Three.
The Young Ladies

“The Firlawns, Mayleyfield, educational establishment for the daughters of officers and gentlemen in the Indian civil service, conducted by the Misses Twettenham,” as it said in the old circulars, for none were ever issued now. Thirty years of the care of young people, committed to their charge by parents compelled to reside in the East, had placed the Misses Twettenham beyond the need of circular or other advertising advocate. For it was considered a stroke of good fortune by Indian and other officials if vacancies could be found at the Firlawns for their daughters; in fact the Misses Twettenham might have doubled their numbers and their prices too, but they were content to keep on in their old conservative way, enjoying the confidence of their patrons, and really acting the parts of mothers to the young ladies committed to their charge.

It was a difficult task as well as an onerous one, this care of girls from the ages of ten or twelve up to even twenty and one-and-twenty, especially when it is taken into consideration that, whatever the emergency, the parents would be in India, China, or the Eastern islands – one or two months’ distance by letter, sometimes more.

It was not often that there were troubles, though, at the Firlawns, for the Misses Twettenham’s was a kindly as well as rigid rule. Sickness of course there was from time to time. Sadder still, they had had deaths; but there were times when some young lady of more than ordinary volatility would try to assert herself and resent the bonds that the elderly sisters insisted upon tying round her and keeping her back.

There were occasionally handsome curates at Mayleyfield. There was a particularly good-looking young doctor’s assistant once in the town; and at times Squire Morden’s soldier and sailor sons would return home for a short stay, when a misguided pupil would form a most hopeless attachment, and even go so far as to receive a smuggled note.

Woe be to her if she did! It was sure to be discovered; and if such a course was persisted in the doom was certain. Transportation was the sentence. Word was sent to mamma and papa in India, China, or wherever they might be, and Miss Rebellious had to leave the school.

These were very, very rare cases, for there was scarcely a girl who did not look upon the elderly sisters as their best of friends; but such accidents had occurred, and there was trouble at the Firlawns now.

“Never,” said Miss Twettenham to her sisters twain – “never, my dear Julia – never, my dear Maria, in the whole course of my experience, have I met with so determined, so obstinate a girl!”

“She is very beautiful,” said Miss Julia.

“And it promises to be a fatal gift,” said Miss Maria.

“Yes,” said the eldest Miss Twettenham; “and if it were not for the letter we have received saying that Dr Bolter was coming to fetch her away, I should certainly have been compelled to insist upon her being recalled.”

“I don’t think she means harm, dear Hannah,” said Miss Maria.

“No young lady brought up here could mean harm, Maria,” said Miss Twettenham, severely; “but to witness in her such a terrible display of – of – of – I really cannot find a word.”

“Coquetry,” suggested Miss Julia.

“Well, coquetry,” said Miss Twettenham, taking the word unwillingly, as if it were too bad to touch. “It is a terrible love of admiration!”

“What did she say, Hannah, when you spoke to her?”

“Laughed, my dear, in the most barefaced way, and said that it was all nonsense.”

“But that dreadful half-haughty, half-shy way in which she looked at him!” said Miss Maria.

“And she almost smiled,” said Miss Julia.

“Quite smiled!” said Miss Twettenham, severely. “I saw her smile at him; and then, when he lifted his hat, she raised her eyes and stared at him in a haughty, astonished way, as if she had never given him the slightest encouragement.”

“It is very shocking,” murmured Miss Maria.

“But I think she blushed a little,” remonstrated Miss Julia, as if to try and find some slight extenuating circumstance for the benefit of the most handsome pupil at the Firlawns.

“That I deny!” exclaimed Miss Twettenham. “It was only the reflection from the lining of her sunshade! I repeat it, sisters; I am very – very glad she is going away!”

“So am I,” said Miss Julia; “and yet I am sorry, for she is a very beautiful girl, and I am sure she is affectionate.”

“What is beauty without ballast, my dear Julia? or affection that goes floating about like a gossamer without a stay?” said Miss Twettenham severely, and her sisters sighed.

“I consider it most reprehensible. And now I think we will have her down.”

The three grey, elderly ladies seated themselves in three stiff-backed, uneasy chairs, wool-worked by former pupils; and as soon as they had settled themselves in severe attitudes, Miss Twettenham gave a long wool-worked bell-pull a decided tug.

The bell was answered by a quiet, elderly manservant in a neat livery.

“Send word to Fräulein Webling’s room that we wish to see Miss Perowne and Miss Stuart,” said Miss Twettenham; and after sitting in frigid silence for a few minutes, the two young ladies were ushered into the presence of the principals.

There was a marked contrast between the girls, one being tall, with a finely-shaped oval face, dark hair, and peculiarly lustrous eyes, fringed by long black lashes; the other decidedly petite, with the clear skin, blue-grey eyes, and fair hair suggestive of the North.

The dark girl was perfectly composed, and walked over the well-worn carpet with an easy, graceful carriage, and a look of languid indifference, far from being shared by her companion, whose cheeks were flushed as she darted an uneasy look at the three sisters in turn.

The young ladies evidently expected to be asked to take chairs, but the words were not forthcoming; and after advancing a few paces, they stopped short in the midst of a chilling silence, the three sisters sitting very upright with mittened hands crossed in a peculiar way about the region of the waist of their old-fashioned dresses.

The dark girl, after a languid glance round, gave her shapely shoulders a slight shrug before half closing her eyes, and gazing through the tall, blank window at a scaly araucaria upon the lawn.

At last Miss Twettenham spoke:

“Miss Stuart,” she began, in chilling tones and with great deliberation, “speaking for myself and sisters, I must say that I sadly regret that we are under the necessity of drawing you into the discussion that is about to take place.”

“But, at the same time, my dear,” continued Miss Julia, in precisely the same formal tone, “we wish to tell you that we exonerate you from all blame in the matter.”

“And,” concluded Miss Maria, “we are glad to say that your conduct since you have been under our care has been all that could be desired.”

The fair girl made a half step forward, her eyes filling with tears, and one hand was involuntarily raised, as if she would have liked to place it in that of the last speaker; but the three sisters drew themselves up a little more rigidly, and, as if in concert, drew in a long breath.

The dark girl smiled faintly and looked bored.

“It is an unpleasant thing for you to do, Miss Stuart, to have to bear witness against your schoolfellow and companion,” resumed Miss Twettenham, her sisters tightening their lips as if to rigidly keep in the indignation they felt, and to subdue their desire to interrupt their elder, who, by right of seniority, was the principal spokeswoman upon such occasions.

The dark girl raised her eyebrows slightly, and the corners of her well-shaped mouth twitched, and were drawn down in a provokingly attractive manner.

“Will you kindly inform me, Miss Twettenham,” she said, in a low, sweet voice, full of hauteur, “why I am to be subjected to this examination? Of what am I accused?”

“Why, you know!” exclaimed Miss Maria, excitedly. “Of smiling at a man, miss!” and she seemed to shudder with indignant protest.

“My dear Maria,” exclaimed Miss Twettenham, severely, “you forget.”

“I beg your pardon, my dear Hannah!” exclaimed the younger sister, and she drew herself up and tightened her lips more and more.

“I had intended to have approached the subject with more de – I mean caution,” continued Miss Twettenham; “but since my sister has spoken out so plainly, I will only say that your conduct yesterday, Miss Perowne, places me under the necessity of confining your future walks to the garden.”

“My conduct?” said the girl, turning her dark eyes full upon the speaker.

“Your conduct, Miss Helen Perowne,” said the elder lady austerely. “It has for months past been far from in accordance with that we expect from the young ladies placed by their parents in our charge; but yesterday it culminated in the smile and look of intelligence we saw pass between you and that tall, fair gentleman who has of late haunted the outskirts of this place. I think I have your approval in what I say?” she added, turning to her sisters, who both bowed stiffly, and became more rigid than before.

“Such conduct is worse than unbecoming. It is unladylike to a degree, and what is more, displays so great a want of womanly dignity and self-respect that I am reluctantly compelled to say that we feel our endeavours to instil a right moral tone and thoroughly decorous idea of a young lady’s duties to have been thrown away.”

There was a slight twitching of the corners of the mouth and an involuntary shrugging of the shoulders here.

“You are aware, Miss Perowne, that your papa has requested us to resign you to the care of his friend, Dr Bolter, and that in a short time you will cease to be our pupil; but still, while you stay at the Firlawns, we must exact a rigid obedience to our rules, and, as I have said, your liberty must be sadly curtailed while you are in our charge.”

“As you please,” said the girl, indifferently.

“You do not deny your fault, then?”

“No,” said the girl, without turning her eyes from the window.

“Who was this gentleman – I should say, who is this gentleman?”

“I really do not know,” said the girl, turning from the window now with a careless look in her eyes, as if of wonder that she should be asked such a question.

“Have you had any epistolary communication?” said Miss Twettenham, sternly.

“Not the slightest,” said the girl, coldly; and then she added, after a pause, “If I had I should not have told you!”

“Miss Perowne!” exclaimed the eldest Miss Twettenham, indignantly.

“Miss Twettenham,” exclaimed the girl, drawing herself up, and with a flash from her dark eyes full of defiance, “you forget that I am no longer a child. It has suited my father’s purpose to have me detained here among school-children until he found a suitable escort for my return to the East; but I am a woman. As to that absurd episode, it is beneath my notice.”

“Beneath your notice!” exclaimed Miss Twettenham, while her sisters looked astounded.

The fair girl laid her hand upon her companion’s arm, but Helen Perowne snatched hers away.

“I say beneath my notice. A foolish young man thinks proper to stare at me and raises his hat probably at the whole school.”

“At you, Miss Helen Perowne – at you!” exclaimed Miss Twettenham.

“Possibly,” said the girl, carelessly, as the flash died out of her eyes, her lids drooped, and she let her gaze wander to the window.

“I can scarcely tell you how grieved – how hurt we feel,” continued Miss Twettenham, “to find that a young lady who has for so many years enjoyed the – the care, the instruction, the direction of our establishment, should have set so terrible an example to her fellow-pupils.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders again slightly, and her face assumed a more indifferent air.

“The time that you have to stay here, Miss Perowne, is very short,” continued the speaker; “but while you do stay it will be under rigid supervision. You may now retire to your room.”

The girl turned away, and was walking straight out of the room, but years of lessons in deportment asserted themselves, and from sheer habit she turned by the door to make a stately courtesy, frowning and biting her lip directly after as if from annoyance, and passing out with the grace and proud carriage of an Eastern queen.

“Stop, Miss Stuart,” said Miss Twettenham, as Helen Perowne’s companion was about to follow. “I wish to say a few words to you before you go – not words of anger, my dear child, for the only pain we have suffered through you is in hearing the news that you are so soon to go.”

“Oh, Miss Twettenham,” exclaimed the girl, hurrying to take the extended hands of the schoolmistress, but to find herself pressed to the old lady’s heart, an embrace which she received in turn from Miss Julia and Miss Maria.

“We have long felt that it must soon come, my dear,” chirped Miss Maria.

“Yes, dear,” said Miss Julia, in a prattling way. “You’ve done scolding now, sister, have you not?”

“Yes,” said Miss Twettenham; “but I wish to speak seriously for a minute or two, and the present seems a favourable opportunity for Grey Stuart to hear.”

The younger sisters placed the fair young girl in a chair between them, and each held a hand, while Miss Twettenham drew herself up stiffly, hemmed twice, and began:

“My dear Miss Stuart – I – I – Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!”

The poor old lady burst into a violent fit of sobbing as she rose from her seat, for nature was stronger than the stiff varnish of art with which she was encrusted; and holding her handkerchief to her eyes, she crossed the little space between them, and sank down upon her knees before Grey Stuart, passing her arms round her and drawing her to her breast.

For a few minutes nothing was heard in the stiff old-fashioned drawing-room but suppressed sobs, for the younger sisters wept in concert, and the moist contagion extended to Grey Stuart, whose tears fell fast.

There was no buckram stiffness in Miss Twettenham’s words when she spoke again, but a very tender, affectionate shake in her voice.

“It is very weak and foolish, my dear,” she said, “but we were all very much upset; for there is something so shocking in seeing one so young and beautiful as Helen Perowne deliberately defy the best of advice, and persist in going on in her own wilful way. We are schoolmistresses, my dear Grey, and I know we are very formal and stiff; but though we have never been married ladies to have little children of our own, I am sure we have grown to love those placed in our care, so that often and often, when some pupil has been taken away to go to those far-off burning lands, it has been to us like losing a child.”

“Yes – yes,” sobbed the younger sisters in concert.

“And now, my dear Grey, I think I can speak a little more firmly. You are a woman grown now, my dear, and I hope feel with us in our trouble.”

“Indeed – indeed I do!” exclaimed Grey, eagerly.

“I know you do, my darling, so now listen. You know how sweet a jewel is a woman’s modesty, and how great a safeguard is her innocency? I need say little to you of yourself, now that you are going far across the sea; but we, my sisters and I, pray earnestly for your help in trying to exercise some influence over Helen’s future. You will be together, and I know what your example will be; but still I shudder as I think of what her future is to be, out there at some station where ladies are so few that they all get married as soon as they go out.”

This was rather an incongruous ending to Miss Twettenham’s speech, but the old lady’s eyes bespoke her trouble, and she went on:

“It seems to me, my dear, that, with her love of admiration, she will be like a firebrand in the camp, and I shudder when I think of what Mr Perowne will say, when I’m sure, sisters, we have striven our very best.”

“Indeed, indeed we have.”

“Then we can do no more,” sighed Miss Twettenham, who now smiled in a very pleasant, motherly way. “There, Grey, my dear, I am not going to cross-examine you about this naughty child, and we will say no more now. Some tender young plants grow as they are trained, and some persist in growing wild. I tremble for our handsome pupil, and shall often wonder in the future how she fares, but promise me that you will be to her the best of friends.”

“Indeed I will,” said Grey earnestly.

“It will be a thankless office,” said Miss Julia.

“And cause you many a heartache, Grey Stuart,” said Miss Maria.

“Yes, but Grey Stuart will not pay heed to that when she knows it is her duty,” said Miss Twettenham, smiling. “Leave us now, my dear; we must have a quiet talk about Helen, and our arrangements while she stays. Good-bye, my child.”

The good-bye on the old lady’s lips was a genuine God be with you, and an affectionate kiss touched Grey Stuart’s cheek, as she left the room, fluttered and in trouble about her schoolfellow, as the prophetic words of her teachers kept repeating themselves in her ears.

Volume One – Chapter Four.
Dr Bolter’s Question

“Dr Bolter, ma’am,” said the elderly manservant, seeking Miss Twettenham the next afternoon, as she was sunning herself in a favourite corner of the garden, where a large heavily-backed rustic seat stood against the red-brick wall.

The pupils were out walking with her two sisters – all save Helen Perowne and Grey Stuart, who were prisoners; and Miss Twettenham was just wondering how it was that a little tuft of green, velvety moss should have fallen from the wall upon her cap, when the old serving-man came up.

“Dr Bolter! Dear me! So soon!” exclaimed the old lady, glancing at Helen Perowne, book in hand, walking up and down the lawn, while Grey Stuart was at some little distance, tying up the blossoms of a flower.

Miss Twettenham entered the drawing-room, and then stood gazing in wonder at the little plump, brisk-looking man, with a rosy face, in spite of the deep bronze to which it was burned by exposure to the sun and air.

He was evidently about seven or eight and forty, but full of life and energy; a couple of clear grey eyes looking out from beneath a pair of rather shaggy eyebrows – for his face was better supplied with hirsute appendages than his head – a large portion of which was very white and smooth, seeming to be polished to the highest pitch, and contrasting strangely with his sunbrowned face.

As Miss Twettenham entered, the little doctor was going on tiptoe, with open hands, towards the window, where he dexterously caught a large fly, and after placing it conveniently between the finger and thumb of his left hand, he drew a lens from his waistcoat pocket, and began examining his prize.

“Hum! Yes,” he said, in a low, thoughtful tone, “decided similarity in the trunk. Eyes rather larger. Intersection of – I beg your pardon! Miss Twettenham?”

The lady bowed, and looked rather dignified. Catching flies and examining them in her drawing-room by means of a lens was an unusual proceeding, especially when there were so many much worthier objects for examination in the shape of pupils’ drawings and needlework about the place.

Miss Twettenham softened though directly, for the manners of Dr Bolter were, she owned, perfect. Nothing could have been more gentlemanly than the way in which he waited for her to be seated, and then, after a chatty introduction, came to the object of his visit.

“You see, my dear madam, it happens so opportunely my being in England. Perowne and Stuart are both old friends and patients, and of course they did not like the idea of their daughters being entrusted to comparative strangers.”

“So you will be friend, guardian, and medical attendant all in one?” said Miss Twettenham, smiling.

“Exactly,” said the little doctor. “I have never seen them; they are quite schoolgirls – children, I suppose?”

“Ye-es,” said Miss Twettenham, who had a habit of measuring a young lady’s age by its distance from her own, “they are very young.”

“No joke of a task, my dear madam, undertaking the charge of two young ladies – and I hope from my heart they are too young and plain to be attractive – make it difficult for me.”

There was a bright red spot on each of Miss Twettenham’s cheeks, and she replied with a little hesitation:

“They are both young, and you will find in Miss Stuart a young lady of great sweetness and promise.”

“Glad to hear it, my dear madam. Her father is a very dry Scot, very quaint and parsimonious, but a good fellow at heart.”

“Most punctual in his payments,” said Miss Twettenham, with dignity.

“Oh, of course, of course!” said Dr Bolter. “More so, I’ll be bound, than Perowne.”

“Mr Perowne is not so observant of dates as Mr Stuart, I must own, Dr Bolter,” said Miss Twettenham.

“No, my dear madam; but he is as rich as a Jew. Very good fellow, Perowne?”

Miss Twettenham bowed rather stiffly.

“Well, my dear madam, I am not going to rob you of your pupils for several weeks yet, but I should like to make their acquaintance and get them a little used to me before we start on our long voyage.”

“They are in the garden, Dr Bolter,” said Miss Twettenham, rising. “I will have them sent for – or would you – ”

“Like to join them in the garden? Most happy!”

Miss Twettenham led the way towards a handsome conservatory, through which there was a flight of steps descending to the lawn.

“Dear me! ah, yes!” exclaimed the doctor. “Very nice display of flowers! Would you allow me? My own collections in the jungle – passiflora – convolvulaciae – acacia.”

He drew some dry seeds from his pocket, and placed them in the old lady’s hand, she taking them with a smile and a bow; after which they descended to the soft, velvety, well-kept lawn.

“Most charming garden!” said the doctor – “quite a little paradise! but no Eves – no young ladies!”

“They are all taking their afternoon walk except Miss Stuart and Miss Perowne,” replied the old lady. “Oh!”

She uttered a sharp ejaculation as a stone struck her upon the collarbone and then fell at the doctor’s feet, that gentleman picking it up with one hand as he adjusted his double eyeglass with the other.

“Hum! ha!” he said drily. “We get our post very irregularly out in the East; but they don’t throw the letters at us over the wall.”

Miss Twettenham’s hands trembled as she hastily snatched the stone, to which a closely-folded note was attached by an india-rubber band, from the Doctor’s hands.

“What will he think of our establishment?” mentally exclaimed the poor little old lady, as she glanced at the superscription, and saw that it was for Helen Perowne. “I have never had such a thing occur since Miss Bainbridge was sent away.”

“So Miss Perowne receives notes thrown to her over the garden wall, eh?” said the little doctor severely.

“Indeed, Dr Bolter – I assure you – I am shocked – I hardly know – the young ladies have been kept in – I only discovered – ”

“Hum!” ejaculated the doctor, frowning. “I am rather surprised. Let me see,” he continued. “I suppose that fair-haired girl stooping over the flower-bed yonder is Miss Perowne, eh?”

“My sight is failing,” stammered Miss Twettenham, who was terribly agitated at the untoward incident; “but your description answers to Miss Stuart.”

“And that’s Miss Stuart is it? Hum! Too far off to see what she is like. Then I suppose that tall dark girl on the seat is Miss Perowne?”

“Tall and dark – yes,” said Miss Twettenham, in an agitated way. “Is she sitting down? You said tall?”

“Hum! no,” said the doctor, balancing his glasses; “she is standing right on the top of the back of a seat, and seems to be looking over the garden wall.”

“Oh!”

“Bless my heart! Hum! Sham or real?” muttered the doctor.

Real enough, for the agitation had been too much for the poor old lady, so proud of the reputation of her school. A note over the garden wall – a young lady looking over into the lane, perhaps in conversation with a man, and just when a stranger had arrived to act as escort for two finished pupils. It was too much.

For the first time for many years Miss Twettenham had fainted away.

Volume One – Chapter Five.
A Very Nice Little Woman

“Fainted dead away, Arthur; fainted dead away, Miss Rosebury; and until I shouted aloud there was my fair pussy peeping out of paradise over the wall to see if a young Adam was coming. Ha! ha! ha!”

“I am very much surprised, Dr Bolter,” said Miss Rosebury, severely; “I always thought the Miss Twettenham’s was a most strictly-conducted establishment?”

“So it is, my dear madam – so it is; but they’ve got one little black ewe lamb in the flock, and the old ladies told me that if my young lady had not been about to leave they’d have sent her away.”

“And very properly,” said Miss Rosebury, tightening her lips and slightly agitating her curls.

“And did the lady soon come to, Harry?” said the Reverend Arthur Rosebury, for he seemed to be much interested in his friend’s discourse over the dessert.

“Oh, yes, very soon. When I shouted, the dark nymph hopped off the garden-seat, and the fair one came running from the flowers, and we soon brought her to. Then I had a good look at the girls.”

Miss Rosebury’s rather pleasantly-shaped mouth was fast beginning to assume the form of a thin red line, so tightly were her lips compressed.

“By George, sir! what a girl! A graceful Juno, sir; the handsomest woman I ever saw. I was staggered. Bless my soul, Miss Rosebury, here’s Perowne and here’s Stuart; they say to me, ‘You may as well take charge of my girl and see her safe back here,’ and being a good-natured sort of fellow – ”

“As you always were, Harry,” said the Reverend Arthur, beaming mildly upon his friend, while Miss Rosebury’s lips relaxed a little.

“All rubbish! Stuff, man! Well, I said yes, of course, and I imagined a couple of strips of schoolgirls that I could chat to, and tell them about the sea, and tie on their pinafores before breakfast and dinner, and give them a dose of medicine once a week; while here I am dropped in for being guardian to a couple of beautiful women – girls who will set our jungles on fire with their eyes, sir. By George, it’s a startler, sir, and no mistake.”

“Dr Bolter seems to be an admirer of female beauty,” said Miss Rosebury, rather drily.

“Not a bit of it, madam. By George, no! Ladies? Why, they have always seemed to be studies to me – objects of natural history. Very beautiful from their construction, and I shouldn’t have noticed these two only that, by George! I’ve got to take charge of them – deliver them safe and sound to their papas – with care – this side up; and the first thing I find is that they’ve got eyes that will drive our young fellows wild, and one of them – the peep out of paradise one – knows it too. Nice job for a quiet old bachelor, eh?”

“You don’t tell us anything about yourself, Harry,” said the Reverend Arthur; and Miss Rosebury seemed a little more at her ease.

“Nothing to tell you, my boy. Claret? Yes, thanks. Have you such a thing as a lemon, Miss Rosebury?”

Miss Rosebury had, and as she rang she smiled with satisfaction at being able to supply the wants of the bright little man who had been so true a friend to her brother in the days gone by.

“Thank you, Miss Rosebury. Tumbler – water. Thanks. The lemon is, I think, the king of fruits, and invaluable to man. Deliciously acid, a marvellous quencher of thirst, a corrective, highly aromatic, a perfect boon. I would leave all the finest wines in the world for a lemon.”

“Then you believe all intoxicating drinks to be bad, doctor?” said Miss Rosebury, eagerly.

“Except whiskey, my dear madam,” said the doctor, with a twinkle of the eye.

“Ah!” said Miss Rosebury, and the eager smile upon her lips faded; but as she saw the zest with which the doctor rolled the lemon soft, and after cutting it in half, squeezed the juice and pulp into his glass, she relaxed a little, and directly afterwards began to beam, as the doctor suddenly exclaimed:

“There, madam, smell my hands! There’s scent! Talk of eau-de-cologne, and millefleurs, and jockey club! Nothing to it! But come, Arthur, you don’t tell me about yourself.”

“About myself,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling blandly; “I have nothing to tell. You have seen my village; you have looked at my church; you have been through my garden; and you have had a rummage in my study. There is my life.”

“A blessed one – a happy one, my dear Arthur. A perfect little home, presided over by a lady whose presence shows itself at every turn. Miss Rosebury,” said the doctor, rising, “when I think of my own vagabond life, journeying here and there with my regiment through heat and cold, in civilisation and out, and after many wanderings, come back to this peaceful spot, this little haven of rest, I see what a happy man my old friend must be, and I envy him with all my heart.”

He reseated himself, and Miss Rosebury’s lips ceased to be compressed into a tight line; and as she smiled and nodded pleasantly, she glanced across at her brother, to see if he would speak, before replying that, pleasant as their home was, they had their troubles in the parish.

“And I have no end of trouble with Arthur,” she continued. “He is so terribly forgetful!”

“He always was, my dear madam,” said the little doctor. “If you wanted him to keep an appointment in the old college days you had to write it down upon eight pieces of paper, and place one in each of his pockets, and pin the eighth in his hat. Then you might, perhaps, see him at the appointed time.”

“Oh, no, no, Harry! too bad – too bad!” murmured the Reverend Arthur, smiling and shaking his head.

“Well, really, Arthur,” said his sister, “I don’t think there is much exaggeration in what Dr Bolter says.”

“I am very sorry,” said the Reverend Arthur, meekly. “I suppose I am far from perfect.”

“My dear old boy, you are perfect enough. You are just right; and though your dear sister here gives you a good scolding sometimes, I’ll be bound to say she thinks you are the finest brother under the sun!”

Miss Rosebury left her chair with a very pleasant smile upon her lips, and a twinkling in the eyes that had the effect of making her look ten years younger.

“I am going into the drawing-room,” she said, in a quick little decided way. “Arthur, dear, I daresay Dr Bolter would like to smoke.”

“But, my dear madam, it would be profanity here.”

“Then you shall be profane, doctor,” said the little lady, nodding and smiling, “but don’t let Arthur smoke. He tried once before when he had a friend to dinner, and it made him feel very, very sick.”

The Reverend Arthur raised his eyebrows in a deprecating way, and then shook his head sadly.

“Then I will not lure him on to indulgence in such a bad habit, Miss Rosebury,” said the little doctor. “In fact, I feel that I ought not to indulge myself.”

“Well, I really think it is very shocking, doctor!” said Miss Rosebury, merrily. “You, a medical man, and you have confessed to a love for whiskey, and now for tobacco.”

“No, no; no, no!” he cried holding up his hands. “They are nauseous medicines that I take to do me good.”

“Indeed!” said the little lady, lingering in the room, and hanging about her brother’s chair as if loth to go; and there was a very sarcastic ring in her voice.

“Oh, be merciful, Miss Rosebury!” said the doctor, laughing. “I am only a weak man – a solitary wanderer upon the face of the earth! I have no pleasant home. I have no sister to keep house.”

“And keep you in order,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling pleasantly.

“And to keep me in order!” cried the doctor. “Mine’s a hard life, Miss Rosebury, and with all a man’s vanity – a little man’s vanity, for we little men have a great deal of conceit to make up for our want of stature – I think I do deserve a few creature comforts.”

“Which you shall have while you stay, doctor; so now light your cigar, for I’ll be bound to say you have a store of the little black rolls somewhere about you.”

“I confess,” he said, smiling, “I carry them in the same case with a few surgical instruments.”

“But I think we’ll go into the little greenhouse, Mary,” said the Reverend Arthur. “I feel sure Harry Bolter would not mind.”

“Mind? My dear Miss Rosebury, I’ll go and sit outside on a gate and smoke if you like.”

“No, no,” said the Reverend Arthur, mildly; “the green fly are rather gaining ground amongst my flowers, and I thought it would kill a few.”

“Dr Bolter is going to smoke his cigar here, where I am about to send in the coffee,” said Miss Rosebury, very decidedly, and the Reverend Arthur directed an apologetic look at his old friend.

“Hah!” ejaculated the little doctor, taking out his case, and selecting a cigar, “that’s just the kind of social tyranny I like. A man, sir, is stronger than a woman in physical development, but weaker in the matter of making up his mind. I never am able to make up mine, and I am quite sure, Arthur, old fellow, that you are very weak in the matter of making up yours: thus, in steps the presiding genius of your house, and bids you do this, and you do it. Yes, Miss Rosebury, I am going to sit here and smoke and – ”

“I am ready with a light, Dr Bolter,” said the little lady, standing close by with a box and a wax-match in her hands.

“No, no, really, my dear madam, I could not think of beginning while you are here.”

Scratch! went the match; there was a flash from the composition, and then Miss Rosebury’s plump taper little fingers held out the tiny wax-light, which was taken; there were a few puffs of bluish smoke, and Dr Bolter sank back in his chair, gazing at the door through which Miss Rosebury had passed.

“Hah!” he ejaculated. “I shall have to be off to-morrow.”

“Oh, nonsense!” cried the Reverend Arthur. “I thought you would come and stay a month.”

“Stay a month!” cried the doctor. “Why, my dear boy, what should I be fit for afterwards if I did?”

“Fit for, Harry?”

“Yes, fit for. I should be totally spoiled. I should become a complete domestic sybarite, and no more fit to go back to my tasks in the Malay jungle than to fly. No, Arthur, old fellow, it would never do.”

“We shall keep you as long as you can stay,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling. “But seriously, did you not exaggerate about those young ladies?”

“Not in the least, my dear boy, as far as regards one of them. The other – old Stuart’s little lassie – seems to be all that is pretty and demure. But I don’t suppose there is any harm in Helen Perowne. She is a very handsome girl of about twenty or one-and-twenty, and I suppose she has been kept shut up there by the old ladies, and probably, with the best intentions, treated like a child.”

“That must be rather a mistake,” murmured the Reverend Arthur, dreamily.

“A mistake, sir, decidedly. If you have sons or daughters never forget that they grow up to maturity; and if you wish to keep them caged up, let it be in a cage whose bars are composed of good training, confidence and belief in the principles you have sought to instil.”

“Yes, I quite agree with you, Harry.”

“Why, my dear boy, what can be more absurd than to take a handsome young girl and tell her that men are a kind of wild beast that must never be looked at, much more spoken to – suppressing all the young aspirations of her heart?”

“I suppose it would be wrong, Harry.”

“Wrong and absurd, sir. There is the vigorous young growth that will have play, and you tighten it up in a pair of moral stays, so to speak, with the result that the growth pushes forth in an abnormal way to the detriment of the subject; and in the future you have a moral distortion instead of a healthy young plant. Ha – ha! – ha – ha!”

“Why do you laugh?” said the Reverend Arthur. “I think what you have said quite right, only that ladies like the Misses Twettenham are, as it were, forced to a very rigid course.”

“Yes, yes, exactly. I was laughing because it seems so absurd for a pair of old fogies of bachelors like us to be laying down the law as to the management and training of young girls. But look here, Arthur, old fellow, as I am in for this job of guardian to these girls, I should like to have something intermediate.”

“Something intermediate? I don’t understand you. Thank you; set the coffee down, Betsey.”

“Hah! Yes; capital cup of coffee, Arthur,” said the doctor, after a pause. “Best cup I’ve tasted for years.”

“Yes, it is nice,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling, as if gratified at his friend’s satisfaction. “My sister always makes it herself.”

“That woman’s a treasure, sir. Might I ask for another cup?”

“Of course, my dear Harry. Pray consider that you are at home.”

The coffee was rung for and brought, after a whispered conversation between Betsey the maid and Miss Mary the mistress.

“What did they ring for, Betsey?” asked Miss Mary.

“The little gentleman wants some more coffee, ma’am.”

“Then he likes it,” said Miss Mary, who somehow seemed unduly excited. “But hush, Betsey; you must not say ‘the little gentleman,’ but ‘Dr Bolter.’ He is your master’s dearest friend.”

A minute or two later the maid came out from the little dining-room, with scarlet cheeks and wide-open eyes, to where Miss Mary was lying in wait.

“Is anything the matter, Betsey?” she asked, anxiously.

“No, ma’am, only the little Dr Bolter, ma’am, he took up the cup and smelt it, just as if it was a smelling-bottle or one of master’s roses, ma’am.”

“Yes – yes,” whispered Miss Mary, impatiently.

“And then he put about ten lumps of sugar in it, ma’am.”

“How many Betsey?”

“Ten big lumps, mum, and tasted; and while I was clearing away he said, ‘Hambrosher!’ I don’t know what he meant, but that’s what he said, mum.”

“That will do, Betsey,” whispered Miss Mary. “Mind that the heater is very hot. I’ll come and cut the bread and butter myself.”

Betsey went her way, and Miss Mary returned to the little drawing-room, uttering a sigh of satisfaction; and it is worthy of record, that before closing the door she sniffed twice, and thought that at a distance the smell of cigars was after all not so very bad.

Meanwhile the conversation had been continued in the dining-room.

“What do I mean by intermediate, Arthur? Well, I don’t want to take those girls at one jump from the conventual seclusion of their school to what would seem to them like the wild gaiety of one of the great steamers of the Messageries Maritimes. I should like to give them a little society first.”

“Exactly; very wisely,” assented the Reverend Arthur.

“So I thought if your sister would call on the Misses Twettenham with you, and you would have them here two or three times to spend the day, and a little of that sort of thing, do you see?”

“Certainly. We will talk to Mary about it when we go in to tea. I am sure she would be very pleased.”

“That’s right; and now what do you say to a trot in the garden?”

“I shall be delighted!” was the reply; and they went out of the French window into the warm glow of the soft spring evening, the doctor throwing away the stump of his cigar as they came in sight of Miss Mary with a handkerchief tied lightly over her head, busy at work with scissors and basket cutting some flowers; and for the next hour they were walking up and down listening to the doctor’s account of Malaya – its heat, its thunder-storms, and tropic rains; the beauties of the vegetation; the glories of its nights when the fire-flies were scintillating amidst the trees and shrubs that overhung the river, and so on, for the doctor never seemed to tire.

“How anxious you must be to return, doctor!” said little Miss Rosebury at last.

“No,” he said, frankly. “No, I am not. I am very happy here in this charming little home; but when I go back, I hope to be as happy there, for I shall be busy, and work has its pleasures.”

Brother and sister assented, and soon after they went in to tea, over which the visiting question was broached, and after looking rather severe, little Miss Rosebury readily assented to call and invite the young ladies to spend a day.

The evening glided away like magic; and before the doctor could credit that it was so late, he had to say “good-night,” and was ushered into his bedroom.

“Hah!” ejaculated the little man as he sank into a soft easy-chair, covered with snow-white dimity, and gazed at the white hangings, the pretty paper, the spotless furniture, and breathed in the pleasant scent of fresh flowers, of which there was a large bunch upon his dressing table. “Hah!” he ejaculated again, and rising softly, he went to the table and looked at the blossoms.

“Why, those are the flowers she was cutting when we went down the garden,” he said to himself; and he went back to his chair and became very thoughtful.

At the end of a quarter of an hour he wound up his watch and placed it beneath his pillow, and then stood thinking for a few minutes before slowly pulling off his boots.

As he took off one, he took it up meditatively, gazed at the sole, and then at the interior, saying softly:

“She is really a very nice little woman!”

Then he took off the other boot, and whispered the same sentiment in that, and all in the most serious manner; while just before dropping off into a pleasant, restful sleep, he said, quite aloud this time:

“A very nice little woman indeed!”

Volume One – Chapter Six.
Visitors at the Rectory

The fact of its being the wish of the appointed guardian of the young ladies was sufficient to make the Misses Twettenham readily acquiesce to an invitation being accepted; and before many days had passed little Miss Rosebury drove over in the pony-carriage, into the front seat of which Helen Perowne, in the richest dress she possessed, glided with a grace and dignity that seemed to say she was conferring a favour.

“I wish you could drive, my dear,” said little Miss Rosebury, smiling in Grey Stuart’s face, for there was something in the fair young countenance which attracted her.

“May I ask why?” replied Grey.

“Because it seems so rude to make you take the back seat.”

For answer Grey nimbly took her place behind; while, as Helen Perowne settled herself in a graceful, reclining attitude, Miss Rosebury took her seat, the round fat pony tossed its head, hands were waved, and away the little carriage spun along the ten miles’ drive between Mayleyfield and the Rectory.

Helen was languid and quiet, leaning back with her eyes half closed, while Grey bent forward between them and chatted with Miss Rosebury, the little lady seeming to be at home with her at once.

Before they had gone a mile, though, the observant charioteer noticed that Grey started and coloured vividly at the sight of a tall, thin youth with a downy moustache, who eagerly raised his hat, as if to show his fair curly hair as they passed.

“Then she has a lover too,” said Miss Rosebury to herself; for Helen Perowne sat unmoved, and did not appear to see the tall youth as they drove by him, but kept her eyes half closed, the long lashes drooping almost to her cheeks.

Little Miss Rosebury darted a keen glance at both the girls in turn, to see Grey Stuart colour more deeply still beneath her scrutiny; while Helen Perowne raised her eyes on finding Miss Rosebury looking at her, and smiled, her face wearing an enquiring look the while.

Dr Bolter had gone to town on business, so it had been decided that the visitors should stay for a couple of nights at the Rectory, where the Reverend Arthur, trowel in one hand, basket in the other, was busy at work filling the beds with geraniums when the pony-carriage drew up.

He slowly placed basket and trowel upon the grass as the carriage stopped, and forgetful of the state of his hands, helped the ladies to alight, leaving the imprint of his earthy fingers upon Helen’s delicate gloves.

Grey saw what took place, and expected an angry show of impatience on her companion’s part; but on the contrary, Helen held up her hands and laughed in quite a merry way.

“Oh, Arthur,” exclaimed Miss Rosebury, “how thoughtless you are!”

The Reverend Arthur looked in dismay at the mischief he had done, and taking out his pocket-handkerchief – one that had evidently been used for wiping earthy fingers before – he deliberately took first one and then the other of Helen Perowne’s hands to try and remove the marks he had made upon her gloves.

“I am very sorry, Miss Perowne,” he said, in his quiet, deliberate way. “It was very thoughtless of me; I have been planting geraniums.”

To the amazement of Grey Stuart, Helen gazed full in the curate’s face, smilingly surrendering her hands to the tender dusting they received.

Miss Rosebury was evidently annoyed, for she turned from surrendering the reins to the gardener, who was waiting to lead away the pony, and exclaimed:

“Oh, Arthur, you foolish man, what are you doing? Miss Perowne’s hands are not the leaves of plants.”

“No, my dear Mary,” said the Reverend Arthur, in the most serious manner; “and I am afraid I have made the mischief worse.”

“It does not matter, Mr Rosebury. It is only a pair of gloves – I have plenty more,” said Helen, hastily stripping them off regardless of buttons, and tearing them in the effort. They were of the thinnest and finest French kid, and as she hastily rolled them up she looked laughingly round for a place to throw them, ending by dropping them into the large garden basket half full of little geranium pots, while the Reverend Arthur’s eyes rested gravely upon the delicate blue-veined hands with their taper fingers and rosy nails.

“Come, my dears,” exclaimed Miss Rosebury, in her quick, chirpy way, “I’m sure you would like to come and take off your things after your hot, dusty drive. This way; and pray do go and wash your hands, Arthur.”

“Certainly, my dear Mary,” he replied, slowly. “If I had thought of it I would have done so before. I am very glad to see you at the Rectory, Miss Perowne. May I – ”

He held out his earth-soiled hand to shake that of his visitor, but recollecting himself, he let it fall again, as he did the words he was about to speak.

“I do not mind,” said Helen, quickly, as she extended her own hand, which the curate had no other course than to take, and he did so with a slight colour mounting to his pale cheeks.

Grey Stuart offered her hand in turn, her darker glove showing no trace of the contact.

“I don’t like her,” said little Miss Rosebury to herself, and her lips tightened a little as she looked sidewise at Helen. “She’s a dreadfully handsome, wicked girl, I’m sure; and she tries to make every man fall in love with her that she sees. She’ll be trying Dr Bolter next.”

It was as if the sudden breath of a furnace had touched her cheeks as this thought crossed her mind, and she quite started as she took Grey Stuart’s arm, saying once more, as in an effort to change the current of her thoughts:

“Come, my dears; and do pray, Arthur, go and take off that dreadful coat!”

“Yes, my dear Mary, certainly,” he said; and smiling benignly at all in turn, he was moving towards the door, when Helen exclaimed quickly:

“I am not at all tired. I was going to ask Mr Rosebury to show me round his garden.”

There was a dead silence, only broken by the dull noise of the wheels of the pony=carriage rasping the gravel drive; there was the chirp of a sparrow too on the mossy roof-tiles, and then a fowl in the stable-yard clapped its wings loudly and uttered a triumphant crow, as, with old-fashioned chivalrous politeness, the Reverend Arthur took off his soft felt hat and offered his arm.

For it was like a revelation to him – an awakening from a quiet, dreamy, happy state of existence, into one full of excitement and life, as he saw that beautiful young creature standing before him with a sweet, appealing look in her eyes, and one of those soft white hands held appealingly forth, asking of him a favour.

And what a favour! She asked him to show her his garden – his pride – the place where he spent all his spare moments. His pale cheeks really did flush slightly now, and his soft, dull eyes brightened as if the reflection of Helen’s youth and beauty irradiated the thin face, the white forehead, and sparse grey hairs bared to the soft breeze.

Miss Mary Rosebury felt a bitter pang shoot through her tender little breast; and once more, as she saw Helen’s hand rest upon her brother’s shabby alpaca coat-sleeve, she compressed her lips, and felt that she hated this girl.

“She’s a temptress – a wicked coquette,” she thought.

It was a matter of moments only, and then she recollected herself.

Her first idea was to go round the garden with Helen; but she shrank from the act as being inquisitorial, and turning to Grey, she took her arm.

“Let them go and see the garden, my dear. You and I will go and get rid of the dust. There,” she continued, as she led her visitor into the little flower-bedecked drawing-room, “does it not strike nice and cool? Our rooms look very small after yours.”

“Oh! but so bright and cheerful,” said Grey, quietly.

“Now I’ll show you your bedroom,” said Miss Rosebury, whose feeling of annoyance was gone. “I’m obliged to put you both in the same room, and you must arrange between you who is to have the little bed. Now, welcome to the Rectory, my dear, and I hope you will enjoy your visit. Let me help you.”

For Grey had smiled her thanks, and was taking off her bonnet, the wire of which had somehow become entangled with her soft, fair, wavy hair.

Miss Rosebury’s clever, plump little fingers deftly disentangled the bonnet, and then, not satisfied, began to smooth the slightly dishevelled hair, as if finding pleasure in playing with the fair, sunny strands that only seemed to ask for a dexterous turn or twist to naturally hang in clusters of curls.

Miss Rosebury’s other hand must have been jealous, for it too rose to Grey’s head and joined in the gentle caress; while far from looking tight, and forming a thin red line, the little middle-aged lady’s lips were in smiling curves, and her eyes beamed very pleasantly at her young visitor, who seemed to be half pleased, half pained at the other’s tender way.

“I am sure I shall be sorry to go away again,” said Grey, softly. “It is very kind of you to fetch us here.”

“Not at all, my dear,” said Miss Rosebury, starting from her reverie; “but – but I’m afraid I must be very strict with you,” she continued, in a half-merry, half-reproving tone. “The Misses Twettenham have confided you to my care, and I said – I said – ”

“You said, Miss Rosebury?” exclaimed Grey, in wondering tones, and her large, soft eyes looked their surprise.

“Yes, I said, as we came away, I’m a very peculiar, particular old lady, my dear; and I can’t have tall gentlemen making bows to you when you are in my charge.”

“Oh, Miss Rosebury!” cried Grey, catching her hand and blushing scarlet, “please – pray don’t think that! It was not to me!”

“Ah!” exclaimed the little lady, softly. “Hum! I see;” and she looked searchingly in the fair young face so near to hers. “It was my mistake, my dear; I beg your pardon.”

Grey’s face was all smiles, though her eyes were full of tears, and the next moment she was clasped tightly to Miss Rosebury’s breast, responding to her motherly kisses, and saying eagerly:

“I could not bear for you to think that.”

“And I ought never to have thought it, my dear,” said the little lady, softly patting and smoothing Grey’s hair. “Why, I ought to have known you a long time ago; and now I do know you, I hear you are going away?”

“Yes,” said Grey, “and so very soon. My father wishes me to join him at the station.”

“Yes, I know, my dear. It is quite right, for he is alone.”

“And he says it is dull without me; but he wished me to thoroughly finish my education first.”

“You don’t recollect mamma, my dear, the doctor tells me?”

“No,” said Grey, shaking her head. “She died when I was a very little child – the same year as Mrs Perowne.”

“A sad position for two young girls,” said Miss Rosebury.

“But the Misses Twettenham have always been so kind,” said Grey, eagerly. “I shall be very, very sorry to go away?”

“And will Helen Perowne be very, very sorry to go away?”

Grey Stuart’s face assumed a troubled expression, and she looked appealingly in her questioner’s face, which immediately became all smiles.

“There, there, I fetched you both over to enjoy yourselves, and I’m pestering you with questions. Come into my room, my dear, while I wash my hands, and then we’ll go and join the truants in the garden. I want you to like my brother very much, and I am sure he will like you.”

“I know I shall,” said Grey, quietly, but with a good deal of bright girlish ingenuousness in her tones. “Dr Bolter told me a great deal about him; how clever he is as a naturalist. I do like Dr Bolter.”

Miss Rosebury glanced at her sharply. It was an involuntary glance, which changed directly into a beaming look of satisfaction, as they crossed the landing into Miss Rosebury’s own room, where their conversation lengthened so that the “truants,” as the little lady called them, were forgotten.

Volume One – Chapter Seven.
A Lesson in Botany

Meanwhile the Reverend Arthur, with growing solicitude, was walking his garden as in a dream, explaining to his companion the progress of his flowers, his vegetables, and his fruit.

The beds were searched for strawberries that were not ready; the wall trees were looked at reproachfully for not bearing ripe fruit months before their time; and the roses, that should have been in perfection, were grieved over for their fall during the week-past storm.

It was wonderful to him what sweet and earnest interest this fair young creature took in his pursuits, and how eagerly she listened to his discourse when, down by the beehives, he explained the habits of his bees, and removed screens to let her see the working insects within.

Miss Mary Rosebury took an interest in his garden and in his botanical pursuits, but nothing like this. She did not keep picking weeds and wild flowers from beneath the hedge, and listen with rapt attention while he pointed out the class, the qualities, and peculiarities of the plant.

Helen Perowne did, and it was quite a privilege to a weed to be picked, as was that stitchwort that had run its long trailing growth right up in the hedge, so as to give its pale green leaves and regular white cut-edged blossoms a good long bathe in the sunshine where the insects played.

“I have often seen these little white flowers in the hedges,” she said softly. “I suppose they are too insignificant to have a name?”

She stooped and picked the flower as she spoke, looking in her companion’s eyes for an answer.

“Insignificant? No!” he cried, warming to his task. “No flower is insignificant. The very smallest have beauties that perhaps we cannot see.”

“Indeed,” she said; and he looked at the blue veins beneath the transparent skin, as Helen held up the flower. “Then has this a name?”

“Yes,” he said, rousing himself from a strange reverie, “a very simple, homely name – the stitchwort. Later on in the season you will find myriads of its smaller relative, the lesser stitchwort. They belong to the chickweed tribe.”

“Not the chickweed with which I used to feed my dear little bird that died?”

“The very same,” he replied, smiling. “Next time you pluck a bunch you will see that, though tiny, the flowers strangely resemble these.”

“And the lesser stitchwort?”

“Yes?” he said, inquiringly. “Is it like this?”

“Nearly the same, only the flowers are half the size.”

“And it grows where?”

“In similar places – by hedges and ditches.”

“But you said something about time.”

“Yes,” replied the Reverend Arthur, who was thinking how wondrous pleasant it would be to go on teaching botany to such a pupil for evermore. “Yes, it is a couple of months, say, later than the great stitchwort.”

“Ah!” said Helen, with a sigh. “By that time I shall be far away.”

The stitchwort fell to the ground, and they walked on together, with Helen, Circe-like, transforming the meek, studious, elderly man by her side, so that he was ready to obey her slightest whim, eagerly trying the while to explain each object upon which her eye seemed to rest; while she, glorying in her new power, led him on and on, with soft word, and glance, and sigh.

They had been at least an hour in the garden when they reached the vinery, through whose open door came the sweet, inviting scent of the luxuriant tender growth.

“What place is this?” she cried.

“My vinery. May I show you in?”

“It would give you so much trouble.”

“Trouble?” he said; and taking off his hat he drew back for her to enter.

“And will all those running things bear grapes?” she asked, as, throwing back her head and displaying the soft contour of her beautifully moulded throat, she gazed up at the tendril-handed vines.

“Yes,” he said, dreamily, “these are the young bunches with berries scarcely set. You see they grow too fast. I have to break off large pieces to keep them back, and tie them to those wires overhead.”

“Oh, do show me, Mr Rosebury?” she cried, with childlike eagerness.

“Yes,” he said, smiling; “but I must climb up there.”

“What, on to that board?”

“Yes, and tie them with this strong foreign grass.”

“Oh, how interesting! How beautiful!” she cried, her red lips parted, and showing the little regular white teeth within. “I never thought that grapes would grow like this. Please show me more.”

He climbed and sprawled awkwardly on to the great plank that reached from tie to tie, seating himself astride with the consequence that his trousers were dragged half way up his long, thin legs, revealing his clumsily-made garden shoes. In his eagerness to show his visitor the growing of his vines he heeded it not; but after snapping off a luxuriant shoot, he was about to tie the residue to a stout wire, when a cry of fear from Helen arrested him.

“Oh, Mr Rosebury, pray, pray get down!” she cried. “It is not safe. I’m sure you’ll fall!”

“It is quite safe,” he said, mildly; and he looked down with a bland smile at the anxious face below him.

“Oh, no,” she cried; “it cannot be.”

“I have tested it so many times,” he said. “Pray do not be alarmed.”

“But I am alarmed,” she cried, looking up at him with an agitated air that made him hasten to descend, going through a series of evolutions that did not tend to set off his ungainly figure to advantage, and ended in landing him at her feet minus the bottom button of his vest.

“Thank you,” she cried. “I am afraid I am very timid, but I could not bear to see you there.”

“Then I must leave my vines for the present,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, if you please,” she cried; and then, as they left the vinery, she relapsed into so staid and dignified a mood, that the Reverend Arthur felt troubled and as if he had been guilty of some grave want of courtesy to his sister’s guest, a state of inquietude that was ended by the coming of Miss Rosebury and Grey.

Volume One – Chapter Eight.
Helen’s Discovery

The nearness of the date for the long voyage to the East came like a surprise to the occupants of the Rectory and the Misses Twettenham’s establishment. Dr Bolter had come down to stay at the Rectory for a few days, and somehow – no one could tell the manner of its happening – the few days, with occasional lapses for business matters, had grown into a few weeks, and still there seemed no likelihood of his leaving.

What was more, no one seemed to wish him to leave. He and the Reverend Arthur went out on botanical rambles, and came back loaded with specimens about which they discoursed all the evenings, while Miss Rosebury sat and worked.

Upon sundry occasions the young ladies from Miss Twettenham’s came over to spend the day, when Grey would be treated by Miss Rosebury with affectionate solicitude, and Helen with a grave courtesy that never seemed to alter unless for the parties concerned to grow more distant.

With the Reverend Arthur, though, it was different. Upon the days of these visits he was changed. His outward appearance was the same, but there was a rapt, dreaminess pervading his actions and speech, and for the greater portion of the time he would be silent.

Not that this was observed, for the doctor chatted and said enough for all – telling stories, relating the experiences of himself and the curate in the woods, while Helen sat back in her chair proud and listless, her eyes half closed, and a languid look of hauteur in her handsome face. When addressed she would rouse herself for the moment, but sank back into her proud listlessness directly, looking bored, and as if she tolerated, because she could not help it, the jokes and sallies of the doctor.

The incident of the tall, fair young man was dead and buried. Whatever encouraging looks he may have had before, however his young love may have begun to sprout, it had been cut off by the untimely frost of Helen Perowne’s indifference; for no matter how often he might waylay the school during walks, he never now received a glance from the dark beauty’s eyes.

The unfortunate youth, after these meetings, would console himself with the thought that he could place himself opposite in church, and there dart appeal into her eyes; but the very first Sunday he went it was to find that Helen had changed her seat, so that it was her back and not her face at which he gazed.

A half-crown bestowed upon the pew-opener – young men at such times are generous – remedied this difficulty, and in the afternoon he had secured a seat opposite to Helen once again; but the next Sunday she had again changed her place, and no matter how he tried, Helen always avoided his gaze.

A month killed the tender passion, and the young gentleman disappeared from Mayleyfield for good – at least so it is to be hoped, for no ill was heard of the hapless youth, the first smitten down by Helen Perowne’s dark eyes.

“And I am very glad we never see him now,” said Helen one day when they were staying at the Rectory, and incidentally the troubles at Miss Twettenham’s were named.

“So am I,” said Grey, quietly. “It was such a pity that you should have noticed him at all.”

“Nonsense! He was only a silly overgrown boy; but oh, Grey, child,” cried Helen, in a burst of confidence, “isn’t the Reverend Arthur delicious?”

“Delicious?” replied Grey, gazing at her wonderingly. “I don’t understand you.”

“Oh, nonsense! He is so droll-looking, so tall and thin, and so attentive. I declare I feel sometimes as if I could make everyone my slave.”

“Oh! Helen, pray don’t talk like that!” cried Grey, in alarm.

“Why not? Is a woman to be always wearing a pinafore and eating bread and butter? I’m not a child now. Look, there comes Dr Bolter along the lane. Stand back from the window, or he’ll be blowing kisses at us, or some nonsense. I declare I hate that man!”

“I like Dr Bolter,” said Grey, quietly.

“Yes, you like everyone who is weak and stupid. Dr Bolter always treats me as if I were a child. A silly, fat, dumpy little stupid; feeling my pulse and making me put out my tongue. He makes my fingers tingle to box his ears.”

“I think Dr Bolter takes great interest in us,” said Grey, slowly, and she stood gazing through the open window of their bedroom at the figure of the little doctor, as he came slowly down the lane, his eyes intent upon the weeds, and every now and then making a dart at some plant beneath the hedge, and evidently quite forgetful of his proximity to the Rectory gate.

“Interest, yes!” cried Helen, who, in the retirement of their bedroom threw off her languid ways, and seemed full of eagerness and animation. “A nice prospect for us, cooped up on board ship with a man like that! I declare I feel quite ashamed of him. I wonder what sort of people we shall have as cabin passengers.”

“They are sure to be nice,” said Grey.

“There will be some officers,” continued Helen; “and some of them are sure to be young. I’ve heard of girls going out to India being engaged to be married directly. I say, Miss Demure, what fun it would be if we were to be engaged directly.”

Grey Stuart looked at her old schoolfellow, half wondering at her flippancy, half in pain, but Helen went on, as if getting rid of so much vitality before having to resume her stiff, distant ways.

“Did you notice how silly the Reverend Arthur was last night?”

“No,” replied Grey. “I thought he was very kind.”

“I thought he was going down upon his knees to kiss my feet!” cried Helen, with a mocking laugh; and her eyes sparkled and the colour came brightly in her cheeks. “Oh, Grey, you little fair, soft, weak kitten of a thing, why don’t you wake up and try to show your power.”

“Nelly, you surprise me!” cried Grey. “How can you talk so giddily, so foolishly about such things.”

“Because I am no longer a child,” cried the girl, proudly, and she drew herself up and walked backwards and forwards across the room. “Do you suppose I do not know how handsome I am, and how people admire me? Well, I’m not going to be always kept down. Look at the long, weary years of misery we have had at that wretched school.”

“Helen, you hurt me,” said Grey. “Your words are cruel. No one could have been kinder to us than the Miss Twettenhams.”

“Kinder – nonsense! Treated us like infants; but it is over now, and I mean to be free. Who is that on the gravel path? Oh! it’s poor Miss Rosebury. What a funny, sharp little body she is!”

“Always so kind and genial to us,” said Grey.

“To you. She likes you as much as she detests me.”

“Oh, Nelly!”

“She does; but not more than I detest her. She would not have me here at all if she could help it.”

“Oh! why do you say such things as that, Helen?”

“Because they are true. She does not like me because her brother is so attentive; and she seemed quite annoyed yesterday when the doctor spent so long feeling my pulse and talking his physic jargon to me. And – oh, Grey, hush! Come gently – here, beside this curtain! Don’t let them see you! What a discovery! Let’s go and fetch the Reverend Arthur to see as well.”

“Oh, Helen, how wild you are! What do you mean?”

“That!” whispered Helen, catching her schoolfellow tightly by the arm as she wrenched her into position, so that she could look out of the little flower-decked window. “What do I mean? Why that! See there!”

Volume One – Chapter Nine.
“I am Forty-Four.”

There was very little to see; and if Grey Stuart had accidentally seen what passed with unbiased eyes, she would merely have noted that, as Dr Bolter encountered Miss Rosebury at the gate, he shook hands warmly, paused for a moment, and then raised one of the lady’s soft, plump little hands to his lips.

Grey would not have felt surprised. Why should she? The Reverend Arthur Rosebury was Dr Bolter’s oldest and dearest friend, to whom the Rosebury’s were under great obligations; and there was nothing to Grey Stuart’s eyes strange in this warm display of friendship.

Helen gave the bias to her thoughts as she laughingly exclaimed:

“Then the silly little woman was jealous of him yesterday. Oh, do look, Grey! Did you ever see anything so absurd! They are just like a pair of little round elderly doves. You see if the doctor does not propose.”

“What nonsense, Helen!” cried Grey, reproachfully. “You are always talking and thinking of such things as that. Miss Rosebury and Dr Bolter are very old friends.”

“That they are not. They never met till a few weeks ago; and perhaps, madam, the time may come when you will talk and think about such things as much as I.”

Certainly there was little more to justify Helen Perowne’s remark as the doctor and Miss Rosebury came along the garden path, unless the unusual flush in the lady’s cheek was the effect of the heat of the sun.

But Helen Perowne was right, nevertheless, for a strange tumult was going on in little Miss Rosebury’s breast.

She knew that Dr Bolter, although he had not said a word, was day by day becoming more and more impressive and almost tender in his way towards her.

He lowered his voice when he spoke, and was always so deeply concerned about her health, that more than once her heart had been guilty of so peculiar a flutter that she had been quite angry with herself; going to her own room, taking herself roundly to task, and asking whether, after living to beyond forty, she ought ever for a moment to dream of becoming different from what she was.

That very day, after feeling very much agitated by Dr Bolter’s gravely-tender salute at the gate, she was completely taken by surprise.

For towards evening, when the Reverend Arthur had asked Helen if she would take a turn round the garden, and that young lady had risen with graceful dignity, and asked Grey to be their companion, Miss Rosebury and the doctor were left in the drawing-room alone.

The little lady’s soul had risen in opposition to her brother’s request to Helen, and she had been about to rise and say that she too would go, when she was quite disarmed by Helen herself asking Grey to accompany them, and she sank back in her seat with a satisfied sigh.

“I declare the wicked thing is trying to lead poor Arthur on; and he is so weak and foolish that he might be brought to make himself uncomfortable about her.”

She sat thinking for a few moments as the girls left the room, and then settled herself in her chair with a sigh.

“It is all nonsense,” she said to herself; “Arthur is like me – too old now ever to let such folly trouble his breast.”

A loud snap made her start as Dr Bolter closed his cigar-case after spending some time in selecting a cigar, one which he had made up his mind to smoke in the garden.

Just then their eyes met, and the little lady rose, walked to her writing-table, took a brass box from a drawer, struck a match, and advanced with it in her fingers towards the doctor.

He replaced his cigar-case, and held out one hand for the match, took it, and blew it out before throwing it from the open window.

“Was it not a good one?” said Miss Rosebury, beginning to tremble.

“No,” he said, quickly, as he thrust the cigar into his waistcoat pocket; “and I could not smoke here.”

As he spoke he took the little lady’s hand in his left and looked pleadingly in her face.

“Dr Bolter!” she exclaimed; and there was anger in her tone.

“Don’t – don’t,” he exclaimed, huskily, and as if involuntarily his forefinger was pressed upon her wrist – “don’t be agitated Miss Rosebury. Greatly accelerated pulse – almost feverish. Will you sit down?”

Trembling, and with her face scarlet, he led the little lady to the couch, where, snatching her hand away, she sank down, caught her handkerchief from her pocket, covered her face with it, and burst into tears.

“What have I done?” he cried. “Miss Rosebury – Miss Rosebury – I meant to say – I wished to speak – everything gone from me – half dumb – my dear Mary Rosebury – Mary – I love you with all my heart!”

As he spoke he plumped down upon his knees before her and tried to remove her hands from her face.

For a few moments she resisted, but at last she let them rest in his, and he seemed to gain courage and went on:

“It seemed so easy to tell you this; but I, who have seen death in every form, and been under fire a dozen times, feel now as weak as a girl. Mary, dear Mary, will you be my wife?”

“Oh, Dr Bolter, pray get up, it is impossible. You must be mad,” she sobbed. “I must be mad to let you say it.”

“No, no – no, no!” he cried. “If I am mad, though, let me stay so, for I never was so happy in my life.”

“Pray – pray get up!” she cried, still sobbing bitterly; “it would look so foolish if you were seen kneeling to an old woman like me.”

“Foolish! to be kneeling and imploring the most amiable, the dearest woman – the best sister in the world? Let them see me; let the whole world see me. I am proud to be here begging you – praying you to be my wife.”

“Oh! no, no, no! It is all nonsense. Oh, Dr Bolter, I – I am forty-four!”

“Brave – courageous little woman,” he cried, ecstatically, “to tell me out like that! Forty-four!”

“Turned,” sobbed the little lady; “and I never thought now that anybody would talk to me like this.”

“I don’t care if you are fifty-four or sixty-four!” cried the little doctor excitedly. “I am not a youth, Mary. I’m fifty, my dear girl; and I’ve been so busy all my life, that, like our dear old Arthur, I have never even thought of such a thing as marriage. But since I have been over here – seen this quiet little home, made so happy by your clever hands – I have learned that, after all, I had a heart, and that if my dear old friend’s sweet sister would look over my faults, my age, my uncouth ways, I should be the happiest of men.”

“Pray – pray get up, doctor,” said Miss Rosebury sadly.

“Call me Harry, and I will,” he cried, gallantly.

“No, no!” she said, softly, and there was something so firm and gentle in her words that he rose at once, took the seat she pointed to by her side, and would have passed his arm round her shapely little waist, but she laid one hand upon his wrist and stayed him.

“No, Henry Bolter,” she said, firmly; “we are not boy and girl. Let us act like sensible, mature, and thoughtful folk.”

“My dear,” he said, and the tears stood in his eyes, “I respect and love you more and more. What is there that I would not do?”

She beamed upon him sweetly, and laid her hand upon his as they sat there side by side in silence, enjoying a few brief moments of the greatest happiness that had ever been their lot, and then the little lady spoke:

“Henry,” she said, softly, “my dear brother’s dearest friend – my dearest friend – do not think me wanting in appreciation of what you have said.”

“I could never think your words other than the best,” he said, tenderly; and the little lady bowed her head before resuming.

“I will not be so foolish as to deny that in the past,” she went on, “there have been weak times when I may have thought that it would be a happy thing for a man whom a woman could reverence and respect as well as love to come and ask me to be his wife.”

“As I would always strive to make you respect me, Mary,” he said, softly; and he kissed her hand.

“I know you would,” she said, “but it cannot be.”

“Mary,” he cried, pleadingly, “I have waited and weighed all this, and asked myself whether it was vanity that made me think your dear eyes lighted up and that you were glad to see me when I came.”

“You did not deceive yourself,” she said, softly. “I was glad to see my dear brother’s friend when he first came, and that gladness has gone on increasing until, I confess to you freely, it will come upon me like some great sadness when the time is here for you to go away.”

“Say that again,” he cried, eagerly.

“Why should I?” she said, sadly.

“Then – then you do love me, Mary?”

“I – I think so,” she said, softly; and the little lady’s voice was very grave; “but love in this world has often to give way to duty.”

“Ye-es,” he said, dubiously; “but where two people have been waiting such a precious long time before they found out what love really is, it seems rather hard to be told that duty must stand first.”

“It is hard, but it is fact,” she said.

“I don’t know so much about that,” said the little doctor. “Just now I feel as if it was my bounden duty to make you my happy little wife.”

“And how can I think it my duty to accept you?” she said, smiling.

“Well, I do ask a great deal,” he replied. “It means going to the other side of the world; but, my dear Mary, you should never repent it.”

“I know I never should,” she replied. “We have only lately seen one another face to face, but I have known you and your kindness these many years.”

“Then why refuse me?”

“For one thing, I am too old,” she said, sadly.

“Your dear little heart is too young, and good, and tender, you mean.”

She shook her head.

“That’s no argument against it,” he said. “And now what else?”

“There is my brother,” she replied, speaking very firmly now.

“Your brother?”

“You know what dear Arthur is.”

“The simplest, and best, and truest of men.”

“Yes,” she cried, with animation.

“And a clever naturalist, whose worth has never yet been thoroughly known.”

“He is unworldly to a degree,” continued the little lady; “and as you justly say, the simplest of men.”

“I would not have him in the slightest degree different,” cried the doctor.

“I scold him a good deal sometimes,” said the little lady, smiling; “but I don’t think I would have him different in the least.”

“No; why should we?” said the doctor.

That we was a cunning stroke of diplomacy, and it made Miss Rosebury start. She shook her head though directly.

“No, Henry Bolter,” she said, firmly, “it cannot be.”

“Cannot be?” he said, despondently.

“No; I could not leave my brother. Let us join them in the garden!”

“I am not to take that for an answer?” cried the doctor.

“Yes,” she replied; “it would be cruel to leave him.”

“But Mary, dear Mary, you do not dislike me!” cried the little doctor. “I’m not much to look at I know; not a very gallant youth, my dear!”

“I think you are one of the best of men! You make me very proud to think that – that you could – could – ”

“And you have owned to liking me, my dear?” he whispered. “Say yea. Arthur would soon get used to your absence; and of course, before long we should come back.”

“No,” she said firmly, “it could not be!”

“Not be!” he said in a tone of so much misery that little Miss Rosebury added:

“Not for me to go out there. We must wait.”

“Wait!”

“Yes; a few years soon pass away, and you will return.”

“But we – I mean – I am getting so precious old,” said the doctor dismally.

“Yes, we should be much older, Henry,” said the little lady sweetly, as she held out her hand; “but surely our esteem would never fade.”

“Never!” he cried, kissing her hand again; and then he laid that hand upon his arm, and they went out into the garden, where the little lady’s eyes soon made out the Reverend Arthur bending over his choicest flowers, to pick the finest blossoms for a bouquet ready for Helen Perowne to carelessly throw aside.

Satisfied that her brother was in no imminent danger with Grey Stuart present, little Miss Rosebury made no opposition to a walk round; the doctor thinking that perhaps, now the ice was broken, he might manage to prevail.

“How beautiful the garden is!” said the little lady, to turn the conversation.

“Beautiful, yes! but, my dear madam,” exclaimed the doctor, in didactic tones, “a garden in Malaya, where I ask you to go – the jungle gorgeous with flowers – the silver river sparkling in the eternal sunshine – the green of the ever-verdant woods – the mountains lifting – ”

“Thank you, doctor,” said the little lady, “that is very pretty; but when I was a young girl they took me to see the ‘Lady of Lyons,’ and I remember that a certain mock prince describes his home to the lady something in that way – a palace lifting to eternal summer – and lo! as they say in the old classic stories, it was only a gardener’s cottage after all!”

The matter-of-fact little body had got over her emotion, and this remark completely extinguished the doctor for the time.

Volume One – Chapter Ten.
Miss Rosebury Speaks Seriously

The next day, when the visitors had been driven back by the Reverend Arthur, his sister met him upon the step, and taking his arm, led him down the garden to the vine-house.

“Let us go in here, Arthur,” she said. “It is such a good place to talk in; there is no fear of being overheard.”

“Yes, it is a quiet retired place,” he said thoughtfully.

“I hope you were careful in driving, and had no accident, Arthur?”

“N-no; I had no accident, only I drove one wheel a little up the bank in Sandrock Lane.”

“How was that? You surely did not try to pass another carriage in that narrow part?”

“N-no,” hesitated the Reverend Arthur. “Let me see, how was it? Oh, I remember. Miss Perowne had made some remark to me, and I was thinking of my answer.”

“And nearly upset them,” cried Miss Rosebury. “Oh! Arthur – Arthur, you grow more rapt and dreamy every day; What is coming to you I want to know?”

The Reverend Arthur started guiltily, and gazed at his sister.

“Oh! Arthur,” she cried, shaking a warning finger at him, “you are neglecting your garden and your natural history pursuits to try and make yourself a cavalier of dames, and it will not do. There – there, I won’t scold you; but I am beginning to think that it will be a very good thing when our visitors have gone for good.”

The Reverend Arthur sighed, and half turned away to snip off two or three tendrils from a vine-shoot above his head.

“I want to talk to you very seriously, Arthur,” said the little lady, whose cheeks began to flush slightly with excitement; and she felt relieved as she saw her brother turn a little more away.

“I want to talk to you very seriously indeed,” said Miss Rosebury.

“I am listening,” he said hoarsely; but she did not notice it in her excitement.

There was a minute’s pause, during which the Rev. Arthur broke off the young vine-shoot by accident, and then stood trying to replace it again.

At last Miss Rosebury spoke.

“Arthur,” she said – and her brother started and seemed to shiver, though she saw it not – “Arthur, Henry Bolter has asked me to be his wife!”

The Reverend Arthur turned round now in his astonishment, with his face deadly white and the tiny beads of perspiration upon his forehead. “Asked you to be his wife?” he said. “Yes, dear.”

“I am astonished,” cried the Reverend Arthur. “No, I am not,” he added thoughtfully. “He seemed to like you very much, Mary.”

“And I like him very much, Arthur, for I think him a truly good, amiable, earnest man.”

“He is my dear Mary – he is indeed; but – but – ”

“But what, Arthur? Were you going to say that you could not spare me?”

“I – I hardly know what I was about to say, Mary, you took me so by surprise. It would be very strange, though, to be here without you.”

“And you will not be, Arthur. I felt that I must tell you. I have nothing that I keep from you; but I have refused him.”

“You have refused him,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, I felt that it would not be right to let a comparative stranger come in here and break up at once our happy little home. No, Arthur, this must all be like some dream. You and I, dear brother, are fast growing into elderly people; and love such as that is the luxury of the young.”

“Love such as that,” said the Reverend Arthur, softly, “is the luxury of the young!”

“Yes, dear brother, it would be folly in me to give way to such feelings!”

“Do you like Harry?” he exclaimed, suddenly.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I have felt day by day, Arthur, that I liked him more and more. It was and is a wonder to me at my age; but I should not be honest if I did not own that I liked him.”

“It is very strange, Mary,” said the curate, softly.

“Yes, it is very strange,” she said; “and as I think of it all, I am obliged to own to myself, that after all I should have liked to be married. It is such a revival of the past.”

The curate nodded his head several times as he let himself sink down upon the greenhouse steps, resting his hands upon his knees.

“But it is all past now, Arthur,” said the lady, quickly, and the tears were in her eyes, “we are both too old, my dear brother; and as soon as these visitors are gone, we will forget all disturbing influences, and go back to our happy old humdrum life.”

She could not trust herself to say more, but hurried off to her room, leaving the Reverend Arthur gazing fixedly at the red-brick floor.

“We are too old,” he muttered softly, from time to time; and as he said those words there seemed to stand before him the tall, well-developed figure of a dark-eyed, beauteous woman, who was gazing at him softly from between her half-closed, heavily-fringed lids.

“We are too old,” he said again; and then he went on dreaming of that day’s drive, and Helen’s gentle farewell – of the walks they had had in his garden – the flowers she had taken from his hand. Lastly, of his sister’s words respecting disturbing influences, and then settling down to their own happy humdrum life once again.

“It is fate!” he said, at last – “fate. Can we bring back the past?”

He felt that he could not, even as his sister felt just then, as she knelt beside one of the chairs in her own sweet-scented room, and asked for strength, as she termed it, to fight against this temptation.

“No,” she cried, at last; “I cannot – I will not! For Arthur’s sake I will be firm.”

Volume One – Chapter Eleven.
A Difficulty Solved

A week passed, during which all had been very quiet at the Rectory, brother and sister meeting each other hour by hour in a kind of saddened calm. The Reverend Arthur was paler than usual, almost cadaverous, while there was a troubled, anxious look in little Miss Rosebury’s eyes, and a sharpness in her voice that was not there on the day when Dr Bolter proposed.

No news had been heard of the young ladies at Miss Twettenham’s; and Dr Bolter, to Miss Rosebury’s sorrow, had not written to her brother.

But she bravely fought down her suffering, busying herself with more than usual zeal in home and parish; while the Reverend Arthur came back evening after evening faint, weary, and haggard, from some long botanical ramble.

The eighth day had arrived, and towards noon little Miss Rosebury was quietly seated by the open window with her work, fallen upon her knee, and a sad expression in her eyes as she gazed wistfully along the road, thinking, truth to tell, that Dr Bolter might perhaps come in to their early dinner.

Doctors were so seldom ill, or perhaps he might be lying suffering at some hotel.

The thought sent a pang through the little body, making her start, and seizing her needle, begin to work, when a warm flush came into her cheeks as she heard at one and the same time the noise of wheels, and a slow, heavy step upon the gravel.

The step she well knew, and for a few moments she did not look up; but when she did she uttered an exclamation.

“Tut – tut – tut!” she said. “If anyone saw poor Arthur now they would think him mad.”

Certainly the long, gaunt figure of the Reverend Arthur Rosebury, in his soft, shapeless felt hat, and long, clinging, shabby black alpaca coat, was very suggestive of his being a kind of male Ophelia gone slightly distraught as the consequence of a disappointment in love.

For in the heat of a long walk the tie of his white cravat had gone round towards the nape of his neck, while his felt hat was decorated to the crown with butterflies secured to it by pins. The band had wild flowers and herbs tucked in here and there. His umbrella – a very shabby, baggy gingham – was closed and stuffed with botanical treasures; and his vasculum, slung beneath one arm, was so gorged with herbs and flowers of the field that it would not close.

He was coming slowly down the path as wheels stopped at the gate just out of sight from the window, where little Miss Rosebury sat with her head once more bent down over her work; but she could hear a quick, well-known voice speaking to the driver of the station fly; then there was the click of the latch as the gate swung to, and the little lady’s heart began to go pat, pat – pat, pat – much faster than the quick, decided step that she heard coming down the long gravel path.

Her hearing seemed to be abnormally quickened, and she listened to the wheels as the fly drove off, and then heard every word as the doctor’s quick, decided voice saluted his old friend.

“Been horribly busy, Arthur,” he cried; “but I’m down at last. Where’s Mary?”

Hiding behind the curtain, for she had drawn back to place her hand upon her side to try and control the agitated beating of her foolish little heart.

“Oh, it is dreadful! How can I be so weak?” she cried angrily, as she made a brave effort to be calm – a calmness swept away by the entrance of the doctor, who rushed in boisterously to seize her hands, and before she could repel him, he had kissed her heartily.

“Eureka! my dear Mary! Eureka!” he cried. “I have it – I have it!”

“Henry – Dr Bolter!” she cried, with a decidedly dignified look in her pleasant face.

“Don’t be angry with me, my dear,” he cried; “the news is so good. You couldn’t leave poor Arthur, could you?”

“No!” she cried, with an angry little stamp, as she mentally upbraided him for tearing open the throbbing wound she was striving to heal. “You know I will not leave him.”

“I love and honour you for it more and more, my dear,” he cried. “But what do you think of this? Suppose we take him with us?”

“Take him with us?” said the little lady, slowly.

“Yes,” cried the doctor, excitedly; “take him with us, Mary – my darling wife that is to be. The chaplaincy of our settlement is vacant. Did you ever hear the like?”

Little Miss Rosebury could only stare at the excited doctor in a troubled way, for she understood him now, though her lips refused to speak.

“Yes, and I am one of the first to learn the news. I can work it, I feel sure, if he’ll come. Then only think; lovely climate, glorious botanical collecting trips for him! The land, too, whence Solomon’s ships brought gold, and apes, and peacocks. Ophir, Mary, Ophir! Arthur will be delighted.”

“Indeed!” said that lady wonderingly.

“Not a doubt about it, my dear. My own discovery. All live together! Happiness itself.”

“But Arthur is delicate,” she faltered. “The station is unhealthy.”

“Am not I there? Do I not understand your brother thoroughly? Oh! my dear Mary, do not raise obstacles in the way. It is fate. I know it is, in the shape of our Political Resident Harley. He came over with me, and goes back in the same boat. He has had telegrams from the station.”

“You – you take away my breath, doctor,” panted the little lady. “I must have time to think. Oh! no, no, no; it is impossible. Arthur would never consent to go.”

“If you will promise to be my wife, Mary, I’ll make him go!” cried the doctor, excitedly.

“No, no; he never would. He could not give up his position here, and I should not allow him. It would be too cruelly selfish on my part. It is impossible; it can never be.”

The next moment the doctor was alone, for Miss Rosebury had hurried out to go and sob passionately as a girl in her own room, waking up more and more, as she did, to the fact that she had taken the love distemper late in life; but it was none the weaker for being long delayed.

“It isn’t impossible, my dear,” chuckled the doctor, as he rubbed his hands; “and if I know anything of womankind, the darling little body’s mine. I hope she won’t think I want her bit of money, because I don’t.”

He took a turn up and down the room, rubbing his hands and smiling in a very satisfied way.

“I think I can work Master Arthur,” he said. “He’ll be delighted at the picture I shall paint him of our flora and fauna. It will be a treat for him, and we shall be as jolly as can be. We’ll see about duty and that sort of thing. Why, it will be a better post for him ever so much, and he’s a splendid old fellow.”

There was another promenade of the room, greatly to the endangerment of Miss Rosebury’s ornaments. Then the doctor slapped one of his legs loudly.

“Capital!” he cried. “What a grand thought. What a card to play! That will carry her by storm. I’ll play that card at our next interview; but gently, Bolter, my boy, don’t be in too great a hurry! She’s a splendid specimen, and you must not lose her by being precipitate; but, by Jove! what a capital thought – tell her it will be quite an act of duty to come with me and act a mother’s part to those two girls.”

“She’ll do it – she’ll do it,” he cried, after a pause, “for she quite loves little Grey, and a very nice little girl too. Then it will keep that dark beauty out of mischief, for hang me if I think I could get her over to her father disengaged, and so I told Harley yesterday.”

The doctor did knock off an ornament from a stand at his next turn up and down the room, breaking it right in two; and this brought him to his senses, as, full of repentance, he sought the Reverend Arthur Rosebury in his study to act as medium and confess his sin.

Volume One – Chapter Twelve.
Playing the Card

The Reverend Arthur had removed the butterflies and wild flowers from his hat by the time Dr Bolter reached him, and was walking slowly up and down the study with his hands clasped behind him.

There was a wrinkled look of trouble in his face.

As the doctor entered he smilingly placed a chair for his friend, and seemed to make an effort to get rid of the feeling of oppression that weighed him down.

Then they sat and talked of butterflies and birds for a time, fencing as it were, for somehow Dr Bolter felt nervous and ill at ease, shrinking from the task which he had set himself, while the Reverend Arthur, though burning to ask several questions upon a subject nearest his heart, shrank from so doing lest he should expose his wound to his friend’s inquisitorial eyes.

“I declare I’m as weak as a child,” said the doctor to himself, after making several vain attempts at beginning. “It’s dreadfully difficult work!” and he asked his friend if the lesser copper butterfly was plentiful in that district.

“No,” said the Reverend Arthur, “we have not chalk enough near the surface.”

Then there was a pause – a painful pause – during which the two old friends seemed to be fighting hard to break the ice that kept forming between them.

“I declare I’m much weaker than a child,” said the doctor to himself; and the subject was the next moment introduced by the Reverend Arthur, who, with a guilty aspect and look askant, both misinterpreted by the doctor, said, hesitatingly:

“Do you know for certain when you go away, Harry?”

“In three weeks, my boy, or a month at most, and there is no time to lose in foolish hesitation, is there?”

“No, of course not. You mean about the subject Mary named?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” cried the doctor, who was now very hot and excited. “You wouldn’t raise any objection, Arthur?”

“No, I think not, Harry. It would be a terrible loss to me.”

“It would – it would.”

“And I should feel it bitterly at first.”

“Of course – of course,” said the doctor, trying to speak; but his friend went on excitedly.

“Time back I could not have understood it; but I am not surprised now!”

“That’s right, my dear Arthur, that’s right; and I will try and make her a good husband.”

“She is a very, very good woman, Harry!”

“The best of women, Arthur, the very best of women; and it will be so nice for those two girls to have her for guide.”

“Do – do they go – both go – with you – so soon?” said the Reverend Arthur, wiping his wet forehead and averting his head.

“Yes, of course,” said the doctor, eagerly.

“And – and does Mary say she will accept you, Harry?”

“No,” said a quick, decided voice. “I told him I could not leave you, Arthur;” and the two gentlemen started guiltily from their chairs.

“My dear Mary,” said the curate, “how you startled me.”

“I have not had time to tell him yet,” said the doctor, recovering himself; and taking the little lady’s hand, he led her to the chair he had vacated, closed the door, and then stood between brother and sister. “I have not had time to tell him yet, my dear Miss Rosebury, but I have been saying to him that it would be so satisfactory for you to help me in my charge of those two young ladies.”

Miss Rosebury started in turn, and coloured slightly.

“And now, my dear old friend,” said the doctor, “let me ask you, treating you as Mary’s nearest relative, will you give your consent to our marriage?”

“No, Arthur, you cannot,” said the little lady, firmly. “I could not leave you.”

“But I have an offer to make you, my dear old friend,” said the doctor; “the chaplaincy at our station is vacant; will you come out with us and take it? There will be no separation then, and – ”

He stopped short, for at his words the Reverend Arthur seemed to be galvanised into a new life. He started from his seat, the listless, saddened aspect dropped away, his eyes flashed, and the blood mounted to his cheeks.

“Come with you?” he cried. “Chaplaincy? Out there?”

It seemed as if he had been blinded by the prospect, for the next moment he covered his face with his hands, and sank back in his seat without a word.

“I knew it!” cried little Miss Rosebury, in reproachful tones; and, leaving her chair, she clung to her brother’s arm. “I told you he could not break up his old home here. No, no, Arthur, dear Arthur, it is all a foolish dream! I do not wish to leave you – I could not leave you. Henry Bolter, pray – pray go,” she said, piteously, as she turned to the doctor. “We both love you dearly as our truest friend; but you place upon us burdens that we cannot bear. Oh, why – why did you come to thus disturb our peace? Arthur, dear brother, I will not go away!”

“Hush! hush, Mary!” the curate said, from behind his hands. “Let me think. You do not know. I cannot bear it yet!”

“My dear old Arthur,” began the doctor.

“Let me think, Harry, let me think,” he said, softly.

“No, no, don’t think!” cried the little lady, almost angrily. “You shall not sacrifice yourself for my sake! I will not be the means of dragging you from your peaceful happy home – the home you love – and from the people who love you for your gentle ways! Henry Bolter, am I to think you cruel and selfish instead of our kind old friend?”

“No, no, my dear Mary!” cried the doctor, excitedly. “Selfish? Well, perhaps I am, but – ”

“Hush!” said the curate softly; and again, “let me think.”

A silence fell upon the little group, and the chirping of the birds in the pleasant country garden was all that broke that silence for many minutes to come.

Then the Reverend Arthur rose from his seat and moved towards the door, motioning to them not to follow him as he went out into the garden, and they saw him from the window go up and down the walks, as if communing with all his familiar friends, asking, as it were, their counsel in his time of trial.

At last he came slowly back into the room, where the elderly lovers had been seated in silence, neither daring to break the spell that was upon them, feeling as they did how their future depended upon the brother’s words.

They looked at him wonderingly as he came into the room pale and agitated, as if suffering from the reaction of a mental struggle; but there was a smile of great sweetness upon his lips as he said, softly:

“Harry, old friend, I never had a brother. You will be really brother to me now.”

“No, no!” cried his sister, excitedly. “You shall not sacrifice yourself like this!”

“Hush, dear Mary,” he replied calmly; “let me disabuse your mind. You confessed to me your love for Harry Bolter here. Why should I stand in the way of your happiness?”

“Because it would half kill you to be left alone.”

“But I shall not be left alone,” he cried, excitedly. “I shall bitterly regret parting from this dear old home; but I am not so old that I could not make another in a foreign land.”

“Oh! Henry Bolter,” protested the little lady, “it must not be!”

“But it must,” said her brother, taking her in his arms, and kissing her tenderly. “There are other reasons, Mary, why I should like to go. I need not explain what those reasons are; but I tell you honestly that I should like to see this distant land.”

“Where natural history runs mad, Arthur,” cried the doctor, excitedly. “Hurrah!”

“Oh, Arthur!” cried his sister, “you cannot mean it. It is to please me.”

“And myself,” he said, quietly. “There; I am in sober earnest, and I tell you that no greater pleasure could be mine than to see you two one.”

“At the cost of your misery, Arthur.”

“To the giving of endless pleasure to your husband and my brother,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling; and before she could thoroughly realise the fact, little quiet Miss Mary Rosebury was sobbing on the doctor’s breast.

Volume One – Chapter Thirteen.
On the Voyage

In these busy days of rail and steam, supplemented by their quick young brother electricity, time seems to go so fast that before the parties to this story had thoroughly realised the fact, another month had slipped by, another week had been added to that month, the Channel had been crossed, then France by train, and at Marseilles the travellers had stepped on board one of the steamers of the French company, the Messageries Maritimes, bound for Alexandria, Aden, Colombo, Penang, and then, on her onward voyage to Singapore and Hong Kong, to drop a certain group of her passengers at the mouth of the Darak river, up which they would be conveyed by Government steamer to Sindang, the settlement where Mr Harley, her Britannic Majesty’s Resident at the barbaric court of the petty Malay Rajah-Sultan Murad had the guidance of affairs.

It was one of those delicious, calm evenings of the South, with the purple waters of the tideless Mediterranean being rapidly turned into orange and gold. Away on the left could be seen, faintly pencilled against the sky, the distant outlines of the mountains that shelter the Riviera from the northern winds. To the right all was gold, and purple, and orange sea; and the group seated about the deck enjoying the comparative coolness of the evening knew that long before daybreak the next morning they would be out of sight of land.

There were a large number of passengers; for the most part English officials and their families returning from leave of absence to the various stations in the far East; and as they were grouped about the spacious quarter-deck of the sumptuously-fitted steamer rapidly ploughing its way through the sun-dyed waters, the scene was as bright and animated as painter could depict.

Gentlemen were lounging, smoking, or making attempts to catch the fish that played about the vessel’s sides without the slightest success; ladies were seated here and there, or promenading the deck, while other groups were conversing in low tones as they drank in the soft, sensuous air, and wondered how people could be satisfied to exist in dull and foggy, sunless England, when nature offered such climes as this.

“In another half-hour, Miss Perowne, I think I shall be able to show you a gorgeous sunset, if you will stay on deck.”

The speaker was a tall, fair man by rights, but long residence in the East had burned his skin almost to the complexion of that of a Red Indian. He was apparently about forty, with high forehead, clear-cut aquiline features, and the quick, firm, searching look of one accustomed to command and master men.

He took off his puggree-covered straw hat as he spoke, to let the cool breeze play through his hair, which was crisp and short, but growing so thin and sparse upon the top that partings were already made by time, and he would have been looked upon by every West-end hair-dresser as a suitable object to be supplied with nostrums and capillary regenerators galore.

“Are the sunsets here very fine?” said Helen, languidly, as she lay back in a cane chair listlessly gazing through her half-closed eyes at the glittering water that foamed astern, ever widening away from the churning of the huge propeller of the ship.

“Very grand some of them, but nothing to those we shall show you in the water-charged atmosphere close to the equator. Ah, Miss Stuart, come here and stop to see the sunset. You grieve me, my child,” he added, smiling, and showing his white teeth.

“Grieve you, Mr Harley, why?” said Grey, smiling.

“Because I feel as if I were partner in the crime of taking you out to Sindang to turn that fair complexion of yours brown.”

“Grey Stuart is very careless about such things,” said Helen, with languid pettishness. “How insufferably hot it is!”

“Well,” said Mr Harley, laughing, “you are almost queen here already, Miss Perowne; everyone seems to constitute himself your slave. Shall we arm ourselves with punkahs, and waft sweet southern gales to your fair cheeks?”

“Here! Hi, Harley!” cried the brisk voice of Dr Bolter from the forward part of the vessel.

“’Tis the voice of the male turtle-dove,” said Mr Harley, laughing. “He is separated from his mate. Have I your permission to go, fair queen?”

Helen’s eyes opened widely for a moment, and she darted an angry look at the speaker before turning away with an imperious gesture, when, with a meaning smile upon his lip, Neil Harley, Her Britannic Majesty’s Political Resident at Sindang, walked forward.

“That man irritates me,” said Helen, in a low, angry voice. “I began by disliking him; I declare I hate him now!”

“Is it not because you both try to say sharp-edged words to each other, Helen?” said Grey Stuart, seating herself by her schoolfellow’s side, and beginning to work. “Mr Harley is always very kind and nice to me.”

“Pah! He treats you like a child!” said Helen, contemptuously.

“Well,” said Grey, smiling in her companion’s face, “I suppose I am a child to him. Here comes Mr Rosebury.”

“I wish Mr Rosebury were back in England,” said Helen, petulantly. “He wearies me with his constant talk about the beauties of nature. I wish this dreadful voyage were over!”

“And we have hardly begun it, Helen,” said Grey, quietly; but noticing that her companion’s face was flushed, she said, anxiously, “Are you unwell, dear?”

“Unwell? No.”

There was something strange in Helen’s behaviour, but she had the skill to conceal it, as the newly-appointed chaplain of Sindang came slowly up and began to talk to Helen in his dry, measured way, trying to draw her attention to the beauty of the evening, but without avail, for she seemed distraite, and her answers were sometimes far from pertinent to the subject in question.

Just then Mrs Doctor Bolter came bustling up, looking bright, eager, and full of animation.

She darted an uneasy look at her brother, and another at Helen, which was returned by one full of indifference, almost defiance, as if resenting the little lady’s way, and Mrs Bolter turned to Grey Stuart.

“Where is my husband, my dear?” she said. “I declare this ship is so big that people are all getting lost! Oh! here he comes! Now there – just as if there were no sailors to do it – he must be carrying pails of water!”

For the little doctor came panting along with a bucket of water in each hand, the Resident walking by his side till the two vessels were plumped down in front of Helen’s chair.

“Now, my dear Harry, what are you doing?” began the little lady, in tones of remonstrance.

“All right, my dear. Two pails full of freshly-dipped sea water. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will close round, I will show you some of the marvels of creation.”

As quite a little crowd began to collect, many being ladies, at whom the little doctor’s wife – only a few days back elderly Miss Rosebury – directed very sharp, searching glances, especially when they spoke to her husband, Helen rose with a look of annoyance from her chair and began to walk forward.

She was hesitating about going farther alone, when a low voice by her ear said, softly:

“Thank you, Miss Perowne. Suppose you take my arm? We will walk forward into the bows.”

“Mr Harley!” said the lady, drawing back, with her eyes full of indignation.

“I think I was to show you the beauty of the sunset,” he said. “We can see it so much better from the bows, and,” he added, meaningly, “I shall have so much better an opportunity to say that which I wish to say.”

“What you wish to say, Mr Harley?”

“Yes,” he replied, taking her hand, drawing it quickly through his arm, and leading her down the steps.

“I wish to return, Mr Harley,” she said, imperiously.

“You shall return, my dear young lady, when I have said that which I wish to say.”

“What can you wish to say to me?” she said, haughtily.

“That which your eyes have been asking me if I could say, ever since we met a fortnight ago, Helen, and that which I have determined to say while there is time.”

Helen Perowne shrank away, but there was a power of will in her companion that seemed to subdue her, and in spite of herself she was led to the forward part of the vessel, just as the sun had dipped below the horizon; the heavens were lit up like the sea with a gorgeous blaze of orange, purple, green, and gold; and little Mrs Doctor Bolter exclaimed:

“That wicked, coquettish girl away again! Grey Stuart, my dear, where has your schoolfellow gone?”

Volume One – Chapter Fourteen.
A Troublesome Charge

Neil Harley, in spite of his strong power of will, had said but very few words to Helen Perowne before little Mrs Doctor Bolter bustled up.

“Oh, Mr Harley!” she exclaimed, “you have carried off my charge.”

“Yes,” he replied, smiling pleasantly; “we came forward to have a good view of the sunset.”

“Because you could see it so much better at the other end?” said Mrs Bolter, drily.

“No; but because we could see it uninterruptedly,” replied the Resident, coolly.

“Oh no, you could not, Mr Harley,” continued the little lady, “because you see I have come to interrupt your tête-à-tête. Helen, my dear, will you come back and join us on the other deck?”

“To be sure she will, my dear Mrs Bolter, and I shall come too. There, mind those ropes. That’s better. What a glorious evening! I hope I am to have the pleasure of showing you ladies many that are far more beautiful on the Darak river.”

Little Mrs Bolter looked up at him meaningly; but the Resident’s eyes did not flinch; he only gave her a quiet nod in reply, and they climbed once more to the quarter-deck, where, in preparation for the coming darkness, the sailors were busily hanging lamps.

They had no sooner reached the group of people around Dr Bolter, than, as if to revenge herself for the annoyance to which she had been subjected, Helen disengaged her hand, walked quickly up to the Reverend Arthur, and began to talk to him in a low earnest voice.

“If she would only keep away from poor Arthur,” muttered the little lady, “I would not care – she is making him infatuated. And now there’s Henry talking to that thin dark lady again. I wish he would not talk so much to her.”

“Married late in life,” said the Resident, quietly, as he lit a cigar; “but she seems to have her share of jealousy. She’s a dear, good little woman, though, all the same.”

He walked to the side watching Helen where she stood beneath one of the newly lit lamps, looking very attractive in the faint reflected rays of the sunset mingled with those shed down from above upon her glossy hair.

“Why does she go so much to gossip with that chaplain? If it is to pique me it is labour in vain, for I have not a soupçon of jealousy in my composition. She is very beautiful and she knows it too. What a head and neck, and what speaking eyes!”

He stood smoking for a few minutes and then went on:

“Speaking eyes? Yes, they are indeed. It is no fancy, but it seems to have been to lead me on; and as I judge her, perhaps wrongfully, she loves to drag every man she sees in her train. Well, she has made a mistake this time if she thinks she is going to play with me. I feel ashamed of myself sometimes when I think of how easily I let her noose me, but it is done.”

He lit a fresh cigar, and still stood watching Helen.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “I have called myself idiot for this sudden awakening of a passion that I thought dead; but no, the man who receives encouragement from a woman like that is no idiot. It is the natural consequence that he should love her.”

Just then three or four of the passengers, officers and civil officials, sauntered up to Helen, and after the first few words she joined with animation in the conversation; but not without darting a quick glance once or twice in the Resident’s direction.

“No,” he said, softly; “the man who, receiving encouragement, becomes deeply in love with you, fair Helen, is no idiot, but very appreciative, for you are a beautiful girl and very fond of admiration.”

He did not move, but still watched the girl, who began to stand out clearly against the lamp-light now, more attractive than he had ever seen her.

“Yes,” he said; “you may flirt and coquet to your heart’s content, but it will have no effect upon me, my child. I don’t think I am a conceited man, but I know I am strong, and have a will. Let me see, I have known you since I went down, at Bolter’s request, to be his best man at the wedding, and I had you, my fair bridesmaid, under my charge, with the result that you tried to drag me at your car. Well, I am caught, but take care, my child, prisoners are dangerous sometimes, and rise and take the captor captive.”

“Yes,” he continued, “some day I may hold you struggling against my prisoning hands – hands that grasp you tenderly, so that your soft plumage may not be ruffled, for it is too beautiful to spoil.”

Just then there was a sally made by a French officer of the vessel, and Helen’s silvery laugh rang out.

“Yes, your laugh is sweet and thrilling,” he continued softly. “No doubt it was a brilliant compliment our French friend paid. I don’t think I am vain, if I say to myself even that laugh was uttered to pique me. It is an arrow that has failed, for I am in a prophetic mood. I have seen the maidens of every land almost beneath the sun, and allowing for savagery, I find them very much the same when they turn coquettes. You could not understand my meaning this evening, eh? Well, we shall see. Go on, coquette, and laugh and dance in the sun till you are tired. I’ll wait till then. The effervescence and froth of the cup will have passed away, and there will be but the sweet, clear wine of your woman’s nature left for me to drink. I’ll wait till then.”

Again Helen’s laugh rang out, but the Resident remained unmoved.

“Am I a coxcomb – a conceited idiot?” he said; then softly, “I hope not. Time will prove.”

“I don’t care, Harry; I will not have it!”

“But it is only girlish nonsense, my dear.”

“Then the young ladies in our charge shall not indulge in girlish nonsense. It is not becoming. Grey Stuart never gets a cluster of young men round her like a queen in a court.”

“More fools the young men, my dear,” said the doctor; “for Grey is really as sweet a maiden as – ”

“Henry!”

“Well, really, my dear, I mean it. Hang it, my dear Mary! don’t think I mean anything but fatherly feeling towards the child. Hallo, Harley! you there? Why are you not paying your court yonder?”

“Because, my dear Bolter, your good lady here has given me one severe castigation to-day for the very sin.”

“There I think you are wrong, Mary,” said the doctor, quickly; “and I will say that I wish you, a stable, middle-aged man, and an old friend of her father’s, would go and spend more time by her side; it would keep off these buzzing young gnats.”

“If I said anything unkind, Mr Harley,” said the little lady, holding out her hand, “please forgive me. I only wish to help my husband to do his duty towards the young lady who is in our charge.”

“My dear Mrs Bolter,” said the Resident, taking the extended hand, “I only esteem my dear old friend’s wife the more for the brave way in which she behaved. I am sure we shall be the firmest of friends!”

“I hope we shall, I am sure,” said the little lady, warmly.

“What do you say, Bolter?”

“I know you will,” cried the doctor. “You won’t be able to help it, Harley. She is just the brave, true lady we want at the station to take the lead and rule the roost. She’ll keep all the ladies in order.”

“Now, Henry!”

“But you will, my dear; and I tell you at once that Neil Harley here will help you all he can.”

Five minutes later the doctor and his wife were alone, the former being called to account for his very warm advocacy of Mr Harley.

“Well, my dear, he deserves it all,” said the doctor.

“But I don’t quite like his behaviour towards Helen Perowne,” said the little lady; “and now we are upon the subject, Harry, I must say that I don’t quite like your conduct towards that girl.”

The doctor turned, took her hands, held them, and laughed.

“Why, what a droll little body you are, Mary!”

“And why, sir, pray?” said the lady, rather sharply.

“Four or five months ago, my dear, I don’t believe you knew the real meaning of the word love, and now I honestly believe you are finding out the meaning of the word jealousy as well; but seriously, my dear, that girl makes me shiver!”

“Shiver, sir! Why?”

“She’s a regular firebrand coming amongst our young men. She’ll do no end of mischief. I see it as plain as can be, and I shall have to set to as soon as I get home to compound a fresh medicine – pills at night, draught in the morning – for the cure of love-sickness. She’ll give the lot the complaint. But, you dear, silly little old woman, you don’t think that I – oh! – oh! come, Mary, Mary, my dear!”

“Well, there, I don’t think so, Harry,” said the little lady, apologetically, “but she is so horribly handsome, and makes such use of those dreadful eyes of hers, that it makes me cross when I see the gentlemen obeying her lightest beck and call.”

“Well, she does lead them about pretty well,” chuckled the doctor. “She’s a handsome girl!”

“Henry!”

“Well, my dear, I’ll think she’s as ugly as sin if you like.”

“And in spite of all you say of Mr Harley, I don’t think he is behaving well. She gave him a few of those looks of hers when he came down to our wedding, and he has been following her ever since. I’ve watched him!”

“What a wicked wretch!” chuckled the little doctor. “Has he taken a fancy to a pretty girl, then, and made up his mind to win? Why, he’s as bad as that scoundrel Harry Bolter, who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and did not.”

“Now, don’t talk nonsense, Henry. This is too serious a subject for joking.”

“I am as serious as a judge, Polly.”

“What!”

“Is there anything the matter, my dear?” said the little doctor, who was startled by the lady’s energy.

“What did you call me, sir?”

“Polly, my dear; tender pet name for Mary.”

“Never again please, dear Henry,” said the little lady. “I don’t wish to be too particular, and don’t mind tenderness – I – I – rather like it, dear. But do I look like a lady who could be called Polly?”

“Then it shall always be Mary, my dear,” said the doctor; “and I won’t joke about serious matters. As to Neil Harley and Helen Perowne, you’re quite right; but ’pon my word, I don’t see why we should interfere as long as matters don’t go too far.”

“I do not agree with you, Henry.”

“You have not heard my argument, my dear,” he said taking her hand, drawing it through his arm, and walking her up and down the deck. “Now look here, my dear Mary, six months ago you were a miserable unbeliever.”

“A what?” cried the lady, indignantly.

“A miserable unbeliever. You had no faith in its being the duty of all ladies to get married; and I came to your barbarous little village and converted you.”

“Oh, yes, I had great belief,” said the little lady, quietly.

“Well, then, you were waiting for the missionary to come and lead your belief the right way. Now then, my dear, don’t you see this? Suppose a place where there are a dozen ladies and only one gentleman. How many can be married?”

“Why, only one lady, of course,” said Mrs Doctor.

“Exactly, my dear,” said the doctor; “but it is a moral certainty that the gentleman will be married.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” replied Mrs Doctor.

“Suppose so? Why, they’d combine and kill him for an unnatural monster if he did not marry one of them,” said the doctor, laughing. “Well, then, my dear, suppose we reverse the case, and take a young and very handsome lady to a station in an out-of-the-way part of the world, where the proportions are as one to twenty – one lady to twenty gentlemen – what is the moral result?”

“I suppose she would be sure to be married?”

“Exactly, my dear. Well, as our handsome young charge evidently thinks a very great deal about love-making – ”

“A very great deal too much,” said Mrs Doctor, tartly.

“Exactly so, my dear. Well, she is going to such a place. What ought we to do?”

“See of course that she does not make a foolish match.”

“Ex – actly!” cried the doctor. “Well, Harley seems to have taken a fancy to her at once. Good man – good position – not too old.”

“I don’t know,” said the lady, dubiously, “I don’t quite think they would match.”

“I do,” said the doctor, sharply. “The very man. Plenty of firmness. He’s as genial and warm-hearted as a man can be; but he has a will like iron. He’d break in my young madam there; and, by Jove! ma’am, if I am a judge of woman’s nature – ”

“Which you are not, sir,” said the lady, sharply. “Well, perhaps not; but I do say this – if ever there was a Petruchio cut out for our handsome, dark-eyed Katherine, then Neil Harley is the man!”

“Here, doctor, where are you? Come along!” cried the gentleman in question. “Music – music! Miss Perowne has promised to sing!”

“Have you been persuading her, Mr Harley?” said the little lady.

“I? My dear madam, no! She refused me; but has been listening to the blandishments of Captain Lindley; and – there – she is beginning. By Jove! what a voice!”

Volume One – Chapter Fifteen.
Lieutenant Chumbley

A rapid and pleasant voyage, with a touch here and there at the various ports, giving the two girls, just fresh from their life of seclusion, a glance at the strange mixture of nationalities collected together in these pauses of commercial transit.

It was one continuous scene of interest to Grey Stuart, who was never weary of gazing at the hurrying crowds and the strange customs of these far-off towns; while Helen, if persuaded to land, found the heat too oppressive, and preferred a cane lounge in the shade of an awning, with four or five gentlemen in attendance with fans, iced water, or fruit.

The Resident was constant in his attentions to her, and tried, whenever the steamer put into port, to get her to join some excursion, the most notable of which was at Ceylon; but she invariably refused, when he would laughingly turn to Grey and ask her to be his companion.

Mrs Doctor looked serious at first; but, particular as she was, she gave way, for the Resident’s behaviour to the bright English girl was beyond reproach.

“You’ll understand Harley better by-and-by,” said the doctor. “He’s a very old friend of her father, and he might be the girl’s uncle from his way.”

“But do you think it will be proper to let her go?” said the little lady.

“I’ll answer for Harley’s conduct, my dear. If ever there was a gentleman it is he. Let her go.”

So Grey often became Neil Harley’s companion in these excursions, returning delighted with the wonders of each place; while the Resident was loud in his praises of her quiet, sensible appreciation of all they saw.

“She’s a very amiable, sweet, intelligent girl, Mrs Bolter,” he said one evening, as he sat with the doctor and his wife.

“Do you think so, Mr Harley?” said the lady drily.

“Indeed I do, ma’am,” he replied, “and I am very proud to know her.”

“Better hook her, Harley,” said the doctor, with a twinkle of the eye, as he saw his wife’s serious, suspicious glances. “She’ll be caught up like a shot.”

“Then I hope you and Mrs Bolter will help and see that she makes no foolish match. I beg her pardon, though,” he added, hastily; “she is not a girl who would do that.”

“You are first in the field,” said the doctor, in spite of an admonitory shake of the head from his lady. “Why not make your hay while the sun shines?”

The Resident sat gazing very seriously out at sea, and his voice was very low and tender as he replied:

“No; Miss Stuart is a young lady for whom I feel just such sentiments as I should presume a man would feel for his bright, intelligent child. That is all, Mrs Bolter,” he said, turning quickly. “I ought to congratulate you upon the warm hold you have upon Miss Grey’s affections.”

He rose then and walked away, with the little doctor’s wife watching him intently.

“Henry,” she said suddenly, “that man is either a very fine fellow or else he is an arch-hypocrite.”

“Well, I’ll vouch he isn’t the last,” said the doctor, warmly, “for I’ve known him ten years, and I’ve had him down twice with very severe attacks of fever. I know him by heart. I’ve sounded him all over, heart, lungs, liver: he hasn’t a failing spot in his whole body.”

“Bless the man!” said Mrs Doctor, “just as if that had anything to do with his character for honesty and truth. Now look there, Henry, really I cannot bear it much longer. That girl’s conduct is scandalous?”

“What, Grey Stuart’s?”

“No; absurd! Helen Perowne’s. Why the young men all seem to be mad.”

“Moths round a candle,” said the doctor. “There, don’t worry yourself, my dear, it’s only her way. She loves admiration, and young fellows admire her, so it suits both sides.”

“But I don’t like a young lady who is under our charge to be so fond of admiration.”

“Oh, there’s no harm in her. She is one of those ladies who seem to have been born to exact attention; and as there are plenty ready to pay toll, why, what does it matter?”

“It matters a great deal,” said the little lady, indignantly; “and no good will come of it. One day she is trying to lead Mr Harley at her heels like a lapdog; the next day it is Captain Lindley; the next, Mr Adjutant Morris; then Lieutenant Barlow. Why, she was making eyes at Captain Pennelle yesterday at dinner. I declare the girl seems quite to infatuate the men, and you see if trouble does not come of it.”

“Oh, tut! tut! Nonsense, my dear, what trouble should come?”

“Quarrels, and duels, and that sort of thing.”

“Men don’t fight duels now, my dear. Oh, no, don’t you be uneasy. We shall soon be at Sindang now, and then we can hand your incubus over to papa Perowne, and be free of it all.”

“I shall be very glad, I’m sure,” said the lady. “There look at her. I suppose that’s the last conquest!”

“Whom do you mean?” said the doctor, drowsily, for he had just settled himself for a nap in the yielding cane chair.

“That great, tall young officer, who came on board at Colombo.”

“Oh, Chumbley,” said the doctor, looking up and following his wife’s eyes to where a great broad-shouldered fellow was bending down talking to Helen Perowne, who seemed to be listening eagerly to his words, as if on purpose to annoy the half-dozen gentlemen forming her court.

He was a fine, well-set-up young fellow, looking like a lifeguardsman picked from among a selection of fair, curly-haired Saxons, and, evidently flattered by the lady’s notice, he was doing his best to make himself agreeable.

“You may call it what you like,” said Mrs Doctor. “I call it scandalous! Here’s the very last arrival in the ship.”

“Regularly subjugated,” laughed the doctor.

“It is nothing to laugh at,” said the lady, indignantly. “I declare I have a good mind to go and interfere.”

“No, no, don’t,” said the doctor earnestly. “She means no harm, and you may only make a breach between you.”

“I don’t care, Henry; it is for the girl’s sake that I should interfere; and as to the breach, she utterly detests me as it is for what I have said. I think she hates me as much as I do her.”

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense, Mary, you could not hate anyone; and as to Helen Perowne’s foolish coquetry, it will all settle down into the love of some stout brave fellow.”

“Such as that of Lieutenant Chumbley.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Well I hope so, I’m sure. One ought to have a big strong man to keep all the others away, for if ever there was a heartless coquette it is she; and the sooner we can place her in her father’s hands the happier I shall be.”

“Would you mind whisking a fly off now and then with your handkerchief, Mary,” said the little doctor, drowsily, as he settled himself for his nap.

“I know there’ll be some mischief come out of it all,” said the little lady, as she drove a couple of flies from her husband’s nose.

“Only – few days – old Perowne – sure to meet us, and – ”

The handkerchief was kept busily whisking about, for the flies were tiresome, and the doctor was fast asleep, only turning restlessly now and then, when in her eagerness to watch Helen Perowne and Lieutenant Chumbley – the young officer coming out to join the regiment into which he had exchanged with the hope of getting variety and sport – Mrs Doctor forgot to act as guardian against the flies.

Volume One – Chapter Sixteen.
A Dangerous Creature

At last Mrs Bolter’s troubles were, as she said, at an end, for the great steamer had transferred a portion of her passengers to the station gunboat at the mouth of the Darak river. There had been a quick run up between the low shores dense with their growth of mangrove and nipah palm. The station had been reached, and the ladies transferred to the arms of their fathers, both waiting anxiously for the coming boat upon the Resident’s island, where in close connection with the fort Mr Harley’s handsome bungalow had been built.

For the first few days all was excitement at Sindang, for the report of the beauty of “Old Stuart’s” daughter, and above all that of the child of the principal merchant in the place, created quite a furore among the officers of the two companies of foot stationed at the fort, and the young merchants and civil officers of the place.

“It is really a very, very great relief, Henry,” said Mrs Doctor. “I can sleep as easily again now those girls are off my hands. I mean that girl; but really I don’t feel so satisfied as I should like, for though I know Helen Perowne to be safe in her father’s charge, I am not at all sure that my responsibility has ceased.”

“Ah, you must do what you can for the motherless girls, my dear. Eh, Arthur? what do you say?”

“I quite agree with you, Harry,” said the new chaplain, quietly; “but the change to here is – is rather confusing at first.”

“Oh, you’ll soon settle down, old fellow; and I say, Mary, my dear, it is a beautiful place, is it not?”

“Very, very beautiful indeed,” replied the little lady; “but it is very hot.”

“Well, say warmish,” said the doctor, chuckling; “but I did not deceive you about that. You’ll soon get used to it, and you won’t be so ready to bustle about; you must take it coolly.”

“As you do?” said Mrs Doctor, smiling.

“As I do? Oh, I’m the doctor, and here is every one getting his or her liver out of order during my absence! My hands are terribly full just now; but we shall soon settle down. How is the church getting on, Arthur?”

“Slowly, my dear Harry,” said the Reverend Arthur, in his quiet way. “They are making the improvements I suggested. Mr Perowne subscribed handsomely, and Mr Harley is supplying more labour; but I’m afraid I was rather negligent this morning, for I strolled away towards the woods.”

“Jungle, my dear fellow, jungle! but don’t go again without me; I’m more at home here than you.”

“But the woods – I mean jungle – looked so beautiful; surely there is nothing to fear.”

“Not much – with care,” replied the doctor, “but still there are dangers – fever, sunstroke, tigers, crocodiles, poisonous serpents, venomous insects and leeches.”

“Goodness gracious!” ejaculated Mrs Doctor. “Arthur, you are on no account to go again!”

“But, my dear Mary – ” said the chaplain, meekly.

“Now, don’t argue, Arthur. I say you are on no account to go again!”

“But really, my dear Mary – ”

“I will listen to no excuse, Arthur. Unless Henry, who understands the place, accompanies you, I forbid your going again. I hope you have not been into any other dangerous place.”

“Oh, no, my dear Mary; I only went and called upon Mr Perowne.” Mrs Bolter started, and the doctor burst into a roar of laughter.

“Ha, ha, ha!” he cried. “Why, my dear boy, that’s a far more dangerous place than the jungle.”

“I – I do not understand you, Henry,” said the chaplain, with a faint flush in his cheek.

“Not understand me, my dear fellow! Why, Perowne keeps a most ferocious creature there, and it’s loose too.”

“Loose?” cried Mrs Doctor, excitedly.

“Oh, yes: I’ve seen it about the grounds, parading up and down on the lawn by the river, and in the house as well.”

“Gracious me, Henry, the man must be mad! What is it?” cried Mrs Bolter.

“Regular tigress – man-eater,” said the doctor.

“And you allowed your brother-in-law to go there without warning, Henry? Really, I am surprised at you!”

“Oh! pooh, pooh!” ejaculated the doctor. “Arthur can take care of himself.”

“And here have I accepted an invitation for all of us to go there the week after next to dinner! I won’t go. I certainly will not go.”

“Nonsense, my dear Mary – nonsense!” said the doctor, with his eyes twinkling. “We must go. Perowne would be horribly put out if we did not.”

“Now look here, Henry, when I was a maiden lady I never even kept a cat or a dog, because I said to myself that live animals about a house might be unpleasant to one’s friends. So how do you suppose that when I have become a married lady I am going to sanction the presence of dangerous monsters in a house?”

“Oh, but it won’t hurt you,” said the doctor. “I tell you it’s a man-eater. We must go, Mary.”

“I certainly must beg of you not to ask me,” said the little lady. “My dear Harry, it gives me great pain to go against your wishes, but I could not – I really could not go.”

“Not if I assured you it was perfectly safe?”

“If you gave me that assurance, Henry, I – I think I would go; for I believe you would not deceive me.”

“Never,” said the doctor, emphatically. “Well, I assure you that you need not be under the slightest apprehension.”

“But is it chained up, Harry?”

“Well, no, my dear,” replied the little doctor; “they could not very well chain her up. But I was there yesterday though, and I saw that Perowne had given her a very handsome chain.”

“Then why doesn’t he chain her up? I shall certainly tell Mr Perowne that he ought. This comes of the poor man having no wife and living out in these savage parts. Really, Henry, I don’t think we ought to go.”

“Oh! pooh, pooh – nonsense, my dear! You’ve nothing to mind. I’m not afraid of her. I’ll take care of you.”

“I know you are very good, and brave, and strong, Harry,” said the little lady, smiling, “and if you say it is safe I will go, for I do trust in your knowledge, and – there, now, I declare I am quite angry! You are laughing, sir! I’m sure there is some trick!”

“Trick? What trick?” cried the doctor, chuckling.

“Do you mean to tell me, sir, that Mr Perowne has a wild tigress running about his place?”

“Oh, no; I never said a wild tigress – did I, Arthur?”

“I – I did not quite hear what you said, Henry,” replied the chaplain.

“You said a dangerous creature – a sort of tigress, sir.”

“Right, so I did; and so he has.”

“What is it then?” said Mrs Doctor, very sharply.

“A handsome young woman,” chuckled the doctor – “his daughter Helen.”

“Now, Henry, I do declare that you are insufferable!” cried Mrs Doctor, angrily, as her brother rose softly, walked to the window of the pretty palm-thatched bungalow, and stood gazing out at the bright flowers with which the doctor had surrounded his place.

“Well, it’s true enough,” chuckled the doctor. “I never saw such a girl in my life. She has had that great fellow Chumbley hanging after her for weeks, and now – ”

“And now what, sir?”

Perhaps it was the wind, but certainly just then there was a sound as of a faint sigh from somewhere by the window, and it seemed as if the chaplain was recalling the past days of repose at his little home near Mayleyfield, and wondering whether he had done right to come; but no one heeded him, and the doctor went on:

“Now she seems to have lassoed young Hilton.”

“What, Captain Hilton?”

“Yes, my dear, with a silken lasso; and he is all devotion.”

“Henry, you astound me!” cried Mrs Doctor. “Why, I thought that Mr Harley meant something there.”

“So did I,” said the doctor, “but it seems all off. Harley and Chumbley cashiered, vice Hilton – the reigning hero of the day.”

“Of the day indeed!” exclaimed Mrs Doctor. “I never did see such a girl. It is dreadful.”

“And yet you scolded me for calling her a dangerous creature.”

“Well, I must own that she is, Henry,” said Mrs Doctor; and once more there was a faint sigh by the window.

“She’s a regular man-trap, my dear, and practises with her eyes upon everyone she sees. I don’t think even her great-grandfather would be safe. She actually smiled at me yesterday.”

“What?” cried the little lady.

“Perowne sent for me, you know.”

“Yes, of course, I remember. Go on, Henry.”

“They’d been out together – she wanted to see the Residency island – and then nothing would do but she must have a walk in the jungle; and then, I don’t know whether she began making eyes at the leeches, but half a dozen fastened upon her, of course.”

“Why, of course, sir?”

“Because she went out walking in ridiculous high-heeled low shoes, with fancy stockings.”

“Well, Henry, how tiresomely prolix you are!”

“Well, that’s all, my dear, only that the leeches fastened on her feet and ankles.”

“And did Mr Perowne send for you to take them off?”

“Well, not exactly, my dear, they pulled them off themselves; but one bite would not stop bleeding, and I had to apply a little pad on the instep – wonderfully pretty little ankles and insteps, my dear, when the stockings are off.”

“Doctor Bolter!” exclaimed the little lady in so severe a tone of voice that the subject of Helen Perowne was dismissed, and the culprit allowed to go to his little surgery to see to the compounding of some medicines necessary for his sick.

Volume One – Chapter Seventeen.
Doctor Bolter’s Theory

In a little Eastern settlement, in spite of feelings of caste, the Europeans are so few that rules of society are to a certain extent set aside, so that people mix to a greater degree than in larger towns. In spite of her rather particular, and, to be truthful, rather sharp, old-maidish ways, Mrs Bolter soon found herself heartily welcomed by all, and readily accorded, as the doctor’s wife, almost a leading position in the place.

This position would by rights have been given to the lady of the principal merchant, but Mr Perowne had lost his wife when Helen was very young; and Isaac Stuart – “Old Stuart,” as he was generally called – was no better off, his daughter Grey having been left motherless at a very early age.

The idea of Mr Perowne was that upon his daughter joining him she should take the lead and give receptions; and to this end the first party was arranged, to which Mr and Mrs Doctor Bolter and the chaplain had been invited, the time rapidly coming round, and the guests assembling at Mr Perowne’s handsome house, where the luxurious dinner, served in the most admirable manner by the soft-footed, quiet Chinese servants, passed off without a hitch; and at last, with a smile that seemed to have the effect of being directed at every gentleman at table, Helen Perowne rose, and the ladies left the room.

The conversation soon became general, and then the doctor’s voice rose in opposition to a laugh raised against something he had said.

“Oh, yes,” he cried, “laugh and turn everything I say into ridicule: I can bear it. I have not been out all these years in the jungle for nothing.”

“Does Mrs Bolter approve of your theory, doctor?” said the Resident.

“I have not mentioned it to her, sir,” replied the doctor, glancing at the curtains looped over the open doorway; “and if you have no objection, I will make the communication myself. My journey home and my marriage have put it a good deal out of my head. But what I want to tell all here is, that the thing is as plain as the nose on your face.”

Mr Harley, to whom this was principally addressed, gently stroked the bridge of his aquiline nose, half closed his eyes, and smiled in a good-humoured way.

“That’s right,” said the doctor. “Go on unbelieving. Some day I’ll give you the most convincing proofs that what I say is right.”

“But will Mrs Bolter approve of your running wild in the jungle now you are married?” said the Resident, quietly.

“Pooh, sir – pooh, sir! My wife is a very sensible little woman, isn’t she, Arthur?” he cried; and the chaplain smiled and bowed before lapsing into a dreamy state, and sitting back in his chair, gazing at the curtains hanging softly across the open door.

“Oh, we’re ready enough to believe, doctor,” said the Resident; “don’t be offended.”

“Pooh! I’m not offended,” exclaimed the doctor. “All discoveries get laughed at till the people are forced to believe. Here, young man, you’ve had enough fruit,” he cried sharply, as one of the party stretched forth his hand to help himself to the luscious tropic fruits with which the table was spread.

“What a tyrant you are, doctor,” said the young officer.

“Here, boy,” cried the doctor, to one of the silent Chinese servants gliding about the table, “more ice. – You’re as unbelieving as John Chinaman here.”

“We’ll believe fast enough, doctor,” said the last speaker; “but it is only fair that we should ask for facts.”

“Facts, Captain Hilton,” said the doctor, turning sharply upon the sun-tanned young officer, who, like the rest of the party, was attired in white, for the heat of the large, lightly-furnished room was very great, “facts, sir? What do you want? Haven’t you your Bible, and does it not tell you that Solomon’s ships went to Ophir, and brought back gold, and apes, and peacocks?”

“Yes,” said Captain Hilton, “certainly;” and the Reverend Arthur bowed his head.

“Oh, you’ll grant that,” said the little doctor, with a smile of triumph and a glance round the table.

“Of course,” said the young officer, taking a cigarette.

“I say, Doctor,” said the Resident – “or no; I’ll ask your brother-in-law. Mr Rosebury, did the doctor ventilate his astounding theory over in England?”

“No,” replied the chaplain, smiling, “I have never heard him propound any theory.”

“I thought not,” said the Resident. “Go on, doctor.”

“I don’t mind your banter,” said the little doctor, good-humouredly. “Now look here, Captain Hilton, I want to know what more you wish for. There’s Malacca due south of where you are sitting, and there lies Mount Ophir to the east.”

“But there is a Mount Ophir in Sumatra,” said Lieutenant Chumbley, the big, heavy dragoon-looking fellow, who had not yet spoken.

“In Sumatra?” cried the doctor. “Bah, sir, bah! That isn’t Solomon’s place at all. I tell you I’ve investigated the whole thing. Here’s Ophir east of Malacca, with its old gold workings all about the foot of the mountain; there are the apes in the trees – Boy, more ice.”

“And where are the peacocks?” drawled Chumbley.

“Hark at him!” cried the doctor; “he says where are the peacocks? Look here, Mr Chumbley, if you would take a gun, or a geologist’s hammer, and exercise your limbs and your understanding, instead of dangling about after young ladies – ”

“Shouldn’t have brought them out, doctor,” drawled the young fellow, coolly.

“Or say a collecting-box and a cyanide bottle,” continued the doctor, “instead of getting your liver into a torpid state by sitting and lying under trees and verandas smoking and learning to chew betel like the degraded natives, you would not ask me where are the peacocks?”

“I don’t know where they are, doctor,” said the young man, slowly.

“In the jungle, sir, in the jungle, which swarms with the lovely creatures, and with pheasants too. Pff! ’tis hot – Boy, more ice.”

“Don’t be so hard on a fellow, doctor,” drawled the lieutenant. “I’m new to the country, and I’ve twice as much body to carry about as you have. You’re seasoned and tough; I’m young and tender. So the jungle swarms with peacocks, does it?”

“Yes, sir, swarms,” said the doctor, with asperity. “Well,” said Chumbley, languidly, “let it swarm! I knew it swarmed with mosquitoes.”

“Sir,” said the doctor, contemptuously, as he glanced at the great frame of the young officer, “you never exert yourself, and I don’t believe, sir, that you know what is going on within a mile of the Residency.”

“I really don’t believe I do,” said the young man, with a sleepy yawn. “I say, Mr Perowne, can’t you give us a little more air?”

“My dear Mr Chumbley,” said the host, a thin, slightly grey, rather distingué man, “every door and window is wide open. Take a little more iced cup.”

“It makes a fellow wish he were a frog,” drawled the lieutenant. “I should like to go and lie right in the water with only my nose in the air.”

As he spoke he gazed sleepily through his half-closed eyes at the broad, moonlit river gliding on like so much molten silver, while on the farther bank the palms stood up in columns, spreading their great fronds like lace against the spangled purple sky.

Below them, playing amidst the bushes and undergrowth that fringed the river, it seemed as if nature had sent the surplus of her starry millions from sky to earth, for the leaves were dotted with fire-flies scintillating and flashing in every direction. A dense patch of darkness would suddenly blaze out with hundreds of soft, lambent sparks, then darken again for another patch to be illumined, as the wondrous insects played about like magnified productions of the points of light that run through well-burned tinder.

From time to time there would be a faint plash rise from the river, and the water rippled in the moonbeams, sounds then well understood by the occupants of Mr Perowne’s dining-room, for as the languid lieutenant made another allusion to the pleasure of being a frog, the doctor said, laughing: “Try it Chumbley; you are young and tolerably plump, and it would make a vacancy for another sub. The crocodiles would bless you.”

“Two natives were carried off last week while bathing on the bank,” said a sharp, harsh voice, and a little, thin, dry man who had been lying back in an easy-chair with a handkerchief over his head raised himself and passed his glass to be filled with claret and iced water. “Hah! Harley,” he continued, with a broad Scotch accent, “you ought to put down crocodiles. What’s the use of our having a Resident if he is not to suppress every nuisance in the place?”

“Put down crocodiles, Mr Stuart, eh? Rather a task!”

“Make these idle young officers shoot them then, instead of dangling after our daughters. Set Chumbley to work.”

“The crocodiles never hurt me,” drawled the young man. “Rather ugly, certainly, but they’ve a nice open style of countenance. I like hunting and shooting, but I don’t see any fun in making yourself a nuisance to everything that runs or flies, as the doctor there does, shooting, and skinning and sticking pins through ’em, and putting them in glass cases with camphor. I hope you don’t do much of that sort of thing, Mr Rosebury?”

“I? Oh, no,” said the Reverend Arthur, raising his eyes from a dreamy contemplation of the doorway, through which a pleasant murmur of female voices came. “I – I am afraid I am guilty as to insects.”

“But you draw the line at crocodiles, I suppose? Poor brutes! They never had any education, and if you put temptation in their way, of course they’ll tumble in.”

“And then repent and shed crocodile’s tears,” said Captain Hilton, smiling.

“A vulgar error, sir!” said the doctor, sharply. “Crocodiles have no tear-secreting glands.”

“They could not wipe their eyes in the water if they had, doctor,” said Captain Hilton, merrily.

“Of course not, sir,” said the doctor; “but as I was saying, gentlemen, when Solomon’s ships – ”

“I say, Perowne,” interrupted the little Scotch merchant, in his harsh voice, “hadn’t we better join the ladies? If Bolter is going to ventilate his theory I shall go to sleep.”

“I’ve done,” said the doctor, leaning back and thrusting his hands into his pockets; “but I must say, Stuart, that as an old resident in these parts I think you might give a little attention to a fact of great historical interest, and one that might lead to a valuable discovery of gold. What do you say, Perowne?”

“I leave such matters to you scientific gentlemen,” said the host, carefully flicking a scrap of cigar-ash from his shirt-front.

“You can’t tempt Perowne,” laughed the little Scot. “He is a regular Mount Ophir in himself, and,” he added to himself, “has a flaunting peacock – I mean peahen – of his own.”

“Nay, nay, Stuart,” said the host, smiling meaningly; “I am not a rich man.”

“Oh, no,” chuckled his brother merchant; “he’s as poor as a Jew.”

Mr Perowne shook his head at his harsh-voiced guest, glanced round suavely, as if asking permission of his guests, and then rose from the handsomely-furnished table.

“Then we will join the ladies,” he said, blandly; and the Chinese servants drew aside the light muslin curtains which hung in graceful folds over the arched door.

It was but a few steps across a conservatory, the bright tints of whose rich tropical flowers and lustrous sheen of whose leaves were softened and subdued by the light of some half-dozen large Chinese lanterns, cleverly arranged so as to give the finest effect to the gorgeous plants.

Here several of the party paused for a few moments to gaze through another muslin-draped portal into the drawing-room, whose shaded lamps with their heavy silken fringes cast a subdued light upon a group, the sight of which had a strange effect upon several of the men.

There, in the darker part of the beautifully-furnished room, where the taste of Paris was mingled with the highest and airiest ornamentation of the East, sat little Mrs Doctor very far back in a cane chair – wide awake, as she would have declared had anyone spoken, but with her mouth open, and a general vacancy of expression upon her countenance suggestive of some wonder visible in the land of dreams.

Close by her, upon a low seat, was Grey Stuart, looking very simple and innocent in her diaphanous white dress; but there was trouble in her gentle eyes, and her lips seemed pinched as if with pain, as now and then one of her hands left the work upon which she was engaged to push back a wave of her thick soft hair.

She too was partly in shadow, but as she pushed back the thick fair hair, it was possible to see that there were faint lines of care in her white forehead, for she too was gazing at the group that had taken the attention of the gentlemen leaving their dessert.

For in the centre of the room, just where the soft glow of one of the shaded lamps formed quite a halo round her glistening dark hair, and seemed to add lustre to her large, well-shaped eyes, reclined Helen Perowne. Her attitude was graceful, and evidently studied for effect. One hand rested on the back of the well-stuffed ottoman, so as to display the rounded softness of her shapely arm; while her head was thrown back to place at the same advantage her creamy-hued well-formed throat, and at the same time to allow its owner to turn her gaze from time to time upon the companion standing beside her, grave, statuesque, and calm, but with all the fire of his Eastern nature glowing in his large dark eyes, which needed no interpreter to tell the tale they told.

“A nigger now!” said Lieutenant Chumbley to himself, with a look of contempt at the handsome young hostess. “Well, there’s no knowing what that girl would do.”

“The rajah – the sultan!” muttered Captain Hilton, with a furiously-jealous look. “How dare he! The insolent, dark-skinned cad!”

“Flying at a seat upon an ivory throne in a palm-tree palace, eh, Helen?” mused the Resident, with a quiet smile. “Well, you will exhaust them all in time?”

These thoughts ran through the brains of each of the spectators of the little scene within the drawing-room in turn, but only one of the dinner-party spoke aloud, and that was in a low voice in another’s ear.

It was the little Scotchman, Grey Stuart’s father, who spoke, as he laid his hand upon his host’s shoulder.

“Perowne, mahn,” he whispered, “ye’ll have a care there, and speak to your lass, for there’ll be the deil’s own mischief, and murder too, if she leads that fellow on.”

Volume One – Chapter Eighteen.
Helen Perowne at Home

Sultan Murad, who, from the aspect of affairs in Mr Perowne’s drawing-room, seemed to be the last captive to the bow of Helen’s lips and the arrows of her eyes, was one of the rajahs of the Malay peninsula, living upon friendly terms with the English, paying allegiance to the government, and accepting the friendly services of a Political Resident, in the shape of Mr Harley, whose duties were to advise him in his rule, to help him in any plans for civilising and opening out his country; and in exchange for his alliance and friendly offices with neighbouring chiefs, who viewed the coming of the English with jealous eyes, the rajah was promised the help of the English arms in time of need. As an earnest of this promise, a couple of companies of an English foot regiment were permanently stationed upon a little island in the river, just opposite to Sindang, the principal native town of Jullah, over which territory Sultan Murad reigned.

But the Prince only adopted such of the English customs as suited his tastes. He had no objection, though a follower of Mahomet, to the wines that were introduced, showing a great preference for champagne. Our dress he took to at once, making a point of always appearing in indigo-blue silk stockings and patent-leather shoes. The widest-fronted shirts were spread over his broad breast, and the tail-coat found so much favour that he had to exercise a good deal of self-denial to keep himself from appearing all day long in full evening-dress.

But he had good advisers to help his natural shrewdness, and finding that his adoption of our costume found favour with his English allies, he adhered to it rigorously, as far as his position as sultan or rajah would allow. For there was and is one part of the native dress that no Malay will set aside, and that is the sarong, a tartan scarf sewn together at the ends and worn in folds around the body, so as to form a kilt.

This article of dress, always a check or plaid of some showy-coloured pattern, is worn by every Malay, in silk or cotton, according to his station, and in the sash-like folds he always carries his kris, a dangerous-looking dagger, that falsely bears the reputation of being smeared along its wavy blade with poison.

A silken kilt and a dagger are rather outré objects for an English drawing-room, and looked barbaric and strange as worn by the young rajah, whose evening-dress was otherwise in faultless English style, being in fact the production of a certain tailor, of Savile Row, an artist who had been largely patronised by Murad for shooting and morning gear, and also for his especial pride, a couple of gorgeous uniforms, something between that of a hussar and a field-marshal bound to a review.

The bad name given to a dog dies hard, and in spite of steam and electricity, the idea still lingers in our midst that the Malay is as evil as his kris, and that he is a brutal savage, accustomed to put forth from his campong in a long row-boat, or prahu, to make a piratical attack upon some becalmed vessel. After this it is supposed to be his custom to put the crew to death, plunder the ship, and set it on fire as a finish to his task.

Such deeds have been done, for there are roughs amongst the Malays, even as there are in civilised England. In bygone days, too, such acts were doubtless as common as among our border chieftains; but, as a rule, the Malays are an educated body of eastern people, professing the Mahommedan religion, with an excellent code of laws, punctilious in etiquette, and though exceedingly simple in their habits, far from wanting in refinement.

Sultan Murad was unmistakably a prince, handsome in person, and naturally of a grave and dignified mien, while since his alliance with the English he had become so thoroughly imbued with our habits and the ordinary ways of a gentleman as to make him a visitor well worthy of Helen’s attention for the time.

There was something delightful to her vanity in the eastern term “sultan,” a title associated in her mind with barbaric splendour, showers of diamonds and pearls, cloth of gold, elephants with silver howdahs, attended by troops of slaves bearing peacock fans, chowries, and palm-leaf punkahs. She saw herself in imagination mounted upon some monstrous beast, with a veil of gossamer texture covering her face; a troop of beautiful slaves in attendance, and guards with flashing weapons jealously watching on every side the approach of those who would dare to sun themselves in her beauty.

Her thoughts were so pleasant, that in place of the languid air of repose in her dark, shaded eyes, they would flash out as she listened with a gratified smile to Murad’s eastern compliments and the soft deference in his voice.

He was a real sultan, who, when with the English, adopted their customs; while with his people no doubt he would assume his barbaric splendour; and to Helen, fresh as it were from school, and, revelling in the joys of her new-born power, there was something delicious in finding that she had a real eastern potentate among her slaves.

The Rajah had been talking to her in his soft, pleasant English for some time before the gentlemen left the dining-room. Now Neil Harley separated himself from the rest, sauntered across, nodded to the Rajah, who drew back, and made a flash dart from the young Malay’s eyes as he saw the Resident seat himself in a careless, quite-at-home fashion beside the young hostess.

“Well, Mad’moiselle Helen,” he whispered in a half-contemptuous tone, “how many more conquests this week?”

“I do not understand you, Mr Harley,” she said, coldly; but he noticed that she could hardly manage to contain the annoyance she felt at his cavalier manner.

“Don’t you?” he said, smiling and half closing his eyes. “As you please, most chilling and proud of beauties. What lucky men those are who find themselves allowed to bask in the sunshine of your smiles! There, that is the proper, youthful way of expressing it poetically, is it not?”

“If you wish to insult me, pray say so, Mr Harley, and I will at once leave the room,” said Helen, in a low voice, as if wishful that the Rajah should not hear her words, but making the Malay’s countenance lower as he saw the familiar way in which she was addressed.

“Insult you? All the saints and good people past and to come forbid! It is you who, after making me your slave, turn from me, the elderly beau, to listen to the voice of our dusky charmer. I don’t mind. I am going to chat and listen to little Grey Stuart. I shall be patient, because I know that some day you will return to me cloyed with conquests, and say, ‘Neil Harley, I am yours!’”

“I do not understand you,” she cried, quickly.

“Let me be explicit then,” he said, mockingly. “Some day the fair Helen will come to me and say, with her pretty hands joined together, ‘Neil Harley, I am tired of slaying men. I have been very wicked, and cruel, and coquettish. I have wounded our chaplain; I have slain red-coated officers; I have trampled a Malayan sultan beneath my feet; but I know that you have loved me through it all. Forgive me and take me; I am humble now – I am yours!’”

“Mr Harley!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “How dare you speak to me like this in my father’s house.”

As she spoke her eyes seemed to flash with anger, and he ought to have quailed before her; but he met her gaze with a calm, mastering look, and said slowly:

“Yes, you are very beautiful, and I do not wonder at your triumph in your power; but it is not love, Helen, and some day you will, as I tell you, be weary of all this adulation, and think of what I have said. I am in no hurry; and of course all this will be when you have had your reign as the most beautiful coquette in the East.”

“Mr Harley, if you were not my father’s old friend – ”

“Exactly, my dear child; old friend, who has your father’s wishes for my success with his daughter – old friend, who has known you by report since a child. I have been waiting for you, my dear, and you see I behave with all the familiarity accorded to a man of middle age.”

“Mr Harley, your words are insufferable!” said Helen, still in a low voice.

“You think so now, my dear child. But there: I have done. Don’t look so cross and indignant, or our friend the Rajah will be using his kris upon me as I go home. I can see his hand playing with it now, although he has it enveloped in the folds of his silken sarong in token of peace.”

“I beg you will go,” said Helen, contemptuously; “you are keeping the Rajah away.”

“Which would be a pity,” said the Resident, smiling. “He is a very handsome fellow, our friend Murad.”

“I have hardly heeded his looks,” said Helen, weakly; and then she flushed crimson as she saw Mr Harley’s mocking smile.

“Doosid strange, those fellows can’t come into a gentleman’s drawing-room without their skewers,” said Chumbley, coming up and overhearing the last words. “I say, Miss Perowne, you ought to have stayed and heard the doctor give us a lecture on Ophir and Solomon’s ships. Capital, wasn’t it, Hilton?”

“Really I hardly heard it,” replied the young officer, approaching Helen with a smile; and the Resident met the lady’s eye, and gave her a mocking look, as he rose and made place for the new-comer, who was welcomed warmly. “I was thinking about our hostess, and wondering how long it would be before we were to be emancipated from old customs and allowed to enter the drawing-room.”

“Yes, it is strange how we English cling to our customs, and bring them out even to such places as this,” said the lady, letting her eyes rest softly upon those of the young officer, and there allowing them to stop; but giving a quick glance the next moment at the Rajah, who, with a fixed smile upon his face, was sending lowering looks from one to the other of those who seemed to have ousted him and monopolised the lady’s attention.

“I never felt our customs so tedious as they were to-night,” said Captain Hilton, earnestly; and bending down, he began to talk in a subdued voice, while the gentlemen proceeded to discuss mercantile matters, the probability of the neighbouring Malay princess – the Inche Maida – taking to herself a lord; the latest move made by the governor; and other matters more or less interesting to the younger men.

At last Chumbley, seeing that Harley was chatting with Grey Stuart, crossed over to the doctor’s little lady, who had rather a troubled, uneasy look in her pleasant face as she watched her brother, the chaplain, hanging about as if to catch a word let drop by Helen now and then.

Volume One – Chapter Nineteen.
Signs of the Times

“Well, Mrs Bolter,” drawled Chumbley, “who’s going to carry off the prize?”

“What prize?” cried the little lady, sharply.

“The fair Helen,” said the young man, with a smile.

“You, I should say,” said Mrs Bolter, with more asperity in her tone.

“Chaff!” said Chumbley; and he went on, slowly, “Won’t do, Mrs Doctor; I’m too slow for her. She had me in silken strings for a week like a pet poodle; but I soon got tired and jealous of seeing her pet other puppies instead of me, and I was not allowed to bite them, so – ”

“Well?” said the doctor’s wife, for he had stopped.

“I snapped the string and ran away, and she has never forgiven me.”

“Harry Chumbley,” said the doctor’s wife, shaking her finger at him, “don’t you ever try to make me believe again that you are stupid, because, sir, it will not do.”

“I never pretend to be,” said the young man, with a sluggish laugh, “I’m just as I was made – good, bad and indifferent. I don’t think I’m more stupid than most men. I’m awfully lazy though – too lazy to play the idiot or the lover, or to put up with a flirting young lady’s whims; but I say, Mrs Doctor.”

“Well?” said the lady.

“I don’t want to be meddlesome, but really if I were you, being the regular methodical lady of the station, I should speak seriously to Helen Perowne about flirting with that nigger.”

“Has she been flirting with him to-night?” said the lady eagerly.

“Awfully,” said Chumbley – “hot and strong. We fellows can stand it, you know, and if we get led on and then snubbed, why it makes us a bit sore, and we growl and try to lick the place, and – there’s an end of it.”

“Yes – yes – exactly,” said the lady, thoughtfully.

“But it’s my belief,” continued Chumbley, spreading his words out so as to cover a good deal of space, while he made himself comfortable by stretching out his long legs, lowering himself back, and placing his hands under his head – a very ungraceful position, which displayed a gap between his vest and the top of his trousers – “it’s my belief, I say, that if Beauty there goes on playing with the Beast in his plaid sarong, and making his opal eyeballs roll into the idea that she cares for him, which she doesn’t a single pip – ”

“Go on, I’m listening,” said the doctor’s lady.

“All right – give me time, Mrs Bolter; but that’s about all I was going to say, only that I think if she leads him on as she is doing now there will not be an end of it. That’s all.”

“Well, busy little Grey,” said the Resident, merrily, as he seated himself beside the earnest-eyed Scottish maiden, “what is the new piece of needlework now?”

“Only a bit of embroidery, Mr Harley,” she replied, giving him a quick, animated glance, and the look of trouble upon her face passing away.

“Ha!” he said, taking up the piece of work and examining it intently, “what a strange thing it is that out in these hot places, while we men grow lazier, you ladies become more industrious. Look at Chumbley for instance, he’s growing fatter and slower every day.”

“Oh, but he’s very nice, and frank, and natural,” said Grey with animation.

“Yes,” said the Resident, “he’s a good fellow. I like Chumbley. But look at the work in that embroidery now – thousands and thousands of stitches. Why what idiots our young fellows are!”

“Why, Mr Harley?” said the girl, wonderingly.

“Why, my child? Because one or the other of them does not make a swoop down and persuade you to let him carry you off.”

“Are you all so tired of me already?” said Grey, smiling.

“Tired of you? Oh, no, little one, but it seems to me that you are such a quiet little mouse that they all forget your very existence.”

“I am happy enough with my father, and very glad to join him once more, Mr Harley.”

“Happy? Of course you are; that seems to be your nature. I never saw a girl so sweet, and happy, and contented.”

“Indeed!” said Grey, blushing. “How can I help being happy when everyone is so kind?”

“Kind? Why, of course. Why, let me see,” said the Resident, “how time goes; what a number of years it seems since I took you to England and played papa to you?”

“Yes, it does seem a long time ago,” said Grey, musingly.

“I never thought that the little girl I petted would ever grow into such a beautiful young lady. Perhaps that is why papa Stuart did not ask me to bring you back.”

“Mr Harley!” exclaimed Grey, and a look of pain crossed her face.

“Why, what have I done?” he said.

“Hurt me,” she said, simply. “I like so to talk to you that it troubles me when you adopt that complimentary style.”

“Then I won’t do it again,” he said, earnestly. “We won’t spoil our old friendship with folly.”

“How well you remember, Mr Harley,” said the girl, smiling again.

“Remember? Of course I do, my dear. Don’t you recollect what jolly feeds of preserved ginger and mango you and I used to have? Ah, it was too bad of you to grow up into a little woman!”

“I don’t think we are any the less good friends, Mr Harley,” said the girl, looking trustingly up in his face.

“Not a bit,” he said. “Do you know, my dear, I think more and more every day that I am going to grow into a staid old bachelor; and if I do I shall have to adopt you as daughter or niece.”

“Indeed, Mr Harley.”

“Yes, indeed, my dear. Nineteen, eh? and I am forty-four. Heigho! how time goes!”

“I had begun to think, Mr Harley – ” said Grey, softly. “May I go on?”

“Go on? Of course, my dear. What had you begun to think?”

“That you would marry Helen.”

“Ye-es, several people thought so on shipboard,” he said, dreamily. “Nineteen – twenty-one – forty-four. I’m getting quite an old man now, my dear. Hah!” he said, starting, “I daresay Mademoiselle Helen will have plenty of offers.”

“Yes,” said Grey; “but she should meet with someone firm and strong as well as kind.”

“Like your humble servant?” he said, smiling.

“Yes,” said Grey, looking ingenuously in his face. “Helen is very sweet and affectionate at heart, only she is so fond of being admired.”

“A weakness she will outgrow,” said the Resident, calmly. “I like to hear you talk like that, Grey. You are not jealous, then, of the court that is paid to her?”

“I, jealous?” said Grey, smiling. “Do I look so?”

“Not at all,” said the Resident; “not at all. Beauty and fortune, they are great attractions for men, my dear, and Helen has both. But, my clever little woman, you ought to teach papa to make a fortune.”

Grey shook her head.

“That’s the thing to do nowadays, like our host has done. Perowne is very rich, and if papa Stuart had done as well, we should be having plenty of offers for that busy little hand. Yes, a score at your feet.”

“Where they would not be wanted,” said the girl, quietly.

“Eh? Not wanted?” said the Resident. “What, would you not like to be worshipped, and hold a court like our fair Helen yonder?”

The girl’s eyes flashed as she glanced in the direction of the ottoman, where Captain Hilton was talking in a low, earnest voice to Helen Perowne; and then, with a slightly-heightened colour, she went on with her work, shaking her head the while.

“I don’t think I shall believe that,” said the Resident, banteringly; but as he spoke she looked up at him so searchingly that even he, the middle-aged man of the world, felt disconcerted, and rather welcomed the coming of the little rosy-faced doctor, who advanced on tiptoe, and with a look of mock horror in his face, as he said, softly:

“Let me come here, my dear. Spread one of your dove-wings over me to ensure peace. Madam is wroth with her slave, and I dare not go near her.”

“Why, what have you been doing now, doctor?” said Grey, with mock severity.

“Heaven knows, my dear. My name is Nor – I mean Henry – but it ought to have been Benjamin, for I have always got a mess on hand, lots of times as big as anyone else’s mess. I’m a miserable man.”

Meanwhile the conversation had been continued between the doctor’s lady and Chumbley, till the former began to fidget about, to the great amusement of the latter, who, knowing the lady’s weakness, lay back with half-closed eyes, watching her uneasy glances as they followed the doctor, till after a chat here and a chat there, he made his way to the couch by Grey Stuart, and began to speak to her, evidently in a most earnest way.

“She’s as jealous as a Turk,” said Chumbley to himself; and he tightened his lips to keep from indulging in a smile.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Chumbley,” said Mrs Bolter at last.

“No trouble, Mrs Bolter,” he replied, slowly, though his tone indicated that it would be a trouble for him to move.

“Thank you. I’ll bear in mind what you said about Helen Perowne.”

“And that nigger fellow? Ah, do!” said Chumbley, suppressing a yawn.

“Would you mind telling Dr Bolter I want to speak to him for a moment – just a moment?”

“Certainly not,” said Chumbley; and he rose slowly, as if a good deal of caution was required in getting his big body perpendicular; after which he crossed to where the doctor was chatting to Grey Stuart.

“Here, doctor, get up,” he said. “Your colonel says you are to go to her directly. There’s such a row brewing!”

“No, no! Gammon!” said the little man, uneasily. “Mrs Bolter didn’t send you, did she?”

“Yes. Honour bright! and if I were you I’d go at once and throw myself on her mercy. You’ll get off more easily.”

“No, but Chumbley, what is it? ’Pon my word I don’t think I’ve done anything to upset her to-day.”

“I don’t know. There; she’s looking this way! ’Pon my honour, doctor, you’d better go!”

Dr Bolter rose with a sigh, and crossed to his lady, while Chumbley took his place, and threw himself back, laughing softly the while.

“If that was a trick, Mr Chumbley,” said Grey, gazing at him keenly, “it is very cruel of you!”

“But it wasn’t a trick, Miss Stuart. She sent me to fetch him. The poor little woman was getting miserable because the doctor was so attentive to you.”

“Oh, Mr Chumbley, what nonsense,” said Grey, colouring. “It is too absurd!”

“So it is,” he replied; “but that isn’t.” She followed the direction of his eyes as he fixed them on Captain Hilton and Helen Perowne, and then, with the flush dying out of her cheeks, she looked at him inquiringly.

“I say, Miss Stuart,” he drawled, “don’t call me a mischief-maker, please.”

“Certainly not. Why should I?”

“Because I get chattering to people about Miss Perowne. I wish she’d marry somebody. I say, hasn’t she hooked Bertie Hilton?”

There was no reply, and Chumbley went on: “I mean to tell him he’s an idiot when he gets back to quarters to-night. I don’t believe Helen Perowne cares a sou for him. She keeps leading him on till the poor fellow doesn’t know whether he stands on his head or his heels, and by-and-by she’ll pitch him over.”

Grey bent her head a little lower, for there seemed to be a knot in the work upon which she was engaged, but she did not speak.

“I say, Miss Stuart, look at our coffee-coloured friend. Just you watch his eyes. I’ll be hanged if I don’t think there’ll be a row between him and Hilton. He looks quite dangerous!”

“Oh, Mr Chumbley!” cried Grey, gazing at him as if horrified at his words.

“Well, I shouldn’t wonder,” he continued. “Helen Perowne has been leading him on, and now he has been cut to make room for Hilton. These Malay chaps don’t understand this sort of thing, especially as they all seem born with the idea that we are a set of common white people, and that one Malay is worth a dozen of us.”

“Do – do you think there is danger?” said Grey hoarsely.

“Well, no, perhaps not danger,” replied Chumbley, coolly; “but things might turn ugly if they went on. And it’s my belief that, if my lady there does not take care, she’ll find herself in a mess.”

A more general mingling of the occupants of the drawing-room put an end to the various tête-à-têtes, and Grey Stuart’s present anxiety was somewhat abated; but she did not feel any the more at rest upon seeing that the young rajah had softly approached Hilton, and was smiling at him in an innocently bland way, bending towards him as he spoke, and keeping very close to his side for the rest of the evening.

At last “good-byes” were said, and the party separated, the two young officers walking slowly down towards the landing-stage, to enter a native boat and be rowed to their quarters on the Residency island.

The heat was very great, and but little was said for some minutes, during which Hilton was rapturously thinking of the beauty of Helen’s eyes.

“I say, Chum,” he said suddenly. “Murad has invited me to go on a hunting-trip with him in the interior. Would you go?”

“Certainly – if – ” drawled Chumbley, yawning.

“If? If what!”

“I wanted a kris in my back, and to supply food to the crocodiles.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty.
A Proposal

Mr Perowne’s home at Sindang was kept up in almost princely style, and he was regarded as the principal inhabitant of the place. Both English and Chinese merchants consulted him, and the native dealers and rajahs made him the first offers of tin slabs, rice, gambier, gutta-percha, and other products of the country, while a large proportion of the English and French imports that found favour with the Malays were consigned to the house of Perowne and Company.

People said that he must be immensely rich, and he never denied the impeachment, but went on in a quiet, bland way, accepting their hints, polite to all, whether trading or non-trading, while his table was magnificently kept up, and to it the occupants of the station were always made welcome.

When fate places people in the tropics, they make a point of rising early. Helen Perowne was up with the sun, and dressed in a charming French muslin costume, had a delightful drive, which she called upon Grey Stuart to share, before she met her father at breakfast – a meal discussed almost in silence, for Mr Perowne would give a good deal of his attention to business matters over his meals, a habit against which Dr Bolter warned him, but without avail.

The repast was nearly finished, when a servant entered and announced that the Sultan Murad was coming down the river in his dragon-boat, and evidently meant to land at the stage at the bottom of the garden.

“What does he want?” said the merchant, absently. “Been collecting tribute, I suppose, and wants to sell. Go and see if he lands,” he said aloud, “and then come back.”

“This is the way we have to make our money, my dear,” said Perowne, smiling, but without seeing the increased colour in his child’s face.

“The Sultan is here, sir,” said the man, returning.

“Where?” asked Mr Perowne.

“In the drawing-room, sir. Shall I bring in fresh breakfast?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ring. I’ve done, Helen. I say, young lady, what a colour you have got! You stopped out too long in the sun this morning.”

“Oh, no, papa, I think not,” she replied; “but it is hot.”

“You’ll soon get used to that, my dear. I don’t mind the heat at all. Party went off very well last night, I think.”

The merchant was by this time at the door, wondering what proposal the Rajah had to make to him, for all these petty princes stoop to doing a little trading upon their own account, raising rice in large quantities by means of their slaves; but, man of the world as the merchant was, he did not find himself prepared for the proposition that ensued.

In this case Helen was more prepared than her father, though even she was taken by surprise. She had had her suspicions that the Rajah might take her soft glances and gently-spoken words as sufficient permission for him to speak to her father; and though she trembled at the possible result, there was something so deliciously gratifying to her vanity that she could not help enjoying the position.

To be asked in marriage by a real sultan! What would the Miss Twettenhams say? and if she accepted him she would be sultana. The idea was dazzling at a distance, but even to her romance-loving brain there was something theatrical when it was looked at with the eyes of common sense.

She could not accept him. It was absurd; and after all, perhaps he had no such idea as that in coming. It was, as her father thought, some matter of business, such as he had been in the habit of visiting her father about over and over again, and such as had resulted in the intimacy which made him a welcome guest at the house.

She thought differently, however; and though she assumed surprise, she was in nowise startled when her father returned.

“I say, Nelly!” he exclaimed, looking annoyed, and completely off his balance, “what the dickens have you been about?”

“About, papa?” said the girl, raising her eyebrows, “I don’t understand you!”

“Then the sooner you do the better! I’ve quite enough to worry me without your foolery! Here’s the Rajah come to see me on business.”

“Very well, papa, I don’t understand business,” she said, quietly.

“But you’ll have to understand it!” he cried, angrily. “Here, he says that you have been giving him permission to speak to me; and as far as I can understand him, he proposes for your hand!”

“The Rajah, papa! Oh! absurd!”

“Oh, yes, it’s absurd enough, confound his copper-coloured insolence! But it puts me in a fix with him. If I offend him, I shall offend his people, or he’ll make them offended, and I shall be a heavy loser. Did you tell him to speak to me?”

“Certainly not, papa!”

“Perhaps I misunderstood him, for he speaks horrible English. But whether or no, he proposes that you shall be his wife.”

“His wife, papa! Why, he has a dozen!”

“Yes, my dear, of course; but then these fellows don’t take that into consideration. What the deuce am I to do?”

“Tell him it is an insult to an English lady to propose such a thing!” said Helen, haughtily.

“Yes, that’s easily said; but you must have been leading the fellow on.”

“He was your guest, papa, and I was civil to him,” said Helen, coldly.

“A deal too civil, I’ll be bound! I’m sick of your civilities, Nell, and their consequences! Why can’t you get engaged like any other girl? I wish to goodness you were married and settled!”

“Thank you, papa,” she replied in the same cold, indifferent manner.

“Yes, but this fellow’s waiting to see you. What am I to say.”

“What are you to say, papa? Really you ought to know!”

“But it’s impossible for you to accept him, though he is very rich.”

“Quite impossible, papa!”

“Then he’ll be offended.”

“Well, papa, that is not of much consequence.”

“But it is of consequence – of great consequence! Don’t I tell you it will cause me serious loss; and besides that, it is dangerous to affront a fellow like this. He is only a nigger, of course, but he is a reigning prince, and has great power. He’s as proud as Lucifer; and if he considers that he is affronted, there’s no knowing what may be the consequences.”

“He may carry me off perhaps, papa,” said Helen, showing her white teeth.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that he might not attempt it!”

“Like a baron of old,” said the girl scornfully. “Papa, I am not a child! How can you be so absurd?”

“You can call it what you like,” he said angrily; “but your folly has got us into a pretty mess. Well, you must go in and see him.”

“I? Go in and see him?” cried Helen, flushing. “Impossible, papa!”

“But it is not impossible. I told him I didn’t know what to say till I had seen you, and, what was the perfect truth, that I was quite taken by surprise. Now the best thing will be for you to go in and see him and temporise with him. Don’t refuse him out and out, but try and ease him off, as one may say. Gain time, and the fellow will forget all about it in a month or two.”

“Papa!”

“Ah, you may say —papa; but you have got me into a terrible muddle, and now you must help to get me out of it. I must not have this fellow offended. Confound the insolent scoundrel! Just like the savage. He learns to wear English clothes, and then thinks he is a gentleman, and insults us with this proposal.”

“Yes; insults us papa: that is the word!” cried Helen, with spirit.

“Well, time’s flying, and he is waiting, so go and see him at once, and get it over.”

“But I tell you, papa, I cannot. It is impossible!”

“Why, you were talking to him for long enough last night in the drawing-room. Now, come, Helen, don’t be ridiculous, but go and do as I tell you; and the sooner it is done the better.”

Helen Perowne pressed her lips tightly together, and a look came into her face that betokened obstinate determination of the straightest kind.

“Papa, you make matters worse,” she cried, “by proposing such a degrading task to me. This man is, as you say, little better than a savage. His proposal is an insult, and yet you wish me to go and see him. It is impossible!”

“Don’t I tell you that I have business arrangements with the fellow, and that I can’t afford to lose his custom? And don’t I tell you that, situated as we are here amongst these people, it is not wise to make them our enemies. I don’t want you to snub him. It is only for prudential reasons. Now, come; get it over.”

“I cannot see him! I will not see him!” cried Helen, passionately; and she turned pale now at the idea of encountering the passionate young Malay. For the moment she bitterly regretted her folly, though the chances are that if circumstances tended in that direction she would have behaved again in precisely the same way.

“Now look here, Nelly,” said Mr Perowne, “you must see him!”

For answer she paused for a moment, and then walked straight to the door.

“That’s right,” he said. “Temporise with him a bit, my dear, and let him down gently.”

Helen stood with the door in her hand, and darted at him an imperious look; then she passed through, and the door swung to behind her.

“Confound him! What insolence!” muttered Mr Perowne, as he stood listening. “Eh? No; she wouldn’t dare! Why, confound the girl, she has gone up to her room and locked herself in! What a temper she has got to be sure!”

He gave his head a vicious rub, and then, evidently under the impression that it was in vain to appeal again to his child, he snapped his teeth together sharply, and walked firmly into the drawing-room, where the Rajah stood impatiently waiting his return.

The young eastern prince was most carefully dressed; his morning coat and trousers being from a West-end tailor, and his hands were covered with the tightest of lemon-coloured gloves. In one hand was a grey tall hat, in the other the thinnest of umbrellas. Altogether his appearance was unexceptionable, if he had dispensed with the gaudy silken sarong ablaze with a plaid of green, yellow, and scarlet.

His thick lips were wreathed in a pleasant smile, and his dark, full eyes were half closed; but they opened widely for an instant, and seemed to emit anger in one flash, as he saw that Mr Perowne came back alone.

“Where – is – miss?” he said, in a slow, thick tone.

“Well, the fact is, Rajah,” said Mr Perowne, giving a laugh to clear his throat, “I have seen my daughter, and she asked me to tell you that she is suffering from a bad headache. You understand me?”

The young Rajah nodded, his eyes seeming to contract the while.

“She is of course very much flattered by your proposal – one which she says she will think over most carefully; but she is so surprised, that she can only ask you to give her time. I see you understand me?”

The Rajah nodded again in a quick, eager way.

“English girls do not say yea all at once to a proposal like yours; and if you will wait a few months – of course being good friends all the time – we shall be able to speak more about the subject.”

Mr Perowne, merchant, and man of the world, meant to say all this in a quick, matter-of-fact, frank way, but he stumbled, and spoke in a halting, lame fashion, growing more and more unsatisfactory as the young Malay prince came closer to him.

“I – I think you understand me,” he said, feeling called upon to say something, as the Malay glared at him as if about to spring.

“Yes – yes!” hissed the Malay. “Lies – all lies! I came for friend. You mock – you laugh in my face – but you do not know. I say I came for friend – I go away – enemy!”

He went on speaking rapidly in the Malay tongue, his rage seeming to be the more concentrated from the cold, cutting tone he adopted. Then, nearly closing his eyes, and giving his peculiar type of features a crafty, cat-like aspect, he gazed furiously at the merchant for a few minutes, and then turned, and seemed to creep from the house in a way that was as feline as his looks.

Volume One – Chapter Twenty One.
Taking Alarm

Mr Perowne drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the dew from his forehead.

“Good Heavens!” he ejaculated, “they assassinated poor Rodrick, and here is that girl only home for a few weeks, and a shock like this to come upon me! Surely I’ve troubles enough on hand without a worry like this!”

He walked to the window and saw the Malay prince entering his boat by the landing-place, where it was pushed off and pulled into mid-stream by a dozen stout rowers.

“The man’s mad with passion,” muttered Mr Perowne. “I would not have had it happen for all I possess. Women always were at the bottom of every bit of mischief, but I did not expect Helen would begin so soon.”

He had another look at the Rajah’s handsome boat, which took the place of a carriage in that roadless place, and saw that the Malay prince had turned and was gazing back.

“I don’t know what’s to be the end of all this, and – Oh, Harley! is that you? Come in.”

The Resident, looking rather troubled and anxious, came in through the veranda, gazing sharply at Mr Perowne.

“What has the Rajah been here for this morning?”

“What has he been here for?” cried Mr Perowne, angrily, and glad of someone upon whom he could let off a little of his rage. “Why, to do what you ought to have done in a downright way. I gave you leave, and you have done nothing but play with her.”

“He has not been to propose for Helen’s hand?”

“Indeed, but he has.”

“How unfortunate! I did not know that matters had gone so far as that?”

“Nor I neither. I knew she was flirting a bit, confound her. Did you meet him?”

“Yes, and he would not speak. I saw something was wrong from his savage manner.”

“Perhaps he thought you had come up to propose, eh? Had you?”

“Not exactly,” said the Resident, looking very serious.

“Because if you had, you ought to have come before,” said Mr Perowne, biting his nails.

“I came to remonstrate with Helen, after seeing Mrs Bolter this morning.”

“Hang Mrs Bolter for a meddling little fool,” cried the merchant.

“She drew my attention to the serious dangers that might ensue if Helen led this man on. I ought to have foreseen it, but I did not, and that’s the most troublous part of it. I ought to have known better,” cried the Resident, biting his lips.

“Oh, it’s very easy to talk,” said Mr Perowne, whose previous night’s blandness seemed to be quite gone, to leave a weak, querulous childishness in its place.

“Knowing what I do of the Malay character, Perowne, I ought to have watched her, but I confess I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I did not think.”

“I thought you wanted to marry her, I gave you my consent at once. I told you nothing would please me better,” continued the father, querulously; “but ever since you both landed you seem to have done nothing but shilly-shally.”

“Don’t talk like that, Perowne,” said the Resident, impatiently. “A man does not take a wife like you make a bargain. I want to win her love as well as have her hand.”

“And you hang back – I’ve seen you – and let these other fellows cut you out. Hilton and Chumbley, and then this Rajah. I say – I must say, Harley, it is much too bad.”

“Yes, yes, I have done as you say; but I had a reason for it, Perowne, I had indeed; but I find I can manage natives better than a beautiful girl. If I had foreseen – ”

“If I had foreseen it,” cried Perowne, interrupting, “I’d have had her kept in England. Confound the girl!”

“It never occurred to me,” said the Resident, “though it ought, that danger might arise from her flirtations.”

“Danger! Why I shall lose thousands!” cried Perowne. “The fellow will never forgive me, and throw endless obstacles in my way with his people.”

“Helen refused him, of course?” said the Resident.

“Of course – of course,” said the merchant, pettishly.

“I blame myself deeply for not being more observant,” said the Resident. “Others have seen what I failed to see, and it was always so. Lookers-on see most of the game; but I am awake to the danger now.”

“Danger? danger?” said Perowne, looking up now in a startled way. “Do you think there is danger? I hope not; but we ought to be prepared. What do you think it will be best to do?”

“See Hilton, and tell him to double all guards; fill your revolver with cartridges; and be always on the alert. We must make no show of begin in danger, but go on as usual, while reinforcements are quietly sent for from Singapore.”

“Do – do you think it will be as bad as that?”

“Worse, for aught I know,” said the Resident, bitterly. “That fellow, with all his smoothness and French polish, may turn out, now he is thwarted, a perfect demon. Perowne, we have contrived to make him our bitterest foe.”

“But – but it couldn’t be helped, Harley,” said Perowne, in an apologetic tone. “Helen could not – ”

“Suppose you leave Miss Perowne’s name out of the question, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, sternly. “I’ll go on and see Hilton now, and we must do the best we can.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Two.
Mrs Bolter at Home

It cannot be denied that Mrs Bolter’s mature little heart had developed, with an intense love and admiration of her lord, a good deal of acidity, such as made her jealous, exacting, and tyrannical to a degree.

Let it not be supposed, however, that the doctor was unhappy. Quite the contrary; he seemed to enjoy his tyrant’s rule, and to go on peaceably enough, letting her dictate, order, and check him at her own sweet will.

“There’s no doubt about it,” chuckled the little doctor to himself, “she’s as jealous as Othello, and watches me like an – an – an – well – say eagle,” he said, quite at a loss for a simile. “I don’t mind, bless her! Shows how fond she has grown; and I suppose it must be worrying to the dear little woman to have first one and then another lady sending for me. I don’t wonder at her asking me what they wanted. I shouldn’t like it if gentlemen were always sending for her.”

Dr Bolter had been indulging in a similar strain to this, when, after making up a few quinine powders in his tiny surgery, he went into the room where his little wife was in conversation with her brother.

“Ah, Arthur!” said the doctor, “how are you getting on with folks?”

“Very pleasantly,” said the chaplain, smiling. “I find everybody kind and genial.”

“That’s right,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands and smiling at his wife, who frowned at him severely, and then let her pleasant face break up in dimples. “I want you both to enjoy the place. Don’t be afraid of visiting. They like it. Stir them up well, and make yourself quite at home with everybody. This isn’t England.”

“No,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling; “I find the difference.”

“I say, old boy,” continued the doctor, “I was in the fort yesterday, talking to some of the men. They say they like your preaching.”

“I am very glad, Harry,” said the chaplain, simply. “I was afraid that I was rather wandering sometimes in my discourse.”

“No, no; just what they like, old fellow! Simple and matter of fact. What they can understand. Going?”

“Yes; I am going across to see Mr Harley.”

“Ah! do. Good fellow, Harley! Don’t make any mistakes though, and step into the river instead of the sampan.”

“Is there any danger, Henry?” exclaimed Mrs Doctor, sharply.

“Not the least, my dear; only Arthur here is a little dreamy sometimes.”

“I’d go with him,” said Mrs Bolter decidedly, “only I want to talk to you, Henry.”

“Phee-ew!” whistled the doctor, softly, “here’s a breeze coming;” and he looked furtively at his wife to see what she meant.

She walked with her brother to the door, bade him be careful, and then returned.

“Now look here, Dr Bolter,” she said severely, “I am the last woman in the world to find fault, but I am your wife.”

“You are, my dear Mary, and the very, very best of wives!”

“That’s base flattery, sir,” said the little lady, who, however, looked pleased.

“Flattery? No! One never flatters one’s wife.”

“How do you know, sir?” cried Mrs Bolter, sharply.

“From what one reads, Mary. I never had a wife before; and I never flatter you.”

“No, sir, but you try something else; and I tell you I will not submit to be imposed upon!”

“I’m sure, my dear, I never impose upon you.”

“Indeed, sir; then what is this you propose doing? Why do you want to go away for three days?”

“Collecting, my dear.”

“Without Arthur? Now look here, Bolter, the very fact of your wanting to go collecting without Arthur, whom you always talk about as being a brother naturalist, looks suspicious.”

“Indeed, my dear, I do want to go collecting.”

“Collecting? Rubbish!”

“No, my dear, it is not. I’m afraid you will never realise the value of my specimens.”

“You are going collecting, then?” said Mrs Doctor.

“Yes, my dear.”

“Without Arthur?”

“Yes; he does not get on very well in the jungle; and he is rather awkward in a boat.”

“Then I shall go with you myself,” said the little lady, decidedly.

“You – you go with me, Mary,” he said, staring.

“Yes, certainly.”

“But the thorns, and mud, and heat, and mosquitoes, my dear?”

“If they will not hurt you, Henry, they will not hurt me,” said the little lady.

“But they would hurt you, my dear. Of course I should like to have you, but it would be impossible! I shall only be away three days.”

“But the place is full of old stones and skins that smell atrociously, and wretched flies and beetles with pins stuck through their bodies, and I’m sure I can’t think why you want more.”

“For the learned societies in London, my dear. You forget that I am a corresponding member to several.”

“Oh, no, I don’t,” said Mrs Bolter. “I don’t forget that you make it an excuse for sitting up all night smoking and drinking cold whiskey and water, sir, because you have writing to do instead of coming to bed.”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“My dear,” he said, “you would be a perfect woman if you only cared for science.”

“You never said a word to me, sir, about caring for science when I consented to come out with you to this dreadful, hot, damp place, where everything that does not turn mouldy is eaten by ants.”

“The damp and the ants are great nuisances, my dear,” said the doctor. “They have destroyed numbers of my best specimens.”

“They have destroyed my beautiful piano that I was foolish enough to bring out,” said Mrs Bolter. “Grey Stuart opened it yesterday, and the damp has melted the glue, and the ants have eaten up all the leather of the hammers. The wires are rusty, and the instrument is totally spoiled.”

“Never mind, my dear, so long as the climate does not affect your constitution,” said the doctor, cheerfully.

“Oh, by the way,” said Mrs Bolter, “that reminds me of two things. First of all, Bolter, I will not have you so fond of talking to the young ladies at the dinner parties to which we go. You remember what I said to you about your conduct with Miss Morrison?”

“Yes, my dear, perfectly,” said the doctor, with a sigh.

“Secondly, about medicine. Now, it is of no use for you to deny it, for I feel as sure as can be that you have been giving me some medicine on the sly these last few days.”

“Why, my darling!” cried the doctor.

“It is of no use for you to put on that injured expression, Henry, because I know; and mind this, I don’t accuse you of trying to poison me, but of trying experiments with new-fangled drugs, and I tell you I won’t have it.”

The doctor protested his innocence, but the lady was not convinced; and apparently under the impression that it would be as well to submit, he allowed her to go on till she reached the top of her bent, when she suddenly changed the topic.

“Ah, there was something else I wanted to say to you,” she said sharply. “How about Helen Perowne?”

This was too much for the doctor’s equanimity, and he gave the table a bang with his fist.

“I declare it’s too bad,” he exclaimed, wrathfully now. He had submitted to all that had been said before with a few protestations and shrugs of the shoulders, but now he fired up. “I have never hardly said a civil word to the girl in my life, for I protest that I utterly detest the handsome, heartless, coquettish creature. Of all the unjust women I ever met, Mary, you are about the worst.”

A casual observer would have set Mrs Doctor Bolter down as an extremely prejudiced, suspicious woman of a highly-jealous temperament; but then a casual observer would not have known her real nature.

If he had seen her now, as she sank back in her chair, and the pleasant dimples and puckers came into her face, he would have understood much better how it was that the doctor had persuaded her to leave her maiden state to come and share his lot.

For as the doctor turned redder in the face and then purple, she smiled and shook a little round white finger at him.

“A guilty conscience needs no accuser,” she said. “I never accused you, sir, of flirting with Helen Perowne; but as soon as I mentioned her name you began to defend yourself.”

“I don’t care,” cried the doctor, “I confess I have said complimentary and pleasant things to all the ladies of the station, both old and young; not that they think anything of it, for I’m only the doctor; while as to Helen Perowne, last time her father asked me to see and prescribe for her, and she began to make eyes at me, and put forth her blandishments – ”

“Oh, you confess that, sir?”

“Confess it?” cried the doctor, stoutly. “Why she does that to every man she sees! I believe if her father took her to Madame Tussaud’s – You remember my taking you to Madame Tussaud’s, my dear?”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” said Mrs Bolter.

“Well, I honestly believe that if she were taken there she’d begin making eyes at the wax figures.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs Bolter, stiffly. “And so she began to make eyes at you!”

“That she did, the jade,” said the doctor, chuckling, “and – and – ha, ha, ha – ho, ho, ho! don’t – ha, ha, ha! – say a word about it, my dear – there was nothing the matter with her but young girl’s whimsical fancies; and she made me so cross with her fads and languishing airs, and then by making such a dead set at me, that I – ha, ha, ha – ho, ho, ho – ”

“Bolter,” exclaimed Mrs B, “if you confess to me that you kissed her I’ll have a divorce – I’ll go straight back to England?”

“Kiss her? Not I! – ho, ho, ho! – I gave her such a dose; and I kept her extremely poorly for about a week. She – she hates me like she does physic. Oh, dear me!”

The doctor wiped his eyes, burst into another fit of laughing, and then, after another wipe at his eyes, his face smoothed down and he grew composed.

“Then it’s a pity you don’t give her another dose of medicine,” said his lady, “and prevent her doing so much mischief as she is doing here.”

“But really, my dear, you have no right to accuse me of being extra polite to Helen Perowne.”

“I did not, and I was not about to accuse you of being extra polite to Helen Perowne —extra polite, as you call it, sir; but I was about to connect her name with that of other gentlemen, and not with that of my husband.”

“Oh! come, that’s a comfort,” said the doctor. “What is it then about Helen Perowne?”

“I don’t like the way in which she is going on,” said Mrs Doctor, “and I am quite sure that no good will come of it. I don’t think there is any real harm in the girl.”

“Harm? No, I don’t think there is,” said Dr Bolter. “She’s very handsome, and she has been spoiled by flattery.”

“Administered by foolish men like someone we know,” said the lady.

“H’m! yes – well, perhaps so; but really she is too bad. The fellows seem to run mad after her.”

“Did you see her talking to the Rajah last night?”

“Yes, I saw her; and then poor Hilton began to singe his wings in the candle, and next week she will have somebody else. I know what I’d do if I had to prescribe for her.”

“And what might that be, sir?”

“I’d prescribe a husband, such a one as Harley – a firm, strong-minded, middle-aged man, who would keep a tight hand at the rein and bring her to her senses. I daresay she’d make a man a good wife, after all.”

“Perhaps so,” said Mrs Doctor, pursing up her lips; “but meantime, as you are not called upon to prescribe, what is to be done?”

“To be done? Why, nothing.”

“Oh! but something must be done, Bolter. You ought to speak to Mr Perowne.”

“And be called an idiot for my pains. No, thank you, my dear. In all such delicate matters as these a lady’s hand – I should say, tongue – is the instrument to set matters right. Now, I should say the proper thing would be for a quiet, sensible, clever, middle-aged lady – may I speak of you as a middle-aged lady, my dear – ”

“Don’t be stupid, Henry. I’m forty-four, as you well know, and I never pretended to be younger.”

“No, of course not. You fired forty years at me in a platoon when I proposed, like the dear, sensible old darling you are.”

“Tut! Hush! Silence, sir! No more of that, please.”

“All right, my dear. Well, as I was saying, suppose you have a quiet talk to the girl yourself.”

Mrs Bolter knitted her brows and looked very thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It might do good, or it might not. I will think about it.”

“And about my going away for three days, my dear.”

“Oh, one moment, Henry,” said Mrs Doctor. “There was something else I wished to ascertain.”

“What, another something else?” groaned the doctor.

“Yes, another something else, sir. You promised me, that if you could not quite check that terrible habit of yours of talking about Ophir and King Solomon, that you would modify it.”

“Yes, my dear,” said the doctor, giving his ear a rub, and accompanying it by a submissive look.

“I heard you last night exciting the ridicule of all the gentlemen by your pertinacious declarations regarding that mythical idea.”

“Don’t say ridicule, my dear.”

“But I do say ridicule, Henry, and I object to having my husband laughed at by ignorant people – he being a very clever man. So be careful in the future. Now you may go.”

“For three days, my dear?”

“Yes; and pray take care of yourself.”

“I will, my darling,” he cried, in delight; and he was about to embrace the lady warmly, when a step was heard in the veranda, and a voice exclaiming:

“May I come in?”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Three.
A Little Cloud

“Yes; come in Mr Harley,” and the tall, stern-looking Resident entered the room with the free at-home-ness of people living out at a station where circumstances force the Europeans into the closet intimacy.

“Is anything the matter?” exclaimed the doctor’s wife, as she saw his anxious face.

“Well, not yet,” he said; “but I must confess to being a little nervous about something that has happened. Don’t go away, Bolter.”

“Only going to make a few preparations for a run out. Back directly.”

“No, no,” said the Resident; “you would oblige me by staying. I think, Bolter, you will have to give up all thought of going out at present.”

“Then something is the matter!” said the doctor.

“Oh, it isn’t doctor’s work – at present,” said the Resident, smiling. “The fact is, the Rajah has been hanging about Perowne’s place a good deal lately.”

“Yes, we had observed it,” said Mrs Bolter, severely.

“And the foolish fellow seems to think he has had a little encouragement from Miss Perowne.”

Mrs Doctor nodded and tightened her lips as the Resident went on:

“The result is, that he has been to Perowne’s this morning and proposed in due form for her hand.”

“Why, the scoundrel has got about a dozen wives,” cried the doctor.

“Yes, and of course Perowne tried to smooth him down and to soften the disappointment; but he has gone away furious. I have just come from Perowne’s, and I called to put you on your guard.”

“Think there’s any danger?” said the doctor, sharply.

“Can’t say. You know what these people are if they do not have their own way.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, thoughtfully. “They can be crafty and cruel enough I know; and they don’t love us any better than they did ten years ago, when I was all through the old troubles.”

“Of course,” said the Resident, “if there should be any threatening of trouble you will come across to the island till it is over. I would not show that we are at all uneasy, doctor; only be upon one’s guard.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Doctor, who had been listening attentively, “that will be best. There may be no trouble over the matter, Mr Harley, and I think we should, as you say, be doing wrong by seeming to be alarmed.”

“Then my expedition is quashed for the present,” said the doctor, dolefully.

“It can wait, I am sure,” said his lady, quietly; and her lord resigned himself to his fate as the Resident repeated his advice about not spreading the alarm and exciting the natives by whom they were surrounded, and then left them to go to the fort on the Residency island – a picturesque little clump of rocky earth that divided the river into two parts. On mounting upon the bamboo landing-stage the first person he encountered was Captain Hilton.

Knowing as he did that the young officer had been very attentive to Helen Perowne of late, he hesitated for a few moments, naturally feeling a repugnance to speak upon such matters to one whom other men would have considered a rival; but after a little thought he laughed to himself.

“I am a fatalist,” he muttered, “and I am not afraid. Here, Hilton,” he said, aloud, “I want to speak to you. Ah, there’s Chumbley, too. Don’t take any particular notice,” he continued, as he noted that several of the natives were about. “Have a cigar?”

He drew out his case as he spoke, and Lieutenant Chumbley coming sauntering up in his cool, idle way, the case was offered to him, and the three gentlemen went slowly along the well-kept military path towards the little mess-room.

“Anything wrong?” said Captain Hilton, eagerly; and as he spoke the Resident saw his eyes turn in the direction of Mr Perowne’s house on the east bank of the river.

“Not at present; but the fact is, I am afraid Mr Perowne has seriously affronted the Rajah this morning, and I think it would be as well to be upon our guard.”

“Got any more of these cigars, Harley?” said Chumbley, quietly. “I like ’em.”

“For Heaven’s sake do hold your tongue, Chumbley!” cried the captain. “I never did see a fellow so cool and indifferent.”

“Why not?” replied Chumbley, in his slow drawl. “There’s nothing wrong, only that the Rajah has been to Perowne’s this morning to propose for the fair Helen, and he has come away with a flea in his ear.”

“What?” cried Captain Hilton.

“How did you know?” exclaimed the Resident, turning upon Chumbley, sharply.

“Guessed it – knew it would come from what I saw last night. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that is it,” replied the Resident, frowning slightly.

“The insolence – the consummate ignorant audacity!” cried the captain, his face flushing with anger. “The dog! I’ll horsewhip him till he begs for mercy!”

“You will do nothing of the kind, Hilton,” said the Resident quietly.

“But it is insufferable,” cried Hilton. “An ignorant, brown-skinned savage to pretend to place himself on a level with gentlemen, and then to dare to propose for an English lady’s hand!”

“Don’t be excited, Hilton,” said the Resident, looking fixedly in the young officer’s handsome, angry countenance. “You forget that the Rajah may look down upon us as his inferiors. He is a prince in his own right, and rules over a very large extent of country here.”

“Oh, yes, I know all that,” cried Hilton, angrily; “but of course Perowne sent him about his business?”

“Yes, and that is why I have come to you. There may be nothing more heard of the matter; but I think it is quite possible that the Rajah may have taken such dire offence that he will force all his people to join in his quarrel, and the result be a serious trouble.”

“I hope not,” drawled Chumbley. “I hate fighting.”

“Pooh!” ejaculated Hilton. “If the scoundrel gives us any of his insolence, we’ll send him handcuffed to Singapore!”

“I should be greatly obliged, Hilton,” said the Resident stiffly, “if you would modify your tone a little. For my part, I am not surprised at the Rajah’s conduct, and I think that it would be better to let our behaviour towards him be conciliating.”

“What! to a fellow like that?” cried the captain.

“To a man like that,” said the Resident, gravely. “If he behaves badly we are strong enough to resent it; but if, on the other hand, he cools down and acts as a gentleman would under the circumstances, it is our duty to meet him in the most friendly spirit we can.”

“I don’t think so,” cried Hilton, hotly, “and if the scoundrel comes to me I shall treat him as he deserves.”

“Captain Hilton,” said the Resident, and his voice was now very grave and stern, “I must ask you to bear in mind that we occupy a very delicate position here – I as her Majesty’s representative; and you, with your handful of troops, as my supporters. We are few, living in the midst of many, and we hold our own here, please to recollect, by prestige.”

“Of course – yes, I know that,” said Hilton.

“That prestige we shall lose if we let our judgment be biased by personal feeling. Kindly set self on one side, as I am striving to do, and help me to the best of your ability by your manly, unselfish advice.”

Hilton frowned as the Resident went on; but the next instant he had held out his hand, which the other grasped.

“I am afraid I am very hot-headed, Mr Harley,” he exclaimed. “There, it is all over, and I’ll help you to the best of my power. Now then, what’s to be done?”

“First accept my thanks,” cried the Resident. “I knew that I could count upon you, Hilton.”

“I’ll do my best, Harley.”

“Then stroll quietly back to the barracks, and in a matter-of-fact way see that all is in such order that you could bring up your men at a moment’s notice.”

“Reinforcements?” suggested Captain Hilton.

“I did think of asking for them,” said the Resident, “but on second thoughts it seems hardly necessary. I would do everything without exciting suspicion, and as if you were only inspecting the fort. Now go.”

“Right,” said the captain; and he walked away, saying to himself:

“He’s a good fellow, Harley, that he is, and he does not bear a bit of malice against me for cutting him out. Poor fellow! he must have felt it bitterly. Hang it all! I could not have borne it. The very fact of this fellow proposing for Helen nearly drove me wild. I think if I were to lose her I should die.”

Chumbley was about to follow Hilton, but the Resident laid a hand upon his shoulder.

“Of course I can count upon your discretion, Chumbley?” he said.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” said the young man, “so long as you don’t want anything done in a hurry. Nature seems to forbid a man to be scurried in this climate; but I say, Mr Harley, don’t let’s have a row if you can help it, I’m a soldier, but if there is anything I do abhor, it is fighting. I hate blood. The very idea of having to make our lads use their bayonets gives me a cold chill all down the back.”

“Depend upon it we will not have a quarrel with the natives if we can help it, Chumbley. If diplomacy can keep it off, there shall be none;” and nodding his head in a friendly manner to the young officer, he strolled away.

“But diplomacy won’t keep it off, my dear sir,” said Chumbley. “If Mother Nature turns loose such a girl as Helen Perowne, to play fast and loose with men like Murad, a row must come.

“Let me see,” he said, after a pause, “what shall I do with myself to-day? Best way to avoid scrapes is to keep up friendly relations with the natives.

“Oh, what a worry this love-making is! We all go in for it at some time or another, but hang me if I think it pays.

“Little Helen quite hates me now, since I’ve broken the string and will not be cajoled into coming back. By Jove! what a wise little girl little Stuart is. One might get up a flirtation there without any heart-breaking. No: won’t do, she’s too sweet, and wise, and sensible. Hang it all, can’t a fellow talk sensibly to a pretty girl without thinking he’s flirting! I like little Stuart. You can talk to her about anything, and she never giggles and blushes, and looks silly. She’s an uncommonly nice young girl, and twenty years hence, when beautiful Helen has grown old, and yellow, and scraggy, Stuart will be a pleasant, soft, amiable little woman, like Mrs Bolter. There’s a woman for you! ’Pon my word I believe she likes me; she talks to me just as if I were a big son.

“Well, now, what’s to be done? I’ll go and see if Hilton wants me, and if he doesn’t I shall have a few hours ashore.

“By the way, I wonder who’ll marry little Stuart?” he said, as he went slowly on with his hands behind him, his broad chest thrown out, and a bluff, manly bearing about him that would have made an onlooker think that he would not make a bad match for the lady himself.

“I shan’t,” he added, after a pause. “Hilton’s a precious idiot not to go for her himself, instead of wasting his time upon a woman who will throw him over. As for me, I’m beginning to think I am not a lady’s man. I’m too big, and clumsy, and stupid. They tolerate me when they don’t laugh at me. Bah! what does it matter? Sport’s my line – and dogs.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Four.
The Pains of a Princess

Captain Hilton saw no reason for detaining his subaltern, only bade him be ready to return to the island at the slightest sign of danger, which Chumbley promised to do; and he was about to walk down to the landing-stage, when, happening to gaze across the swift river towards Mr Perowne’s beautiful garden, which sloped down to the water’s edge, with as good a semblance of a lawn as could be obtained in that part of the world, he caught sight of a couple of figures in white, walking slowly up and down in the shade of the trees.

He was too far distant to make out their faces, but he had no doubt that the two were Helen and Grey Stuart.

“Now, I would not mind laying a whole shilling that Master Hilton has his binocular focussed exactly upon one of your faces, and is watching every turn of expression. If you smile he thinks it is with thoughts of him; and take it altogether, the poor fellow imagines you are always dreaming of him, when you are wondering what is worn now in Paris or London, and whether any of the new fashions will reach you by the next steamer.

“Yes, that’s Helen – fair Helen,” he said, leaning upon a rail, and gazing across the water. “Chumbley, old fellow, I’m beginning to think you are not such a fool as I used to imagine you to be. It was a good brave stroke to get away from the toils of that syren; for there’s no mistake about it, old man, you were just like a big fly in the pretty spider’s web.

“By George! she is a very lovely girl though! She seems to fascinate everyone she comes near. Thank goodness, she only got me by one leg, and I broke out, I hope, without much damaging the net. Certainly she soon seemed to repair it. I wish I were a good prophet,” he went on, lighting a cigarette. “I should like to be able to say what is to take place here, who’ll marry whom, and who’ll remain single. Hullo! what’s coming now?”

The splash of oars roused him from his reverie, and turning towards the landing-stage, he made out a dragon-boat, or naga, as the larger row-galleys used by the Malay nobles are called, rapidly approaching the little isle.

It was propelled by a dozen rowers, all dressed uniformly in yellow silk bajus or jackets, their coarse black hair being topped by a natty little cap similar to that worn by a cavalry soldier in undress, and they kept stroke with wonderful accuracy as they forced the boat along.

A large shed-like awning of bamboo and palm leaves covered the latter part of the vessel; and Chumbley forgot his customary inertia, and scanned the boat eagerly, to see if it contained armed men. To his surprise, however, he saw that the whole space beneath the broad awning was filled with women, whose brightly-coloured silken sarongs were hung from their heads after the manner of veils; and though the rowers each wore his kris, the hilt was covered, and it was evidently a friendly visit.

“I don’t know though,” thought Chumbley. “Perhaps it is a ruse, and instead of women, those are smart youths, well armed, ready to give our fellows a dig with the kris, and take the place by surprise.

“No,” he said, after a few moments’ pause, for there was no mistaking the object of the visit, the Malays being a particularly religious people, and great sticklers for form and ceremony, to which they adhere with scrupulous exactness, so that any one pretty well versed in their customs would know at a glance at their dress whether their object was friendly or the reverse.

“Why, it must be the Inche Maida,” muttered Chumbley, giving the native name to a princess residing some distance higher up the stream. “I ought to have been in full fig. I suppose I must go and receive her as I am.”

He threw away his cigarette, turned out the guard, sent a messenger up to the Residency with the news of the Princess’s arrival, bidding the man leave word at the officers’ quarters as he passed, and then walked down to the landing-stage, just as the dragon-boat, with its carved and gilded prow, was run abreast.

Chumbley courteously raised his muslin-covered pith helmet, tucked it beneath his arm, and helped the Princess to step ashore.

She was a remarkably handsome woman of about thirty, with features of the Malay type, but softened into a nearer approach to beauty than is common amongst the women of this nation, whose prominent lips and dilated nostrils are not compensated by the rich long black hair, and large lustrous dark eyes.

In the case of the Princess there was almost a European cast of feature, and she possessed an imposing yet graceful carriage, which with her picturesque costume and flower-decked hair, made her far from unattractive, in spite of her warm brown skin.

She accepted Chumbley’s assistance with a smile that checked the thought in his mind that she was a fine-looking woman; for that smile revealed a set of remarkably even teeth, but they were filed to a particular pattern and stained black.

Chumbley removed his eyes at once from this disfigurement, and let them rest on the magnificent knot of jetty hair, in which were stuck, in company with large gold pins, clusters of a white and odorous jasmine.

He could not help noting, too, the gracefully-worn scarf of gossamer texture, passing from her right shoulder beneath her left arm, and secured by a richly-chased gold brooch of native workmanship. This she removed to set the scarf at liberty, so as to throw over her head to screen it from the sun.

Accustomed to command, she made no scruple in exposing her face to the gaze of men; but as the women who formed her train alighted, each raised her hands to a level with her temples, and spread the silken sarong she wore over her head, so that it formed an elongated slit, covering every portion of the face but the eyes, and following the Princess in this uncomfortable guise, they took their places ashore.

“I have come to see the Resident,” said the Princess, looking very fixedly at Chumbley, and speaking in excellent English. “Will you take me to his presence?”

Chumbley bowed, and he forgot his slow drawl as he said that he would be happy to lead her to the Residency; but felt rather disconcerted as the visitor exclaimed, in a very pointed way:

“I have not seen you before. Are you the lieutenant?”

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting you either,” he replied, rather liking the visitor’s dignified way as he recovered himself; “but I have heard Mr and Miss Perowne talk of the Inche Maida.”

“What did they say about me?” she said, sharply.

“That you were a noble lady, and quite a princess.”

“Ah!” she replied, looking at him fixedly. “How big and strong you are.”

Chumbley stared and tried to find something suitable to reply, but nothing came, and the situation seemed to him so comical that he smiled, and then, as the Princess smiled too, he laughed outright.

“Forgive my laughing,” he said, good-humouredly. “I can’t help being big; and I suppose I am strong.”

“There is the Resident!” said the lady then; and she drew her hand from Chumbley’s arm. “Ah! and the captain.”

For just then Harley stepped out from the Residency veranda to meet his visitors; and Hilton, who had found time to put on the regimental scarlet and buckle on his sword, came up to make the reception more imposing.

The Princess shook hands in the European fashion, and accepted the Resident’s arm, smiling and bowing as if excusing herself to Hilton. Then, declining to enter the house, she took a seat in the broad veranda amongst the Resident’s flowers, while her women grouped themselves behind her, letting fall the sarongs they held over their faces now that, with the exception of a single sentry, none of the common soldiers were about to gaze upon their charms.

But for her costume, the Inche Maida would have passed very well for a dark Englishwoman, and she chatted on for a time about the Resident’s flowers and her own; about her visits to the English ladies at the station; and the various European luxuries that she kept adding to her home some twenty miles up the river, where she had quite a palm-tree palace and a goodly retinue of slaves.

Both Mr Harley and Hilton knew that there was some special object in the lady’s visit; but that was scrupulously kept in the background, while coffee and liqueurs were handed round, the visitors partaking freely of these and the sweetmeats and cakes kept by the Resident for the gratification of his native friends.

“It is nearly a year since you have been to see me Mr Harley,” said the lady at last. “When will you come again?”

“I shall be only too glad to come and see you,” said the Resident, “I have not forgotten the pleasure of my last journey to your home.”

“And you will come too?” said the Princess quickly; and she turned her great dark eyes upon Hilton, gazing at him fixedly the while.

“I – er – really I hardly think I can leave.”

“You will not come?” she cried, with an impetuous jerk of the head. “You think I am a savage, and you despise my ways. Mr Harley will tell you I have tried for years to learn your English customs and to speak your language. It is not fair.”

“Indeed,” cried Hilton, eager to make up for what the visitor evidently considered a slight, “I only hesitated on the score of duty.”

“You would not care to come,” she said, with the injured look of a spoiled child.

“Indeed I should,” exclaimed Hilton, “and I will come.”

“You will come?” she cried, with her dark eyes flashing.

“Yes, indeed I will.”

She leaned towards him, speaking eagerly:

“I am glad. I like you English. You shall hunt and shoot. There are tigers, and I have elephants. My slaves shall find game, and you shall have my boat to fetch you.”

Dark as her skin was, the Resident noticed the red blood mantling beneath it in her cheeks as she spoke eagerly, fixing her eyes upon Hilton as she spoke, and then lowering the lids in a dreamy, thoughtful way.

“Then you will both come?” she said.

“Yes, I promise for both; but we cannot leave the station together,” said Mr Harley.

“It is well,” she said, smiling; “and you too, lieutenant – you will come and see me? You like to shoot. All Englishmen like to shoot.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll come,” said Chumbley, with his slow, heavy drawl. “I think it would be rather jolly. Yes, I’ll come.”

She nodded and smiled at him once more, as if he amused her; and Harley noticed that she glanced at Chumbley again and again as the conversation went on, looking at him as if he were some fine kind of animal she thought it would be well to buy at the first opportunity.

All at once, though, she turned sharply upon the Resident, and the object of her visit came out.

“I want you to help me,” she said, with an angry flash in her eye. “I am a woman, and I cannot fight, or I would not come to you for help. But you English are just. You have settled in our country, and your Princess says, ‘Let there be no cruelty and ill-treatment of the people where you are.’ I have seen you for ten years, ever since I became a woman who could think and act; but because I am a woman I am oppressed. Because I will not be his wife Rajah Hamet stops my people’s boats, and takes away tin and rice. His people beat my slaves and steal their fruit and fowls. Our lives become suffering, for my people are me. I am not a mother, but they call me mother, and they say, ‘See, your children are robbed and beaten; they moisten the dust of the earth with their tears.’”

“Ah! ah! ah! ay! ayo!”

The three Englishmen started, for at these words of their Princess the women burst into a piteous wail, and beat their breasts.

“We suffer; I weep with my children,” continued the Princess, rising and holding out her hands, as she went on speaking with a natural grace and fiery eloquence. “I grow hot with anger, and I am ready to take my father’s kris and limbing and to go out against this coward who oppresses me; but I am a woman, and I should lead my people to death. I cannot do this, but I think and think till the rage grows cold, and my reason comes back, and I say, ‘The great Queen loves her people, and she will not have them hurt. Her rulers, and counsellors, and warriors are in our country, and I will go to them and say, See, I am a woman – a princess. I pay you the tribute you ask of me, and I give you love and all I have that you ask. Save me, then, from this man. Teach him that he cannot rob and injure my people, and so beat and injure me – a helpless woman.’ Will you do this, or shall I go back to my own place and say, ‘The English are brave, but they will not help me? I am a woman, and you and your children must bear your lot.’”

She ceased speaking and crossed her hands humbly upon her breast; but her eyes lit up as she saw that Chumbley – upon whom her words had had a remarkable effect – was watching the Resident keenly, and was evidently eager to speak.

“Princess,” said Mr Harley, “I am deeply grieved that you should have to make this appeal. I do not act in a matter of such grave importance as this without asking advice; but that I will do at once, and believe me, if I could help it, you should not wait an hour for redress.”

“Not half an hour if I could have my way,” cried Chumbley, excitedly. “Princess, I hope we shall soon visit you for some purpose.”

She smiled at him again, and nodded her satisfaction; but there was something very grave and earnest in her look as she almost timidly turned to Hilton.

He saw the look, which was one of appeal, and seemed to ask for a reply.

“I, too,” he said, “should gladly come to your assistance.”

“Then my task is done,” she said. “Mr Harley, pray give me your help, and my people shall be ready should evil days come, as they did when I was a mere girl, and the English were in peril of their lives.”

“Princess, I will do my best,” he replied; and at a sign from their lady the women rose and stood ready to follow her back to her boat.

“Good-bye,” she said, simply, and she held out her hand, placing it afterwards upon Captain Hilton’s arm, as if she wished him to escort her down to the landing-stage.

This he did, followed by Chumbley, and on reaching the boat the rowers leaped to their places with the alacrity of well-drilled and disciplined men.

The Princess stood aside till the last of her attendants was in her place, and then she turned to Hilton.

“Good-bye,” she said.

“Good-bye, Princess,” he replied, shaking her hand. “I hope we shall have orders to come to your help.”

“So do I,” cried Chumbley, as he took the Princess’s hand in turn; and as he uttered his earnest words he involuntarily raised her hand to his lips and kissed it with profound respect.

The Inche Maida’s eyes flashed as she glanced at him, but they turned directly after with rather a regretful look at Hilton, as she seated herself beneath the awning. Then giving a signal with her hand, the rowers’ paddles dipped, the swift boat darted out into the stream, was deftly turned, and began to ascend rapidly; the two young men standing upon the stage where the guard had presented arms, both of them a good deal impressed.

“I say, old fellow,” cried Chumbley, speaking with animation, “that’s an uncommonly fine woman, in spite of her coffee skin.”

“Yea; you seemed to think so,” replied Hilton, laughing.

“Did I?” said Chumbley, with his eyes fixed on the retreating boat.

“Yes; I never saw you so polite to a woman before.”

“Didn’t you? Well, but she is in trouble, poor thing; and I say, hang it all, old man, how well she spoke out about her people – her children, and her wrongs.”

“Yes, it seems very hard, especially as I don’t think Harley will get instructions to interfere on her behalf.”

“Not interfere!” cried Chumbley. “Then it will be a damned shame. My dear old man, if we don’t get orders to dress that fellow down, I’ll go up and see her myself, and instead of tiger-hunting I’ll try if I can’t punch the blackguard’s head.”

“Why, Chumbley, old boy, what’s the matter with you!” cried Hilton, laughing.

“Matter? With me? Nothing at all.”

“But you seem all on fire to go and help the Princess.”

“Well, of course,” said the lieutenant, warmly; “and so I would any woman who was in distress. Why, hang it all, a fellow isn’t worth much who wouldn’t run some risks to protect a woman.”

“Hear! hear! Bravo! bravo! Why Chumbley, you improve.”

“Stuff! nonsense!” cried the latter, ashamed of his warmth.

“Stuff if you like, and prime stuff,” rejoined Hilton. “It’s the sort of stuff of which I like to see men made. I have hopes of you yet, Chumbley. You will turn ladies’ man – grow smooth and refined.”

“And use a pouncet-box, eh?”

“No; I draw the line at the pouncet-box and silk,” laughed Hilton.

“Never mind! Chaff as much as you like, I’d go and help that Inche Maida. By Jove! what a name for a woman?”

“Yes, it is a name for such a fine Cleopatra of a princess. I say, Chum, she seems to have taken quite a fancy to you.”

“To me, eh? Well, I like that! Oh, come!” laughed Chumbley. “Why, I saw her lay her hand upon your arm as if she wanted it to stay there. I’ll swear I saw her squeeze your hand. No, my boy, it was your Hyperion curls that attracted her ladyship.”

“But I’ll vow I saw her take a lot of notice of you, Chum.”

“Yes, but it was because I looked so big; that was all, lad. She’s a sort of hen Frederick William of Prussia, who would adore a regiment of six-feet-six grenadiers. But never mind that; I think she ought to be helped.”

“Yes,” said Hilton, quietly; “but I wish it was Murad who had done the wrong, for then I think that I should feel as warm as you – Well, what is it?”

“Mr Harley wishes to see you directly, sir,” said an orderly.

“Come along, Chumbley; there’s news, it seems. What is it, Harley?” he continued, as they joined the Resident in the veranda.

“I have just had news from a man I can trust. Murad is getting his people together, and I fear it means trouble.”

“Let it come, then,” said Hilton, firmly. “I’m rather glad.”

“Glad!” said the Resident, sternly; “and with all these women and children under our charge!”

“I was not thinking of them,” said Hilton, warmly, “but of chastising a scoundrel who seems determined to be thrashed.”

“I hope he’ll bring the other fellow too,” said Chumbley.

“Hilton – Chumbley!” said the Resident, sternly. “You think upon the surface. You do not realise what all this trouble means!”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Five.
Lieutenant Chumbley’s Thoughts

The news received by Mr Harley had no following. Sultan Murad had undoubtedly gathered his people together, but as events proved, it was not to make a descent upon the station.

But all the same, the conduct of the young Malay prince augmented the scare amongst the Europeans. Grey Stuart grew pale, and thought with feelings of horror of what might be the consequences of her schoolfellow’s folly. Helen, too, was in no slight degree alarmed, and the effect of the incident was to sober her somewhat for the time; but as the days glided on and nothing happened, the dread faded away like one of the opalescent mists that hung above the silver river at early morn.

“It is all nonsense,” said Mr Perowne; “the prestige of the English is too great for this petty rajah to dare to attempt any savage revenge.”

“Hah, you think so, do you?” said old Stuart, in his most Scottish tones. “I never knew a tiger hesitate to bite or a serpent to sting because the pairson near him was an Englishman. Ye’ll hae to tak’ care o’ yon lassie o’ yours, Perowne, or she’ll get us into sad meeschief.”

“If Mr Stuart would kindly direct his attention to the instruction of his own daughter, papa, I am sure he would find his hands full,” said Helen, in a haughty, half-contemptuous tone, as she crossed the soft carpet unheard.

“Oh, ye’re there are ye, lassie?” said the old Scot. “Weel, I’ll tell ye that my Grey kens how to behave, and don’t go throwing herself at the head of every gentleman she meets; and for your own sake, lassie, I wish your poor mither was alive.”

Helen raised her eyes and looked at him for some moments with an angry, disdainful stare of resentment.

“Eh, ye’ve got bonnie een, lassie, verra bonnie een; but I’d a deal rather see my Grey’s little wax tapers burning softly than those dark brimstone matches of yours ready to set every puir laddie’s heart ablaze.”

“Is this your friend, papa?” cried Helen; and she swept from the room.

“Yes, lassie,” said the old Scot, wiping his eyes after laughing at his own conceit. “Yes, I’m ye’r father’s best friend, lassie; am I not, Perowne?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said the merchant; “but you should not talk to her like that, Stuart.”

“And why not?” said the old man. “Are we to let her go on setting fire to trains all over the place, and trying to get us blown in the air?”

“Nonsense, nonsense! These fellows have sense enough to know what they may do and what they may not.”

“Oh, yes, they’ve plenty of sense,” agreed the old Scotch merchant.

“And they won’t forget in a hurry how we punished the other rajahs for their treacherous rising against the British power.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that,” said the old man; “but Murad will not forget this insult to his pride, and I insist, Perowne, upon your keeping a tighter rein over that lassie.”

Mr Perowne seemed disposed to resist, but he ended by promising that he would; and after a certain number of discussions in various houses, the cessation of all further proceedings, and a certain amount of worry consequent upon the apprehended danger, the old state of affairs began once more to prevail.

The last to hold out was Mrs Doctor Bolter, who exercised a great deal of watchfulness over her husband and brother, sending one after the other at the most incongruous times.

So peace was once more settling down over Sindang, which rapidly began to resume its dreamy state, the only busy thing about the place being the river, which rapidly flowed onward towards the sea.

The three ladies had grown somewhat accustomed to the sleepy life that nature compelled them to live in a land where, saving at early morn and at evening, any employment was only to be carried out by an extreme effort of will that very few there cared to exercise.

A delicious, drowsy, lotus-eating life it seemed; and as Helen Perowne and Grey Stuart sat beneath the shade of one of the delicious flower-bearing trees inhaling the cloying scents, and watching the eternal sparkle of the beautiful river, they could not help comparing it with their existence at the Miss Twettenhams’ school.

Tropic flowers, luscious fruits were there in profusion. Every day seemed to bring those of richer and rarer kinds. The garden was lush with a profusion of choice plants such as could only be produced in the hottest houses at home; and Grey was fain to confess that in spite of the heat it was a lovely land.

Just as everyone had concluded, there had not been the slightest cause for alarm, so they said.

Still the alarm had been excusable, living as they were, a mere handful of strangers, amongst a people well known for their volcanic nature and quickness at taking offence, this latter being acknowledged by the Rajah himself, who completed the calm by coming in semi-state to the Residency island to ask Mr Harley to make intercession for him with the Perownes.

“I am wiser now,” he said, with a smile, “and I want to make amends.”

This was said so frankly that, however suspicious he may have felt at heart, the Resident at once accepted the task of intercessor.

“I try so hard to be English in my ways,” said the young man, “but it takes a long time to forget one’s old customs. As I used to be, I had everything I asked for directly; I had only to say that I wanted this, or that I would have that, and I had it at once. But it is so different with you English. You always seem to be denying yourselves things you wish for, and think it great and good.”

“Well, we do think it a virtue,” said the Resident, smiling.

“I was very angry when Mr Perowne spoke to me as he did, and all my English education went away like a flash of a firefly in the night, and I was a savage once more; but when I got back and thought, then I saw that I had been mad, and I was grieved, for the English are my friends.”

“Ah, well,” said Mr Harley, “that is all over now. I undertake to put matters right with Mr Perowne; but to be frank with you, Rajah – ”

“Yes, that is right, be frank. That is what I like in an Englishman, he is frank and open. A Malay lets his secret thoughts be known – never.”

“I say, my friend,” exclaimed the Resident, laughing, “I hope that is not the case here.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” exclaimed Murad. “Do I not tell you I am English, and that I try to be like you.”

“To be sure, yes,” said Mr Harley. “Well, then, look here, I do not undertake to make you such friends as you wish to be with Miss Perowne.”

“You know all then?” said the Rajah, quickly.

“Her father told me.”

“Yes; you are his friend and counsellor; he would tell you of course. No; I do not expect that. I was mad and foolish just then. I know, of course, that you whites would not ally yourselves with us. We are a dreaming nation, and I had dreamed of her love and being happy with her amongst my people, making our alliance greater with you, but it was a dream. I am awake now, and it is past.”

“I don’t trust you, Master Murad,” said the Resident to himself; “but it is the best policy to seem to believe, and to try and make you friends with us again, so I will undertake your commission.”

“Look here,” he said aloud, “suppose you come across with me to Mr Perowne’s house?”

“Oh, no,” said the young Malay, shrinking back, “I should see her.”

“Very well; and if you do, what then? Come: you say you want to be English. Behave, then, now like an Englishman, taking your disappointment bravely, and let the lady see that you bear it with the calmness and consideration of a man.”

“I will come,” said the Rajah, eagerly; and he accompanied the Resident across the branch of the river to Mr Perowne’s handsome house, where the little explanation took place, and all parted the best of friends.

The Rajah was evidently extremely eager to make amends for the burst of temper he had displayed, and presents of fruit, flowers, and the other productions of the country were constantly arriving by his servants. In some instances, so as to check any excuse that there might be for refusing or looking upon the presents as being pressed upon the English residents, the gifts were accompanied by requests for some little European luxury or for the loan of some article; so that if the Rajah had it in his mind to allay suspicion, he was pretty successful, and matters went on as they were before. Dr Bolter went upon a three days’ expedition, which, on account of the difficulties of the country, extended to six days, and he was forgiven.

The Resident sent a despatch to the Governor respecting the Inche Maida’s case, and the Governor sent back a despatch to say that he had referred the matter to the Colonial Office; and the end of the piece of red tape was handed to the Malay Princess, who replied that she was willing to wait patiently for redress.

Then there was a pause, and life at the little station seemed to flow on as calmly as the river; but like the river, with its terrible reptiles lurking beneath the treacherously-smooth surface, so were there dangers beneath the calmly-flowing life of the British residents at the station, though they, prone as they were to take alarm, knew nothing, suspected nothing of what was in store.

A month had passed since the little explosion of the Malay volcano, as Chumbley called it. There had been dinners and evening meetings, and the Rajah had been invited to several; then Mr Harley invited nearly everyone to a picnic down the river in his dragon-boat – a party that was pronounced delightful.

This inspired the Rajah to imitate the Resident’s little party, and he sought out Chumbley and proposed to get up one on a more extensive scale, and take the party up the beautiful river as far as the rapids.

“I don’t mind helping you,” said Chumbley, “but it will be an awful lot of trouble, and precious hot.”

He finished, however, by saying he would help, and being once roused, threw himself heart and soul into the matter, especially as the Rajah came the next morning to say that he had had a visit from the Inche Maida, who, on being told of the projected party, had proposed that the boats should pass up the river as far as her home, where she would have a Malay banquet prepared.

This was agreed to, and the arrangements went on, it being considered advisable to do all that was possible to conciliate the native chiefs; and on the appointed day the Rajah’s two largest dragon-boats, with the rowers all in yellow satin jackets – the royal colour – were at the landing-place of the station, and the Residency island.

The embarkation was soon effected, and the merry party were being rapidly pulled along the light reaches of the winding river, whose clear waters flashed in the bright sunshine, while the verdure-covered banks were rich with a profusion of the gayest blossoms, some of which emitted a delicious scent, plainly observable upon the boats.

Helen Perowne looked handsomer than ever in a dress of the palest yellow silk, half hidden by artistic drapings of lace.

Captain Hilton was always at her side; while Chumbley, when he did rouse himself, tried to be a little attentive to Grey Stuart, who was in company with Mrs Bolter.

The latter lady was a good deal exercised in mind, consequent upon the Reverend Arthur insisting upon bringing his collecting-box, and the doctor his gun; and also because, when the latter was not chatting with the ladies of the party, he was constantly finding out that such and such a woody point would be a splendid place for being set ashore, as the forest abounded with birds and insects rich in nature’s brightest dyes.

The Rajah was the perfection of gallantry and politeness, treating Helen Perowne with a grave courtesy whenever he approached her; and all was going on in a most satisfactory style, when Chumbley, who had made his way to the back of the palm-leaf awning that sheltered the party in the boat from the torrid sun, waited his opportunity, and then beckoned to the doctor.

The latter stopped until Mrs Bolter’s eyes were in another direction, and then stole behind the awning to where Chumbley was seating himself, with his back against the side of the boat, the steersman looking at his great proportions with admiration the while.

“What is it, Chumbley?” said the doctor. “Not poorly, eh?”

“Never better in my life, doctor! Come and have a cigar.”

The doctor glanced forward, but they were completely hidden from sight; and with a sigh of satisfaction, he took a cigar from Chumbley’s case, lit it, and choosing a comfortable place, seated himself. Then like the lieutenant, he half closed his eyes, and enjoyed the delicious motion of the rippling water with the glorious panorama of foliage they passed.

“I say, steersman, have a cigar?” said Chumbley, to the tall, swarthy Malay, in his picturesque yellow satin dress.

The man did not understand his words, but he quite comprehended the act; and he showed his betel-stained teeth as he took the proffered cigar, and lit it from the one the lieutenant placed in his hands.

Then they went on and on, up glorious reach after reach of the river, startling reptiles on the banks, and bright-hued birds from the trees that overhung the stream.

“I say, doctor,” said Chumbley at last, in his lazy drawl, “what are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking that it can’t be long before my wife comes and finds me out.”

There was a pause, during which Chumbley laughed to himself.

“What are you thinking about, Chumbley?” said the doctor, suddenly.

Chumbley looked up suddenly at the steersman.

“Do you understand any English at all, old fellow?” he said; and the man shook his head.

“I was thinking, doctor,” said Chumbley, in a low voice, “what a go it would be if the Rajah has got us all in this boat here, and is taking us up the river never to come back any more.”

“What, on account of that upset a month ago?”

“Yes.”

“Murder!” ejaculated the doctor.

“Yes,” said Chumbley, “for us men; but I think I should be more sorry for the other sex.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Six.
Up the River

Doctor Bolter nearly let fall the cigar he was smoking, for his jaw suddenly dropped; but by a clever snatch of the hand he caught it, and replaced it in his lips, as he glanced at the showily-dressed steersman to see if he had noticed the display of agitation.

“I say, Chumbley, don’t be a stupid,” he said, in a low voice, as he brushed some of the cigar-ash from his white linen tunic.

“Certainly not,” replied the lieutenant, coolly. “I only said what I thought.”

“But you don’t think such a thing as that possible, do you?”

“Don’t know. Can’t say. It’s rather awkward out here, though, to be in a place where you can’t call in the police if you want them.”

“Dear me! Bless my soul!” ejaculated the doctor, taking his cigar in his hand, and looking at the burning end. “But, oh, no! it’s all nonsense. He wouldn’t dare to do such a thing.”

“No,” drawled Chumbley; “I don’t suppose he would.”

“Then why the dickens did you put forth such an idea?” cried the doctor, angrily. “Bah! that’s the worst cigar I ever smoked.”

He threw it over the side, and it gave an angry hiss as it fell into the water.

“Try another, doctor,” said Chumbley, offering his case. “It’s of no use to make yourself miserable about it if it is as I say.”

“But the ladies!” cried the doctor. “My poor little wife,” he added, softly.

“Well, they would be no better off if we make ourselves wretched,” said Chumbley, coolly.

“Bight away from all help! Not so much as a bottle of quinine at hand!” exclaimed the doctor.

“Ah, that’s a pity,” said Chumbley. “Here, light a fresh cigar, man, and don’t look like that amiable person who pulled Priam’s curtains in the dead of the night. Come, doctor, I thought you fellows were always calm.”

“So we are,” cried the doctor, feeling his own pulse. “Ninety-four! That’s pretty good for this climate. Yes, I’ll take another cigar. But I say, Chumbley, this is very awkward.”

“Would be very awkward, you mean.”

“Yes, of course. And we are all unarmed.”

“Well, not quite all,” said Chumbley. “Being a sort of man-at-arms – a kind of wasp amongst the human insects – I always carry my sting.”

“What! have you anything with you?”

“Pistol and a few cartridges,” replied Chumbley, coolly.

“And I should have had my gun. You know my little double-barrelled Adams, don’t you?”

“Yes; the one with the dent in the stock.”

“That’s the one, my lad! Well, I should have had that with me if it had not been for Mrs Bolter. I wanted to bring it, so as to collect a little, and she said it was folly, so I had to put it away. Have the others any arms?”

“Two apiece,” said Chumbley. “Fleshy.”

“And you can joke at a time like this?” exclaimed the doctor excitedly, while the swarthy steersman looked down at him wonderingly.

“Well, where’s the use of doing anything else about what was only a passing fancy on my part. Come, doctor, smoke your cigar in peace. Perhaps, after all, Murad means to be as amiable as host can be, and we shall all get back to the station, having found no worse enemies than the sun and the champagne.”

“Champagne? Nonsense, man. We shall have to drink palm wine.”

“Perhaps so; but I’ll make an affidavit, as the lawyers call it, that there are half a dozen cases on board with the brand Pfüngst, Épernay upon them, and – ”

“Look – look!” exclaimed the doctor, laying his hand upon his companion’s arm.

“What – what at?” said Chumbley, coolly. “I don’t see anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous – no! Look at that tree laden with blossoms to the water’s edge.”

“Yes, I see it. Very pretty. Can you see a tiger’s nose poking through?”

“No, no, man; but look at the magnificent butterflies – four of them. Why, they must be nine inches across the wings. Where’s Rosebury?”

“Oh! come, doctor: you are better,” exclaimed Chumbley, smiling. “That’s right; don’t think any more about my scare.”

“This trip is completely spoiled,” exclaimed the doctor, excitedly. “No shooting – no collecting! Oh! for goodness’ sake, look at that bird, Chumbley!”

“What, that little humpbacked chap on the dry twig?”

“Yes.”

“Hah! he looks as if he has got the pip.”

“My dear fellow, that’s one of the lovely cinnamon-backed trogons. Look at his crimson breast and pencilled wings.”

“Yes, very pretty,” said Chumbley; “but I often think, doctor, that I’d give something to see half a dozen sooty London sparrows in a genuine old English fog.”

“Nonsense, man. There, too – look!” he cried, pointing, as like a streak of white light a great bird flew across the river. “That’s a white eagle. I never have such chances as this when I’m out collecting.”

“S’pose not,” said Chumbley, drily. “It’s always the case when a fellow has no gun. Precious good job for the birds.”

“Oh! this is maddening!” cried the doctor. “Look – look at that, Chumbley,” and he pointed to the dead branch of a tree, upon which a bird sat motionless, with the sun’s rays seeming to flash from its feathers.

“Yes, that is rather a pretty chap,” said Chumbley. “Plays lawn tennis evidently. Look at his tail.”

“Yes, that is one of the lovely racket-tailed kingfishers, Chumbley. Ah! I wish, my dear boy, you had a little more taste for natural history. That is a very, very rare specimen, and I’d give almost anything to possess it.”

“Aren’t those long feathers in his way when he dives after fish?” said Chumbley.

“There it is, you see,” cried the doctor. “You unobservant men display your ignorance the moment you open your lips. These Malay kingfishers do not dive after fish, but chase the beetles and butterflies.”

“Poor beetles! and poor butterflies!” said Chumbley, with his eyes half closed. “I say, doctor, this is very delightful and dreamy. I begin to wish I was a rajah somewhere up the river here, with plenty of slaves and a boat, and no harassing drills, and tight uniform, and no one to bully me – not even a wife. I say, old fellow, if I am missing some day, don’t let them look for me, because I shall have taken to the jungle. I’m sick of civilisation and all its shams.”

“Hallo! you two,” cried a voice. “Come, I say, this isn’t fair. Here they are, Hilton.”

It was the Resident who spoke, and Captain Hilton also appeared the next moment, the four gentlemen so completely filling up the space that the steersman hardly had room to work his oar.

“It’s all right,” said Chumbley, coolly. “The doctor was giving me a lesson in natural history.”

“With the help of a cigar,” said Hilton. “Shall we join them, Harley?”

“Yes – no. We had better get back. The Rajah might think himself slighted if we stayed away.”

“Yes, you’re right,” exclaimed Chumbley; and getting up slowly, they all made their way back to the covered-in portion of the boat, where the beauties of the river were being discussed, and where Hilton found a seat beside Helen Perowne.

“How nice little Stuart looks in her white dress!” thought Chumbley to himself. “A fellow might do worse than marry her. Humph! Is Mr Rajah Murad going to try it on there, as he has been disappointed in Helen Perowne? No; it is only civility. ’Pon my word the fellow is quite the natural gentleman, and can’t have such ideas in his head as those for which I gave him credit.”

Chumbley chatted first with one and then with another; while in his soft, quiet way, looking handsome and full of desire to please his guests, the Rajah threw off his Eastern lethargy of manner, and seemed to be constantly on the watch for some fresh way of adding to the pleasures of the trip.

Not that it wanted additions, for to sit there in the shade, listening to the plash of oars and the musical ripple of the clear water against the sides of the boat, while the ever-changing panorama of green trees waving, rich bright blossoms, with now and then a glimpse of purple mountain and pale blue hazy hill, was sufficiently interesting to gratify the most exacting mind.

Now and then they passed a native village or campong, with its bamboo houses raised on platforms, the gable-ended roofs thatched with palm-leaves, and the walls frequently ingeniously woven in checkered patterns with strips of cane. The boats attached to posts or palm-tree trunks told of the aquatic lives of the people, this being a roadless country, and the rivers forming the highway from village to village or town to town.

The easy motion of the boat, the musical ripple of the water, the rhythmical sweep of the oars, and the ever-changing scenery in that pure atmosphere, redolent with the almost cloying scent of the flowers, seemed to produce its effect on all, and the conversation soon gave place to a dreamy silence, in which the beauty of the river was watched with half-closed eyes, till after some hours’ rowing against stream, a loud drumming and beating of gongs was heard, making the doctor and Chumbley exchange glances, and the former whispered to the lieutenant:

“Does that mean mischief?”

“Don’t know: can’t say,” was the reply. “It may mean welcome. All we can do is to keep quiet and our eyes open, then we shall see.”

“Very philosophical, but precious unsatisfactory,” muttered the doctor, as the boats went on towards where a cluster of houses showed their pointed roofs amidst the cocoa-palm, and here a couple of flags were flying, one yellow, the other the familiar union-jack; while under the trees could be seen a party of gaily-dressed women, among whom, by the aid of a lorgnette, Hilton could make out the tall, commanding figure of the Malay Princess.

“Looks more like peace than war,” thought Chumbley, as the boats neared the landing-place – a roughly-constructed platform of bamboo, alongside of which the steersman cleverly laid the first naga, the second boat being steered beside the first and there made fast. The Inche Maida, with her female attendants, then came slowly up between two lines of her slaves to welcome with floral offerings the party of guests.

“Oh, it’s all nonsense, Chumbley,” whispered the doctor to the lieutenant.

“Yes. I think it is,” was the reply, “unless,” he added, with a laugh, “they come one of the Borgia tricks and poison the cups. I mean to drink with the Princess so as to be safe.”

“I don’t mean to think any more about it,” said the doctor.

As there was a good deal of ceremony observed by the Princess in coming to meet them, something in the form of a procession was made, the Rajah with great courtesy and good taste offering his arm to the oldest lady of the party – Mrs Doctor Bolter; and the pleasant little lady flushed slightly as she was led up to the Princess, who took her by the hands, kissed her on both cheeks, bidding her welcome and thanking her for coming; and then taking a magnificent bouquet of sweet-scented flowers from one of her attendants, she presented it to her guest.

Chumbley was one of the next to approach with the lady of a merchant settled at the station; and the Princess’s eyes flashed as the bright look of welcome to the great manly young fellow changed into one of anger.

It was but a flash though, and the next moment she was smiling as if in contempt of her suspicions, for the lady Chumbley escorted was sallow and grey, and the greeting to her was made as warm and affectionate as that to the doctor’s lady.

Then the Princess held out her plump, brown, well-shaped hand to Chumbley.

“I am glad to see you,” she said, with a smile, and her eyes seemed to rest with satisfaction upon his goodly proportions. “Take that,” she added, as she removed a great yellow jasmine sprig from her rich black hair; and Chumbley bowed, and placed it in his buttonhole.

They passed on, and other guests approached to be presented to the Princess in this sylvan drawing-room, held in the pale green light of the shade beneath the palms and lacing ferns, through which an arrowy rain of silver threads of sunlight seemed to be ever falling, flashing and scintillating the while.

The Resident was greeted with the most friendly warmth; and Grey, who held his arm, was folded in quite a warm embrace. The choicest bouquet of sweetly-scented flowers being placed in her hands, the fair English girl flushed with pleasure as her tawny hostess said, softly:

“Don’t go away, Miss Stuart. You will stay and sit near me.”

“You seem to have thoroughly won the Inche Maida’s heart, Miss Stuart,” said the Resident, looking smilingly into his companion’s face.

“I like her very much,” replied Grey. “She seems to be very natural and feminine. I hope she means it all.”

“Yes; it would be unpleasant to find out that it was all glaze,” said the Resident, thoughtfully. “But do you know,” he continued, speaking very slowly, and watching the continuation of the reception the while, “I think she is a very jolly, good-hearted sort of woman, and – I – should – think – she – is – very genuine. Yes,” he added, after a pause and speaking now quickly, “I am sure now that she has no more dissimulation in her than a fly. What do you say?”

“Oh, Mr Harley, what does that mean?”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Forest Banquet

Grey Stuart’s exclamatory question was drawn from her as she, like the Resident, watched the way in which the Princess continued to receive her guests.

Grey, in obedience to the Inche Maida’s request, and remained with the Resident close by, where they had an excellent view of what was taking place, and as, rather flattered by her reception, Grey looked on, a pang shot through her breast, as she saw that almost the next couple to advance were Captain Hilton and Helen Perowne, the former looking flushed and happy as he walked proudly forward with his handsome companion upon his arm; the latter with her red lip slightly curled and her eyelashes half shading her large eyes, as she seemed to be superciliously, and with a contemptuous air, smiling at the people she looked upon as far beneath her and hardly worthy of her consideration.

As the Princess saw them approach – the most goodly couple of the company – her eyes seemed to dart a furious flash at Hilton, and then to become fixed and hard as her features, as she encountered the supercilious gaze of Helen Perowne.

For a brief space she paused, as if too angry to continue her task. The pause was but momentary: for, apparently making an effort over herself, she received Helen Perowne with a grave, almost majestic courtesy, taking a bouquet from an attendant and handing it to her with a slight inclination of the head; while Helen Perowne made her the deportment curtsey that she had been taught at the Miss Twettenhams’, throwing into it the dignity of a queen.

“Enemies!” said the Resident to himself. “Strange how women read each other’s thoughts!” The Princess darted a quick, reproachful glance at Hilton, and then the couple passed to the other side of the hostess as others advanced, and the Resident made his comment upon the Princess, while Grey Stuart exclaimed, in an eager whisper: “Oh! Mr Harley, what does all this mean?”

“Another diplomatic complication apparently, my dear child,” he said. “Why, you and I ought to be very happy and contented to feel that we are not of an inflammable nature and are heart-whole.”

“But, Mr Harley,” said Grey Stuart, colouring slightly, “I do not understand it.”

“And you will not give me time to explain,” he said laughingly. “Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that just as we have comfortably got over the little piece of incendiarism done upon the Rajah Murad’s heart by the lightning of Helen Perowne’s eyes, the Inche Maida has singed her tawny wings in the light of the handsome brown optics of Master Hilton.”

“Oh! but, Mr Harley,” said the girl, hoarsely, “you don’t think that – ”

“She has taken a fancy to him?” said the Resident, quickly. “Indeed, my dear, but I do.”

“I – I did not mean that,” faltered Grey. “I meant, do you think – he had trifled with the Princess?”

“No, certainly not,” said the Resident, sternly, and his voice was very cold and grave as he spoke; “but I do see one thing, and that is, that it is an utter mistake to have a pack of handsome young officers and good-looking girls about the station. It makes my duties twice as hard,” he continued firmly, “for we have no secret instructions, no Colonial Office despatches that deal with the unions of the sexes; and if this sort of thing is going on, I shall have to ask the Government to send me out an assistant-resident well schooled in affairs of the heart.”

He smiled grimly now, and there was a faint reflection of his smile in Grey Stuart’s face as she looked up at him rather piteously, as if to see whether he was in earnest or in jest.

Further private remark was stopped by the Princess greeting her last guests, and then turning to lead the way towards what was literally her palm-tree palace in the jungle.

“You will stay with me, will you not?” she said, laying her hand affectionately upon Grey Stuart’s arm; and she smiled down at the fair Scottish girl, who looked up at her in a half-doubting fashion; but dreading to show her feelings she took the offered hand, and the Princess led the way, the Rajah following with Mrs Bolter, and the others bringing up the rear. They passed through quite an arcade cut in the wood, whose rich growth of wondrous canes and creepers was rapidly encroaching upon the narrow space, and sending out long waving strands as if in greeting to others upon the opposite side.

At interval were openings where the green twilight was brightened by patches of sunshine; and here amidst the rich green mosses sprang up patches of many-tinted pitcher plants, while on the trunks of the huge forest trees clustered orchids of wondrous shape and hue. Bight and left was the jungle, dense and utterly impenetrable, except by cutting a way through; and as they passed along this shady tunnel, the greens of some of the lower shrubs seemed to be of a velvety blackness that had a charming effect.

At last a patch of bright sunshine could be seen, showing the end of the woodland arcade, and beyond this, framed, as it were, the Inche Maida’s home, with its high-pitched gabled roofs, chequered walls, woven windows, and palm-tree thatch, stood out bright and clear.

As they drew nearer they found that the house was placed on the farther side of a large lake that was literally ablaze with the crimson and golden blossoms of a kind of lotus, while its shores were fringed with an arrowy, gorgeously-spotted calladium, the surface of whose leaves seemed burnished and silvered in the sun.

“I say, doctor,” said Chumbley, suddenly, “it doesn’t seem such a very bad place for a picnic; and if they do mean mischief I hope it will not be till after we have had a good feed.”

“Hungry?” said the doctor.

“Atrociously! I could eat the Inche Maida herself.”

“She looked to me as if she could eat you,” said the doctor. “I say, though, Chumbley, that was all nonsense of yours; the Rajah’s as square as a cube. Not half a bad fellow; says he’s coming to consult me about some of his symptoms, and is going to get me to put him right. Precious stupid of you to put such an idea in a fellow’s head.”

“Pitch it out, then,” said the lieutenant, coolly.

“I’ve done it, my boy. I say, Chumbley, I’m like you, precious hungry, too. Look out for the sambals, my boy, and the curry. You’ll get them all in delicious trim, I’ll be bound. They say the Inche Maida keeps a capital cook, and I think it was a splendid idea to bring us here. The dinner will be ten times better than in a boat or on the shore. I say, my dear boy, what a tip-top place! Why, if I were a bachelor, I wouldn’t mind marrying the Inche Maida myself, and succeeding to all her estates.”

“It really is a charming place,” said Chumbley, thoughtfully. “A man might make himself very jolly here. There’s plenty of fishing, and shooting, and – ”

“He could learn to chew betel, and smoke opium, and settle down into an Eastern dreamer.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Chumbley, quietly. “He might make himself a sort of example to the people, and do a deal of good.”

“Yes,” said the doctor drily, “or let them do him a lot of harm. Hallo! where are the ladies going?”

“Oh, up to the rooms, I suppose,” said Chumbley. “I expect the Princess does things in style. I wouldn’t bet a sovereign that she has not got a regular dining-room and drawing-room with a Broadwood piano.”

“I don’t care a dump what she has got so long as she has a good cellar and a good kitchen,” replied the doctor, “for I’m ravenous.”

“Gentlemen,” said the Rajah, coming forward, “the Princess begs me to act as host. Will you come indoors until the dinner is ready to be served?”

“There, doctor,” whispered Chumbley, “I told you so;” and they followed the smiling Rajah into the drawing-room of the Inche Maida’s house – a large roomy apartment, kept cool by mat-covered windows, and whose polished bamboo floor would have delighted a modern aesthete.

The place was a strange compound of Malay and European customs, showy articles of French furniture being mixed up with the mats and hangings made by the natives; but everywhere there were traces of the Princess possessing an ample income to enable her to indulge in any little whims or fancies in the way of decorative art.

But the group of gentlemen had hardly had time to look round before the Inche Maida appeared with her lady guests, and not being accustomed to the etiquette of modern society, led the way to a lofty room, in the middle of which, upon English table linen, was spread such a repast as would have satisfied the most exacting; and about this the party took their seats upon the soft mats in the best way they could, for there was neither chair nor table.

Still it was a picnic party, so everyone was, or professed to be, satisfied.

The Princess made a place beside her for Grey Stuart, and Captain Hilton had paused with Helen Perowne right at the other end of the room. For a moment or two, with rather lowering looks, the hostess seemed disposed to acquiesce in this, but a sudden flush animated her face, and she sent one of her slaves to request that the couple would come up higher, making room for Hilton by her side on the right – Helen being again on Hilton’s right.

For a few minutes the repast was eaten in silence, but the doctor, who was in excellent spirits, started the conversation, and the next moment there was a regular buzz mingled with laughter; for the Princess threw off all appearance of annoyance, and with the Rajah, devoted herself eagerly to the comforts of her guests.

It was a novel and piquant affair; the pale, dim light of the palm-thatched room, with its waving cocoa-trees seen through the open windows; the comparative coolness after the walk through the jungle, and above all the quaint mingling of culture and half-savage life made the visitors delighted with the scene.

Then, too, the repast was unexceptionable. The very poorest Malays are clever cooks, and have excellent ideas upon the best ways of preparing a chicken; while the slaves of the Princess had placed such delicious curries and other Eastern dishes before the hungry visitors, that one and all fell to without giving further thought as to the strange kitchen in which everything had been prepared.

Delicious sweets and confections, cool acid drinks, evidently prepared from fresh fruits, with an abundance of palm and European wines were there; and the fruits alone would have been a sufficient attraction for the guests.

Durians, those strange productions of the fruit-world, that on being opened reveal to the eater so many chestnut-like seeds lying in a cream-like pulp – the said pulp tasting of sweet almonds, well-made custard, sherry, cheese, old shoes, sugar and garlic formed into one delicious whole.

Mangosteens, with their glorious nectarine aroma, and plantains or bananas of the choicest flavoured kinds; these, mingled with other fruits luscious and sweet to a degree, but whose names were unknown to the guests, formed a dessert beyond compare.

Chumbley, seeing that a good deal of the Resident’s attention was taken up elsewhere, divided his time between talking to Grey Stuart and watching the Malay Princess, upon whose countenance not a shade of her former annoyance remained.

Every now and then, as her eyes wandered about, she caught Chumbley’s glance as he watched her, and she always met it with a frank, open smile, and begged his acceptance of fruit or wine.

At the same time, she was constant in her attentions to Hilton and Helen Perowne, selecting choice fruits for them with her own hands, and pressing them to eat.

“Well, Miss Stuart, is not this a novelty?” said Chumbley at last. “What do you think of it all?”

Grey Stuart, who had been making a brave effort to appear bright and free from care, replied that it was all very delightful and strange.

“It seems so different from anything I have ever seen before!” she said, with animation.

“Beats a lawn party and tennis in the old country hollow!” said Chumbley. “What a capital hostess the Princess is!”

“She seems to take so much kindly interest in – in – ” said Grey.

“In you, you mean,” said the great fellow, smiling.

“Oh, no,” said Grey, naïvely, “I think it was in you.”

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Chumbley, thoughtfully; “she has been very attentive and kind certainly, but then she has been far more so to Hilton and Miss Perowne. Why I saw her peel an orange for old Hilton with her own fair – I mean dark – fingers.”

“I suppose it is the Malayan way of showing courtesy to a guest,” said Grey, in an absent tone of voice, as her eyes were wandering from Captain Hilton to Helen Perowne and back; and then, in spite of herself, she sighed gently, a fact that did not pass unnoticed by Chumbley, who made of it a mental note.

Meanwhile, the half-savage banquet went on with fresh surprises from time to time for the guests, who were astonished at the extent to which the Malay Princess had adopted the best of our English customs.

Perhaps the most critical of all was Mrs Bolter, who did not scruple about making whispered remarks to her brother about the various delicacies spread around.

“If Henry does not come soon, Arthur,” she whispered, “I shall send you to fetch him. By the way, those sweets are very nicely made. Taste them.”

“Thank you, dear Mary, no,” he said, quietly, as he turned an untasted fruit round and round in his long, thin fingers.

“Arthur, how can you be so absurd?” whispered his sister. “The people will be noticing you directly.”

“What have I done, my dear Mary?” he replied, looking quite aghast.

“Nothing but stare at Helen Perowne,” she said, in a low angry voice. “Surely you don’t want her to flirt with you!”

“Hush, Mary!” he said gravely. “Your words give me pain.”

“And your glances at that proud, handsome, heartless creature give me pain, Arthur,” she replied, in the same tone. “I cannot bear it.”

The Reverend Arthur sighed, let his eyes rest upon his fruit, raised them again, and found himself in time to arrest an arrow-like glance from Helen’s eyes sent the whole length of the table, and he closed his own and shuddered as if the look had given him a pang.

“I cannot get Henry to look at me,” whispered Mrs Bolter after a time. “He seems quite guilty about something, and ashamed to meet my eye. Arthur, I am sure he is drinking more wine than is good for his health.”

“Oh, no, my dear Mary,” replied her brother. “Surely Henry Bolter knows how to take care of his constitution.”

“I don’t know that,” said the little lady, with asperity, “and he keeps talking to the Princess more than I like.”

She telegraphed to the little doctor with her eyes, but in vain; he evaded summons after summons, and Mrs Bolter began to grow wroth.

Suddenly she saw him give a bit of a start, and he seemed to be watching the slaves, who were carrying round trays of little china cups full of some native wine.

Chumbley saw it too, and for a moment he felt excited, but directly after he laughed it off.

“The doctor thinks that the Borgia dose is going round,” he said to himself, but half aloud, and Grey caught a portion of his words and turned pale.

“Borgia?” she faltered, turning to him. “Do you mean poison?”

“Did you hear my words?” he said, quickly. “Oh, it was only nonsense.”

“But you think there is poison in those little cups, Mr Chumbley? Quick! stop him!” she gasped, with an agonised look. “Mr Hilton is going to drink. Too late! too late!”

“Hush, Miss Stuart, be calm,” whispered Chumbley; “you will draw attention to yourself. I tell you it is all nonsense: a foolish fancy. Here is a tray,” he continued, as a slave came up. “Now see, I will drink one of these cupfuls to convince you.”

“And I will drink too!” she cried, excitedly; and Chumbley stared to see so much fire in one whom he had looked upon as being tame and quiet to a degree.

“No; don’t you drink,” he said, in a low voice.

“Then you do believe there is danger?” she said, excitedly.

“I do and I do not,” he replied, in the same low tone. “There,” he said, tossing off the contents of the cup, which was filled with a delicious liqueur, “I don’t think so now; but I would not drink if I were you.”

As the words left his lips, Grey Stuart raised the little cup to her mouth, slowly drained it, and set it down.

Chumbley’s brow contracted, but he could not help admiring the girl’s firmness.

“Do you like my wine?” said a voice then, and the lieutenant started on finding that the Princess had been narrowly watching them.

“Yes, it is delicious,” he said, smiling.

“I drink to you, as you English do,” she said, taking a cup from the same tray as that which had borne those of Chumbley and Grey Stuart. “I drink to your health – you two,” she said again, and she seemed to drain the cup. “Do you not think it good?” she said, in a low voice, and with a singularly impressive smile. “Surely you do not think I would give poison to my friends.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Eight.
After the Feast

The Inche Maida turned her head just then in reply to some remark made by Captain Hilton, and Chumbley took advantage thereof to whisper to his companion:

“The Princess must have understood what we said. How provoking that I should have uttered such a foolish remark! Why, I quite frightened you!”

“I was a little alarmed,” faltered Grey, who seemed agitated. “It sounded so very dreadful, Mr Chumbley,” she added, after a pause. “You have always been so kind and gentlemanly to me, may I ask a favour?”

“To be sure,” he replied.

She paused again, and he saw that she was growing more agitated, and that she could hardly speak.

“I want you to promise me – ”

Here she stopped again, and looked piteously in his face, her lips refusing to frame the words she wished to say.

“You wish me to promise never to take notice of the secret you betrayed just now, Miss Stuart?”

She nodded quickly, and her eyes sought his in a pleading way that set him thinking of what her feelings must be for Hilton.

“Give me the credit of being a gentleman, Miss Stuart,” he said, at last, quietly.

“I do – I do!” she said, eagerly. “Indeed I do, Mr Chumbley!”

“I am an old friend of Captain Hilton. We knew one another when we were quite lads, and I exchanged into this regiment so that we might be together. He’s a very good fellow, is Hilton, although he has grown so hot-headed and liable to make mistakes. I like him for many reasons, and I can’t tell you how glad I am to have learned what I have to-day.”

“Pray say no more, Mr Chumbley,” said Grey, with a troubled look.

“But I shall say more, even at the risk of being considered rude,” continued Chumbley. “He is making a great mistake, just as a great many more men have made the same blunder.”

Grey tried to speak, but the words would not come.

“He’ll wake up some day,” continued Chumbley. “At present his eyes are dazzled.”

“Mr Chumbley!” said Grey, in a low, earnest, appealing tone.

She only uttered the young officer’s name, but the way in which it was spoken sufficed, and he bowed his head in answer, and for the next few minutes neither spoke.

“Miss Stuart, you may trust me,” he said, at last.

“I do, Mr Chumbley,” she replied, and a conscious feeling of pride and satisfaction thrilled the young soldier, as he looked in the frank grey eyes.

The conversation went buzzing on all around, nobody seeming to notice him; and Chumbley began to commune with himself as he gazed straight before him now.

“She’s taken with Hilton,” he said. “There’s no mistake about it. Now, why didn’t the little maid take a fancy to me? She’s very nice – very nice indeed; and I think she would be as earnest and truthful as a woman could be. Isn’t my luck, though – no, not my luck.

“By Jove, what an idiot that Hilton is,” he continued, as he glanced at the young officer, who did not seem to be aware of the fact that anyone was present but Helen, whose every look and gesture were watched with rapt attention; while from time to time she seemed to rouse herself from her languid indifferent way, and repay him with a smile.

It was rather a curious scene, and as she recovered from the agitation consequent upon her little encounter with Chumbley, Grey Stuart read a good deal of what was going on around.

It seemed to her that Helen Perowne, whom she had promised their old instructresses to befriend and aid, was the principal object of attraction to all. She felt no jealousy on this account, only a curious sense of trouble. Her affection for Helen was as great as ever, but always there seemed to be a gathering cloud of trouble right ahead, and in an undefined way this seemed to gather and threaten them both.

Sometimes her eyes fell upon little Mrs Bolter, who appeared far from enjoying the day, but to be ready at any moment to go in quest of the doctor, who kept leaving his seat to chat with someone at another part.

There was always a smile for Grey though, whenever Mrs Bolter caught her eye, and the exchange of glances seemed to comfort the little lady for the time.

The next minute Grey would see that the Rajah was looking in Helen’s direction, and she trembled at the idea of further trouble arising; but the Malay’s thoughts were hidden beneath a set smile, which did duty on all occasions now, and was bestowed upon Helen, upon the Princess, Mrs Bolter, even upon the watcher in turn.

Then, as she saw how impressive were Captain Hilton’s attentions, Grey sighed softly, and in remembrance of what had been said at Mayleyfield, she told herself that perhaps the best thing that could happen to Helen would be for her to become the young officer’s wife.

Just then Chumbley turned to her, and as if their conversation had had no pause —

“Let me add this,” he continued, “Hilton is one of the best fellows that ever breathed, only he has gone a little wild over this affair.”

“Pray say no more, Mr Chumbley,” pleaded Grey.

“Why not?” said the other, quietly. “I thought we were to be friends, Miss Stuart. Do you know I’m going to risk your displeasure by saying a word on my friend’s behalf?”

Grey tried to speak – to recover her usual calm self-possession, but her words would not come.

“This is all nonsense, you know,” continued Chumbley, “and I don’t know that I blame Hilton much. It’s only natural, you know, and the poor fellow’s only like everyone else. They all get caught by the beauty just the same as I was. You’re not a man, you know, so you can’t understand it. Now, for instance, take me. I’m a great big fellow – a sort of a small giant in my way – strong as a horse. I could take that Rajah up by his neck and one leg, and pitch him out of window; but when Helen Perowne came here, and gave me one of her looks, I was done, and she led me about just as she pleased. Ah! there’s a very comic side to it all.”

“But you soon broke your silken string, Mr Chumbley,” said Grey, trying to speak in his own bantering tone.

“Not really,” he said confidentially. “The fact is, she broke it. I couldn’t have got away if I had not seen that she was only playing with me. It was she who broke it by beginning to lead others on. I say, Miss Stuart, what awful old women your schoolmistresses must have been!”

“Awful old women?” exclaimed Grey. “Yes, to bring up Miss Perowne as such – a man-killer.”

“Oh! Mr Chumbley,” cried Grey, “the Miss Twettenhams were the sweetest, most amiable of ladies, and Helen Perowne made them really very anxious – ”

She checked herself suddenly, as if annoyed at having spoken against her friend, at whom she glanced now, to see that she seemed to be really the queen of the feast.

“Yes,” said Chumbley, drily, “you’re right. They must have been nice old ladies; but about Hilton,” he continued. “You see it’s like this; a fellow gets caught before he knows where he is, and then he thinks he has arrived at the happiest time of his life; then, a few days later, he sees some other fellow coming to the happiest point of his life; and then, after a flush or two of fever, the first fellow begins to feel much better. I say, Miss Stuart, I was awfully in love with Helen Perowne.”

“Yes, I think you were,” she replied, with a sad little smile.

“Awfully,” he said again. “It was all over with me. I fell in love in five minutes, and I thought her quite a goddess; while now – ”

“Yes,” said Grey, smiling; and her face looked very bright and ingenuous. “While now?”

“Well now – I don’t,” he said, slowly. “Master Hilton won’t by-and-by. I say, Miss Grey,” he whispered, laughing merrily, “do you feel as if you were going to die?”

“To die?” she said, opening her eyes very widely in her surprise; and as they met those of Chumbley he could not help thinking what sweet, earnest eyes they were.

“Just like those of that girl tying the handkerchief round the fellow’s arm in Millais’ picture of The Huguenot,” he said to himself. “Hah! he’ll be a lucky fellow who wins her for his own!”

“Yes,” he said aloud, after a pause, during which he had looked so earnestly at her that she had cast down her eyes and blushed; “yes, of the poisoned cup. No; out here in this land of romance, and living as we are amongst sultans, and princes, and slaves, just as if the Arabian nights had been brought into private life – I ought to say poisoned chalice or envenomed goblet, but I won’t; I’ll say cup, with a dose in it. I say, Miss Stuart,” he drawled, “it was too bad of you to be so suspicious.”

“Are you two lovers?” said a deep, rich voice, close by them; and they both turned suddenly, to see that the Princess was watching them with a peculiar smile upon her lip.

“Why do you ask that?” said Chumbley, laughing.

“Because you look like it,” said the Princess. “I am glad: I like you both. You are a very wise man,” she added, tapping Chumbley on the shoulder with her fan.

“As you are wrong about the engagement, my dear Princess,” said Chumbley, laughing, “so it is natural that you should be wrong about my wisdom, for Miss Stuart and I are only the best of friends.”

The Princess looked at him very sharply, and then turned her eyes upon Grey Stuart, who, though her colour was slightly heightened, felt amused at their host’s frank, bold questioning, and met the Princess’s eyes with so ingenuous a look that the latter’s suspicions were half disarmed.

“Well,” said the Inche Maida, smiling, “what do you say?”

“That Mr Chumbley is my very good friend; that is all.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said the Princess, smiling. “I don’t see why you two should not be more than friends; and sometimes I feel half glad, sometimes half sorry. What strange people you English are!”

She took Grey’s hand and held it, patting it affectionately as she spoke.

“Why are we so strange?” said Grey, smiling.

“Because it is your nature; you seem so cold and hard to touch, while a spark will set us on fire. I thought when I went to your head chief, Mr Harley, and told him and his officers of my troubles – how I, a weak woman, was oppressed by cruel neighbours – that it would have been enough to make him send fighting men to drive my enemies away. But no; it is talk, talk, talk. You are cold and distant, and you love your friends!”

“But when we make friends we are very faithful and sincere,” said Grey, earnestly.

“Some of you, my child – some of you,” said the Princess, nodding her head, and looking intently at the fair, sweet face before her. “Some of you can be very true and sincere as you call it; some of you I would not trust. And you think,” with a quick look of her dark eyes, “that you could not trust some of us. Well, perhaps you are right; but we shall see – we shall see.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Nine.
Later On

Seeing how earnestly the Princess was talking to Grey Stuart, Chumbley looked around for another companion amongst the busy, chatting throng, and found him in the person of Doctor Bolter, who was coming that way.

“Well?” said the latter.

“Well?” replied Chumbley.

“It’s all right.”

“Right? Oh, yes, I think so; but, I say, doctor, the next time you are lunching with a native, and you think the cups are poisoned, don’t show it quite so plainly.”

“Did I show it, my dear boy?”

“Horribly,” said Chumbley, coolly. “Here are you, a man who passes his time in giving other people numbers of poisonous doses, and yet you make so much fuss about taking one yourself!”

“Tut – tut, man! Tut – tut!” ejaculated the doctor. “Hold your whisht, as old Stuart says. I couldn’t help the thought; but it was a very unjust one I must say.”

“So purposeless,” said Chumbley. “Why should the Princess want to poison us?”

“Out of spite perhaps,” said the doctor. “I don’t think we have behaved very generously to her in reply to her appeal.”

“On the head of the Colonial Secretary be it,” said Chumbley, relapsing into his slow drawl.

“But unfortunately it does not fall upon his head,” retorted the doctor, grimly. “The Princess, disappointed in her appeal, could not reach the Colonial Secretary in London, but she could reach us.”

“And she won’t do anything of the kind, doctor,” said Chumbley, warmly. “She’s a very good sort of woman, in spite of her skin, and her party is a great success. It will be our turn to do something next.”

“What, in the shape of a feed?”

“Yes, I think so; only this hot climate seems to take all the energy out of a fellow.”

For the Princess’s party was undoubtedly a grand success, the fairy-like aspect of the scene adding immensely to the effect. The conduct of the Sultan was simply perfect; and his efforts to supplement the hostess in her endeavour to give pleasure won the encomiums of all.

As evening approached there was a little nervousness displayed by the ladies at the idea of staying late; and one and all appealed to Mrs Bolter, who immediately began metaphorically to play the part of hen, and displayed a desire to gather the whole of the ladies beneath her wings.

“I promise you there is no occasion for fear,” said the Princess, earnestly; “and besides, if you depart so soon, the preparations my people have made to illuminate the jungle will be all in vain.”

“What do you say, Mr Harley?” said little Mrs Bolter, rather petulantly, for she was growing tired. “Dr Bolter is not near for me to appeal to him. Don’t you think we ought to go?”

“You will miss the moonlight ride down the river if you go so soon,” said the Princess, “and that will be far more beautiful than anything here.”

“I think,” said the Resident, quietly, “that when our friend and ally – ”

“Ally, Mr Harley?” said the Princess, in a low voice.

“Has taken so much pains for our gratification, we should be behaving coldly if we hurried away. Ladies, I think I may promise you a safe return.”

“Safe return?” said the Princess.

“Yes,” said the Resident; “the river is deep, but perfectly clear of obstructions, and we have good rowers and good boats.”

The Princess was on the whole so pressing, and seemed so likely to be offended if her proposals were slighted, that after a little consultation it was finally determined to stay, and the time passed rapidly on.

The Rajah had provided music and Malay dancers, while the Inche Maida’s women proved to be possessed of pleasant voices, singing in chorus in a mournful minor way. Then, as the evening closed in, and the ingeniously-arranged lamps kept starting into life amidst the lustrous green of the forest trees, the scene became more and more fairy-like, and beautiful in the extreme.

“Talk about the Arabian nights,” said Chumbley in the interval of a dance, during which he had Helen Perowne for partner, “I think they would have had to be very fine nights indeed to come up to this. It is about the best thing I ever saw.”

“Yes,” said Helen, dreamily, “it is very charming;” and she glanced carelessly round from beneath her long fringed lids, as if she were quite accustomed to displays made in her honour and they quite palled upon her.

“Yes, it is charming,” said Chumbley, in an amused way. “Get much of this sort of thing at school?”

Helen’s eyes opened wide, and she darted an angry look at the speaker.

“How she would like to bring me to my knees,” thought Chumbley to himself.

“The insolent! How dare he treat me as if I were a schoolgirl? but I’ll punish him yet.”

The quadrille went on, and at the end Chumbley led his partner round the open space set apart for the dancers; Helen languidly using her fan, and lowering her eyes or talking to the lieutenant whenever they passed the Rajah.

“I say, Miss Perowne,” said Chumbley, lightly, just as they were near the Princess, who was talking quietly to Grey Stuart and the Resident, “how would you like to give up civilisation, and live out here?”

“What an absurd question, Mr Chumbley!” she replied, haughtily, and with the knowledge that question and answer were heard by the group they passed. “Not at all; I detest the barbarity of the country, and the Malay customs!”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Chumbley; “I don’t see much barbarity. The people are simple in their habits, but decidedly refined.”

“Absurd!” said Helen, contemptuously.

“I think Miss Perowne promised me her hand for the next dance,” said the Rajah, approaching with a soft, cat-like step, smiling and bowing the while.

Helen looked annoyed, but she was mistress of her emotions; and quietly relinquishing Chumbley’s arm, she laid her gloved hand upon the Rajah’s sleeve as coolly as if there had never been between them the slightest cause for uneasiness.

“She’s a clever one and no mistake,” said Chumbley to himself. “I hope she won’t be stupid enough to begin flirting again. Matters seem to; have settled down now, and it will be a pity for them to become troublesome once more. Wonder where the doctor is? I think I’ll lure him behind the trees, and we’ll have a cigar together. It’s too hot to dance.”

He turned to go, after a final glance at Helen and the Rajah, but found himself face to face with the Inche Maida.

“Ah, giant?” she said, in excellent English, laying her hand upon his arm, and, as it were, taking him into custody. “I heard what you said a little while ago to beautiful Helen Perowne, and I am going to ask you the same question.”

“I say,” thought Chumbley, “this isn’t leap-year, is it?”

“How would you like to give up civilisation and live out here in the wilds?”

Chumbley strolled on with the Princess in the soft light shed by the paper lanterns beneath the spreading palms, between whose mighty pinnate leaves an occasional glimpse of the lustrous starlit sky could be obtained. All around was very beautiful, and through the soft, scent-laden summer air came the strains of music sounding soft and subdued. There was a delicious languor in the breeze that seemed to prison the spirits in a gentle calm; and as Chumbley strolled softly on, he said, slowly:

“Well, I don’t know, Princess; but just now I seem to fancy that it would be just the sort of life that would suit me.”

“And Captain Hilton?” said the Princess, smiling.

“I don’t know about Hilton,” replied Chumbley. “I fancy he’s more ambitious than I am. For my part I should want an elephant, plenty of fishing, plenty of shooting – ”

“Anything else?” said the Princess, who seemed amused at the young man’s cool, easy-going way.

“Well, it’s a regular paradise out here. Very beautiful.”

“Yes, my country is beautiful,” said the Princess.

“Well, if I were to come out to such a place to play Adam, I should want an Eve. You don’t understand that.”

“What savages you think us,” said the Princess, warmly. “I challenge you! I know more of your religion and history than you do about mine.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Chumbley heartily; and the Princess looked angry, but afterwards seemed to enjoy the young man’s genuine mirth.

“Do you English think it good manners to laugh at a Malay lady?” she said reproachfully.

“Laugh? At you?” he said frankly. “My dear Princess, I was laughing at myself. Why, I’m one of the most ignorant fellows under the sun. I know my drill, and how to handle a gun; that’s about all.”

“You depreciate yourself,” said the Princess, in an admonitory tone; “but I do know who were Adam and Eve. You mean that if you lived out here you would want a wife.”

Chumbley nodded.

“Marry Helen Perowne and settle down out here. I would build you a house.”

“Heaven forbid!” said Chumbley, laughing. “No, Princess, I am not one of her slaves. I look at her now as I should at a beautiful picture.”

“You look at a beautiful picture?” replied the Princess, wonderingly. “Oh, yes, I understand now. What? so soon! Well, well, I daresay you are right, Mr Harley,” she said, in reply to a remark made by the Resident.

“Yes, he’s quite right, madam,” said Dr Bolter, who also bustled up. “Dew’s falling fast. We must not have any of my folks down with fever after so pleasant a trip.”

“I always take your advice, doctor,” said the Princess, smiling; “and say it is good.”

“It is a long way back,” said the Resident, smiling.

“Yes, but you have the stream with you,” said the Princess. “Where is the Sultan? There: you shall go. I will not keep you longer than is right, for I want you to come again.”

“After so pleasant a welcome, I’m sure all will be too happy,” said the Resident.

“I shall only be too glad to entertain you,” replied the Princess, “if I am in a position to do so. Who knows? You English refuse to help me; and perhaps by another month I may be poor, and little better than a slave.”

“But with plenty of friends in Sindang,” said the little doctor, warmly. “Here is one.”

“I know it doctor,” she replied, taking his outstretched hand.

“Grey, my child,” whispered Mrs Doctor, who was some distance away, “I’m sure that is a very dreadful woman! It does not take so long as that to shake hands!”

“I think it is only the Princess’s manner,” replied Grey, smiling.

“And very bad manners too,” said the little lady. “Now, where is Arthur?”

“That is he,” said Grey, “following Helen with her cloak.”

“Now, there!” cried the little lady, angrily, “now is my brother Arthur the man to be carrying Helen Perowne’s cloak? Oh, dear me! I do wish we were safe back at home! I don’t like these picnics in savage lands at all!”

“Good-bye, if I don’t have a chance to speak to you again, Mr Chumbley,” said the Princess. “Is not your friend coming to say good-bye? Ah, I see! he is in attendance with your Mr Chaplain upon the beauty.”

“I’d go and say good-night to Madame Inche Maida, Hilton,” whispered Chumbley, the next minute to his friend, and the latter went up and shook hands, thanking the Princess for the pleasant evening they had had, and hoping soon to see her again.

“I thank you,” said the Princess, coldly. “I hope you have enjoyed yourself; but, you are keeping Mr Perowne’s little girl waiting. Good-night.”

That was imagination on the Princess’s part, for Helen was talking to the chaplain, and had her back to them.

“She’s a curious woman,” said Hilton; “and I don’t like her a bit!”

And then, taking advantage of his dismissal, he bowed, and went to where Grey Stuart was talking to Mrs Bolter, as a half-way house to Helen, at whose side he was soon after.

Half an hour later the whole party were safely embarked. The boats were hung with lanterns, the full moon was above the black jungle-trees, and the river looked like molten silver as the oars dipped in regular cadence to the rowers’ song. Then on and on floated the two great nagas; the whole scene, as they glided between the two black banks of trees, being so weirdly beautiful, so novel, and so strange, that it affected all present, though in different ways.

Helen was hot and peevish; Mrs Bolter was petulant and fretting about the doctor stopping so long away; while Grey Stuart felt as if at the smallest provocation she would burst into tears.

“I say, Chum, old fellow,” said Hilton, as they stood outside their quarters in the brilliant moonlight smoking a cigar before turning in for the night, and after a chat about their pleasant passage down to the landing-stage – “I say, Chum, old fellow.”

“Hullo!”

“She doesn’t seem to like me, but not a bad sort of woman that Princess.”

“Not at all. Pity she’s so brown.”

“Yes, rather; but I say, Chum.”

“Hullo!”

“I’ll bet a dollar she squeezed your hand when you were coming away, eh?”

“Never tell tales out of school,” said Chumbley, slowly. “Squeezes of hands leave no impression, so they don’t count. I didn’t ask you if you squeezed Helen Perowne’s hand.”

“I shouldn’t mind if you did, old lad. Perhaps so; but don’t bother, and pass me a match.”

Chumbley chuckled softly to himself; and after a time they finished their cigars and turned in, the lieutenant sleeping soundly, while the rest of the principal personages in this narrative were wakeful and tossing from side to side, perhaps the most restless being the successful beauty, Helen Perowne.

Volume One – Chapter Thirty.
The Return Party

Mr Perowne’s was acknowledged to be by far the best garden at the station; its favourable position – sloping, as it did, down to the river – prevented any approach to aridity, and as he had gone to the expense of getting three Chinese gardeners – men who were ready enough, if not to originate, to take up any suggested idea – the result was a charmingly-picturesque succession of smooth lawns and shady walks, sheltered by the choicest flowering trees the country produced.

He spared no expense to make the garden attractive, and on the night of Helen’s twenty-first birthday, when they gave a garden-party, the place, with its Chinese lanterns and illuminated summer-houses, had an effect that seemed to Grey Stuart the most lovely she had ever seen.

“I quite envy you sometimes,” she said, as Helen, in her calm assurance, kissed her and welcomed her in a patronising way; “surrounded as you are with luxuries, you ought to be very happy.”

“And yet I am not,” said Helen, bitterly, and she turned to meet some fresh arrivals.

“You’ve a deal to grumble about,” said old Stuart, who had heard his daughter’s words. “What’s all this but show and tinsel? What’s it worth? Bah!”

Her father’s words did not comfort her, for she felt very sore; and as she strolled with him down one of the paths she thought to herself that there was an old fable about a dog in a manger, and in her quiet, homely fashion, it seemed to her that Helen was playing that part.

For she had, in her unselfish sorrow, seen that for some little time past Hilton was not happy in his love. Helen was playing with him, and he seemed to feel it bitterly, though he was too proud to show it; and she thought to herself, what would she not give to be able to whisper comfort to the young officer, and pour out for him the riches of her love – an impossibility, for in her way she was as proud as Helen herself.

“Ah, Mr Stuart! How do, Miss Stuart?” drawled a voice just behind them. “Glad to see you both. I say, Miss Stuart, do you want a fellow to play cavalier? I’m quite at liberty. Mr Stuart, there’s plenty of claret-cup, champagne, and cigars in the little pagoda, and it’s nice and cool.”

“It’s like an oven out here,” growled the merchant. “I say, Grey, you don’t want me, do you? Chumbley will take care of you. Come to me when you want to go.”

For answer she placed her hand on the lieutenant’s arm, and he took her round the grounds.

“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” he said. “Seen all the grandees?”

“I have only seen Helen and Mr Perowne,” she replied.

“Looks well to-night, ’pon my word. I saw Murad’s eyes light up like a firefly as he shook hands with her, but he pulled himself to directly. Perowne does these things well. Old boy must be pretty rich.”

“They say he is, very,” replied Grey. “Here is the Rajah coming up. Mr Chumbley, I always feel afraid of that man.”

“Hold tight by my arm, then, and I’ll punch his head if he looks at you. He shan’t run away with you while I am by.”

Grey laughed merrily, and in the midst of her mirth the Rajah came up.

“You English people always seem so bright and merry,” he said, smiling, and looking very handsome as he stood by the side of a lantern. “We people always feel dull and sad.”

“Have a glass of champagne then, Rajah. It is a fine cure for sadness. I say,” continued Chumbley, “you’ll have to imitate this, and give an evening fête.”

“Yes,” he said, eagerly; “I was thinking so. But I would have more lanterns in the trees, and more flowers.”

“To be sure,” said Chumbley. “You’ll invite me?”

“Will you promise me to come?” said the Rajah, holding out his hand.

“I will indeed,” replied Chumbley, grasping it in return.

“And you too, Miss Stuart?”

“You must ask papa,” she said, quietly.

“I will,” said the Rajah, earnestly. “Where is he?”

“Having a cigar in the little pagoda, Rajah,” replied Chumbley; and the Malay Prince nodded and smiled, and went away.

“Here, I say,” said Chumbley, as soon as they were alone. “I’m going to have a quarrel, Miss Stuart. I thought there would have been a chance for me, and that my rejected addresses would be accepted, and now you have behaved like this.”

“What do you mean, Mr Chumbley? If it is an enigma, I cannot guess it; if it is a joke, you must explain it; for I am only a Scottish maiden.”

“Joke? – no,” he said; “I call it no joke. Here you and the Rajah have the effrontery to make up matters before me.”

“I and the Rajah!” cried Grey.

“Yes; you told him to go and ask papa. I heard you.”

“Oh, Mr Chumbley, what a poor joke,” she cried; and then she stopped short, for the handsome face and stately form of the Inche Maida, followed by one attendant, suddenly came upon them from out of a dark side-walk.

“Then I was right,” she said, holding up her finger at both in turn. “You two are lovers.”

“And we always talk about other people,” said Chumbley, as the Princess kissed Grey rather coldly upon the forehead. “Come along with us, and you shall hear.”

His frank, easy manner seemed to chase away the Inche Maida’s coldness, and laying her gloved hand upon the young man’s arm, she pressed it rather more warmly than English etiquette requires, and together they promenaded the grounds, coming twice over upon Hilton, who seemed dull and out of sorts; while Helen was full of vivacity, her eyes sparkling, her words full of bright repartee; and even the Resident, with his rather sardonic humour, seemed to look at her more kindly than usual.

This look seemed to spoil her, for she immediately after began to flirt merrily, first with one and then with another, sending poisoned stabs through Hilton’s breast, and making him gnaw his lip as he darted reproachful glances at her from time to time.

Grey saw a good deal of this as the party gradually drew together to where an al fresco supper was spread upon the lawn, and her sufferings were as acute as those of Hilton.

“She does not care for him in the least,” she said to herself, as she noted Helen’s conduct with a young officer present.

“Miss Stuart, may I take you to a seat? They are going to have supper now.”

Grey started and turned pale. Why had Captain Hilton asked her? she thought. Then her heart answered, – Because Helen was trifling with him.

“I am engaged to Mr Chumbley, I think,” she said, coldly, torturing herself by her words; for she felt as if she would have given worlds to have been seated at his side.

“Perhaps the Princess will allow me to be her escort?” said Hilton, stiffly.

“Yes, I will,” said the Princess, quickly, and she went with him towards the supper-table.

“Well,” said Chumbley, “suppose we go and find places, Miss Stuart; only if I bore you don’t be above telling me.”

She turned her soft grey eyes upon him laughingly —

“I am very much obliged to you,” she said with a smile; “but I fear you will find me very dull company.”

“Well, as I’m dull too, it will be all right.”

The supper was all that could be desired, and very beautiful everything seemed beneath the bright suspended lamps. Flowers, fruit, all that money could provide, were there; and the mingling of English and Eastern customs added to the charm of the banquet beneath the great mellow stars.

The wine sparkled, merry voices chatted; and the doctor’s speech proposing their young hostess’s good health, and many happy returns of the day, was so great a triumph, that Mrs Bolter, who had been looking very cross, and trying in vain to get her husband to her side, began to seem a little better satisfied, especially as, a few minutes after, he came behind her chair and whispered:

“I hope I did not say anything to displease you, my dear.”

Then, as the little band, composed of half a dozen soldiers of the force, began a waltz, the company strolled once more in couples about the grounds; but only to return before long to the front of the house and form one huge group composed of smaller groups, with the conversation in full swing.

End of Volume One

Volume Two – Chapter One.
Strange Behaviour

In a tropical climate, where the days are too often one long punishment of heat and weariness, people believe in the dim early mornings and in the comparative coolness of the dark star-spangled nights. The day seems there a time for shelter, rest, and often for siestas of a protracted kind. Hence it follows that an evening-party is often drawn out long into the night, and guests who are comfortably seated upon a cool, dimly-lit lawn feel in no hurry to leave the open air for the mosquito-haunted heat of a sleeping-chamber.

But all pleasant things come to an end, and guests began to leave Mr Perowne’s. The absence of the two young officers passed unnoticed, and several friends took their departure after a glance round, not seeing Helen, and concluding that she was engaged.

Mrs Doctor Bolter had been, to use her own expression, “on pins and needles” for quite two hours, trying to get the doctor home; but to every fresh appeal he had something to say by way of excuse. This one had to be seen – that one had said he wished to have a few words with him – it was impossible to go at present.

“Helen Perowne will think it rude of you, my dear,” he said, reproachfully. “Go and have a chat with her again.”

Mrs Bolter tightened her lips, and made up her mind, as she subsided, to talk to the doctor next day; but at last she was driven to extremity, and captured her husband after a long hunt – in every minute of which she had made more and more sure that he was flirting with some lady in one or other of the shady walks. She found him at last under a tree, seated upon one bamboo chair with his legs on another, in company with Grey Stuart’s father, who was in a precisely similar attitude. A bamboo table was between them, upon which was a homely looking bottle and a great glass jug of cold water to help them in the mixings that took place occasionally as they sat and smoked.

“Oh, here you are, Dr Bolter,” said the lady, with some asperity.

“Yes, my dear, here I am,” he replied: “arn’t you nearly ready to go?”

Mrs Doctor Bolter gasped, for the effrontery of this remark was staggering after she had been spending the last two hours in trying to get him away.

“Ready to go!” she exclaimed, angrily. “I think it is disgracefully late; and I can’t think how Mr Stuart can sit there so patiently, knowing all the while, as he does, that his child ought to be taken home.”

Mr Stuart chuckled.

“Bolter, old fellow,” he said, “you’d better go. That’s just how my wife used to talk to me.”

“Mr Stuart, I’m surprised at you,” said Mrs Doctor, in her most impressive manner.

“Yes, it was very rude,” he said drily. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking Grey home with you? I don’t think I shall come just yet.”

“Certainly, I will take the dear child home,” replied Mrs Bolter. “I don’t think it is proper for her to be here so late.”

“Humph! Who’s she with?” said the old merchant.

“The Princess,” was the reply.

“Oh, she’s all right then. Good-night, Bolter, if you must go. Won’t you have just one wee drappie mair?”

The doctor shook his head with Spartan fortitude, and buttoned up his coat, but only to unbutton it directly.

“Good-night, Stuart; we’ll take your little lass home.”

“Thankye; do,” was the reply, and the dry old Scot sat back in his chair chuckling, as he saw the doctor marched off.

“Seen Helen about, Stuart?” said Mr Perowne, coming up five minutes later.

“No; not for an hour.”

“If you see her, tell her I’m up by the drawing-room window. People keep going, and she’s not here.”

“All right.”

“By the way, when can I see you to-morrow?” said Mr Perowne, eagerly. “I want to chat over that matter with you.”

“I shall be in my office all day if you like to call.”

“Yes; to be sure – of course. I’ll call in,” said the merchant, hastily, as if the business was unpleasant to him; and he went away muttering.

“Hah!” grunted the old merchant, “pride must have a fall, they say; and when pride does fall, it always bumps itself pretty hard upon the stones.”

The remarks made by Mrs Bolter to her husband, as they left the old Scotch merchant, were of rather a forcible nature; but there was this excuse for her: that she was very hot and extremely tired after the long evening in the enervating climate; and this had no doubt acidified her temper. But no matter what she said, the amiable little doctor took it all in good part.

He was a naturalist and student of the human frame, and it was quite natural, he told himself, that his wife should be cross now that she was weary.

“Babies are always fretful when they are tired,” he said to himself; “and a woman is only a grownup baby. Poor little soul! she will be all right in the morning.”

“Why are we going in this direction, Dr Bolter?” said the little lady. “This is not the nearest way to the gate.”

“Must go and say good-night to Perowne and Madam Helen,” he replied.

“They would not miss us,” said Mrs Doctor, tartly. “I daresay we should only be interrupting some pleasant flirtation.”

“Oh – oh – oh! I say,” said the doctor, jocularly. “For shame, my dear, for shame! I’ll tell Perowne what you say about his flirtations.”

“Don’t be foolish, Bolter,” said his wife, sharply. “You know what I mean.”

“What, about Perowne flirting with the ladies?” he said, with a smothered chuckle.

“About Helen Perowne,” she said, shortly. “Well, here we are upon the lawn, and of course there’s no host here and no hostess.”

“But there’s little Grey,” said the doctor. “By jingo, I’d about forgotten her.”

“No wonder, sir, when you have been drinking with her father to such an extent.”

“Fine thing in this climate, my dear,” said the doctor. “Where’s Arthur?”

“Tired of all this frivolity, I suppose, and gone home like a sensible man. He does not drink whiskey.”

“Oh, dear,” said the doctor, “I’ll never take another drop if you talk to me like this, but poison myself with liquor-ammoniae instead.”

“Liquor what, sir?”

“Ammonias, my dear, sal-volatile as you call it when you require a stimulus. Well, Grey, my child, we are to take you home.”

“So soon, Dr Bolter?” said the Inche Maida, by whose side Grey was seated.

“I think it quite late enough, Princess,” said Mrs Bolter, austerely. “Have you seen my brother?”

“Yes, I saw him following Miss Perowne down the walk,” said the Princess, quietly enjoying Mrs Bolter’s start. “I suppose it is pleasanter and cooler in the dark parts of the garden.”

“My brother is fond of meditation,” said Mrs Bolter, quietly; and she looked very fixedly in the Princess’s eyes.

“Yes, I suppose so; and night is so pleasant a time for thought,” retorted the Princess. “You must come with your brother and the doctor, and stay with me, Mrs Bolter.”

“Thank you, madam,” replied the little lady. “Never, if I know it,” she said to herself.

“I suppose it is late to English views?” said the Princess, smiling. “Good-bye, then, dear Miss Stuart. I will try and persuade papa to bring you to stay with me in my savage home. You really would come if he consented?”

“Indeed I should like it,” said Grey, quickly, as she looked frankly in the Princess’s handsome face, the latter kissing her affectionately at parting.

“Now we must say good-night to Perowne and our hostess,” said the doctor, merrily. “Come along, my dear, and we’ll soon be home. But I say, where are these people?”

Neither Helen nor Mr Perowne was visible; and the replies they received to inquiries were of the most contradictory character.

“There, do let us go, Dr Bolter,” exclaimed the lady, with great asperity now. “No one will miss us; but if the Perownes do, we can apologise to-morrow or next day, when we see them.”

“But I should have liked to say good-night,” said the doctor. “Let’s have one more look. I daresay Helen is down here.”

“I daresay Captain Hilton knows where she is,” said Mrs Doctor, sharply, and Grey gave quite a start.

“But I can’t find Hilton, and I haven’t seen Chumbley lately.”

“Perhaps they have been sensible enough to go home to bed,” said Mrs Doctor, after she had been dragged up and down several walks.

“Almost seems as if everybody had gone home to bed,” said the doctor, rubbing his ear in a vexed manner. “Surely Perowne and Helen would not have gone to bed before the guests had left.”

“Well, I’m going to take Grey Stuart home, Doctor,” said the lady, decisively. “You can do as you like, but if the hostess cannot condescend to give up her own pleasure for her guests’, I don’t see why we should study her.”

“Ah, here’s Perowne,” cried the doctor. “Good-night, old fellow. Thank you for a pleasant evening. We are just off. Where is Madam Helen?”

“Don’t know; but don’t wait for her,” said Mr Perowne; and after a friendly leave-taking the party of three moved towards the gates, Mrs Doctor heaving a satisfied sigh as they went along.

They had to cross the lawn again, where a goodly group of guests yet remained; and as they passed, the Inche Maida smiled and kissed her hand to Grey, while the Rajah rose to see them to the gates.

“Not gone yet, Rajah?” said the doctor. “I say, how are you going to get home?”

“My boat is waiting. We like the night for a journey, and my rowers will soon take me back.”

“And the Inche Maida, will she go back home to-night?”

“No; I think she is to stay here. Shall I go and ask her?”

“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Mrs Doctor, “he does not want to know. Good-night, Rajah.”

“Good-night – good-night.”

They parted at the gate, and the Rajah returned to the lawn, staying with the remaining guests till they departed; he and the Inche Maida being about the last to leave – the latter being handed by Mr Perowne into her boat, for the Rajah was wrong – the Princess had not been invited to stay, and her strong crew of boatmen were very soon sending the long light naga swiftly up stream, the smoothly-flowing water breaking up into myriads of liquid stars, as it seemed to rush glittering along on either side while they progressed between the two black walls of foliage that ran up from the surface high in air, one mass of leafage, from which the lowermost branches kissed the stream.

Volume Two – Chapter Two.
Missing

The hum of a mosquito was about the only sound to be heard in the Residency house, as, clad in silken pyjamas, Mr Harley lay sleeping easily upon his light bamboo bedstead, dimly seen through the thin gauzy curtains by the light of a well-subdued lamp.

The bedroom was furnished in the lightest and coolest way, with matting floor and sides, while jalousie shutters admitted the cool night air.

The Resident had been smoking, partly in obedience to a bad bachelor habit, partly to keep at bay that Macbeth of insects that haunts all eastern rooms, and tries so diligently to murder the sleep of the inoffensive and just.

The faint pungent odour of a good cigar still pervaded the room, and the extinct end was yet between Neil Harley’s white teeth, as he lay there dreaming about Helen Perowne, seeing her admired and followed by all the single men at the station, while he was the only one who made no sign.

He sighed in his sleep, and then uttered a low moan, as if in spite of his placid face and show of indifference he suffered deeply on Helen’s account; but a calm smile, well resembling indifference, rested upon his features, and seemed to say that, come what might, he was patiently waiting his time.

Then came a change, for the calmness seemed to be swept away by a gust of passion, and the strong man’s hands clenched, his brow grew rugged, and as if suffering from some acute agony, the white teeth of the sleeper closed tightly with a sharp click, and a portion of the bitten-through cigar rolled from his lips on to the floor.

Then all was very still. The heat seemed to grow more intense, and the faint ripple of the river, as it glided by the island, could be distinctly heard. Now and then from the distant jungle some wild, uneasy cry rose upon the still air, riding as it were across the river like a warning to tell the slumbering Europeans that the savagery of the primeval forest lay close beside their civilisation; while the wakeful might have pondered on the fact that their safety rested solely upon the British prestige, and that a spark might ignite a train that would result in a terrible conflagration sufficient to sweep them all away.

Some such thoughts crossed the sleeping brain of Neil Harley that night, and his sleep grew more and more troubled as he thought how love-blinded he had been, and the risks they had run from Helen’s treatment of the young Rajah.

The trouble had passed away now, but such another affair might result in ruin to them all; and yet he had allowed her to go on and trifle, looking on with assumed indifference, though his heart was stung the while.

Neil Harley’s sleep again grew restful and calm; for in a pleasant dream he fancied that Helen, more beautiful than ever, had bidden him to her side, telling him that all her weak and wilful coquetry was but to try him. That she had loved him from the first, for he was the only man who had really touched her heart; and that, though she had fought against the restraint he had placed upon her, and told herself that she hated him and the way in which he had mocked at her trifling, she was his – his alone – that she resigned herself to his keeping – his keeping – that of the only man who could ever sway her heart.

The night grew hotter still, and the faint breath that was wafted between the open laths that covered the window seemed to have passed from the mouth of some furnace. A harsh roar came from the jungle, and then a loud plash or two echoed over the surface of the stream, as some great reptile plunged in from the muddy bank.

Then all was very still once more for a time, till suddenly the faint plash-plash of oars was heard, seeming now to be coming nearer, now to be fading away, drowned by the shrill insect hum. Again it sounded nearer, and all doubt of its proceeding from a boat bound for the Residency island was ended by the loud challenge of the sentry at the landing-place.

Then came voices in reply, and once more the hum of the mosquitoes was all that could be heard: now low and deep, now shrill and angry.

The faint lapping of the river and the plash of oars had died away, and the silence and heat were painful enough to draw a low sigh from the sleeper, just as the bedroom door was softly opened, and a dark figure glided in, crept over the matting floor without making a sound, and bent over the bed.

For the moment it seemed as though he was there upon some errand of ill; and one who watched would have been ready to raise an alarm, the insecurity of the station life being sufficient to warrant such a supposition; but the idea of the dark figure being bent on an evil errand was at once destroyed, for after waiting for a moment, he cried, softly:

“Master – master!”

The Resident started lip with the sudden awakening of a man accustomed to suspect peril at every turn, and his hand darted beneath his pillow even as he raised himself, to be withdrawn grasping the butt of a loaded revolver.

“Ah, you Ling,” he said, with a sigh of relief, as he lowered his hand. “What is it? Someone ill?”

“Mr Perowne has come across in his boat, sir.”

“Mr Perowne? at this time! what does he want?”

“To see you, sir.”

“Tell him I’ll be there directly.” The Chinese servant glided away as silently as he had come, and the Resident hastily dashed some water in his face to clear away the sleepy feeling.

“I hope nothing serious!” he muttered. “Has Helen been taken ill?”

A pang shot through him at the thought, and the reckless behaviour of the night, that had stung him again and again during the course of the evening, was forgiven.

“Poor child!” he muttered. “I believe she loves me, and bird-like, is fluttering and timorously striving to escape from the string that holds her.” He glanced at his watch as it hung upon a stand. “Two o’clock. I have not been in bed above an hour. What can be wrong?”

The next minute he was in the dining-room, where he found Mr Perowne agitatedly walking up and down; but as soon as the Resident entered he advanced and caught him fiercely by the arm. “Harley, do you know anything of this?” he cried.

“Of this? Of what?”

“Helen! Where is she?”

“Helen? In bed and asleep I hope. What do you mean?”

“I missed her somewhere about eleven. I have not seen her since.”

The Resident looked curiously at Mr Perowne, whose flushed face and excited manner seemed to suggest that he had been playing the host too freely during the evening, and to his own deterioration in balance.

“Tired, and gone to bed. A bit peevish with weariness,” suggested the Resident, who drove back a curious sense of uneasiness that troubled him.

“No,” said Mr Perowne, hoarsely; “she has not gone to bed, and the house and the gardens have been searched again and again. Do you know anything of this?”

“I? Absurd! I left in good time. I bade her good-night when she was talking to the chaplain; he was trying to persuade her to let him cover her shoulders with the shawl he carried.”

The Resident ceased speaking to dwell for a moment upon the luminous look he had seen Helen bestow upon the chaplain – a look meant, he told himself, to annoy him, while he knew that it would give poor Rosebury food for sweet reflection during weeks to come.

“It is very strange,” said Mr Perowne excitedly; and his haggard gaze was directed about the place, as if he half expected to find that Helen was there. “Where did you see her last, do you say?”

“Talking to Rosebury, and before then she was with Hilton. I fancy they were having words. Well, perhaps I ought hardly to say that; but Hilton was certainly remonstrating angrily.”

“When was that?”

“Half-past ten or eleven; I cannot say for certain.”

“Let us go and see Hilton,” said Mr Perowne; “but stay. Am I to believe you, Harley?”

“As you please, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, with dignity. “Why should you doubt my word?”

“I do not doubt it!” cried Mr Perowne, catching his hand. “Pity me, Harley. I seem cold and strange; but I love that girl, and she is gone.”

He gasped painfully as he spoke, but smiled sadly directly after as the Resident warmly grasped his hand.

“One minute,” said the Resident; and hastily adding something to his clothing, he joined his visitor again, and the two sallied forth into the still, hot night, to make their way to the little fort, which was stronghold and barracks in one.

Here they were challenged by another sentry, for, peaceful times as they were, the military arrangements were always kept upon the sternest war footing.

“We want to see Captain Hilton,” said Mr Harley, in his quick, commanding way.

“Captain’s ashore, sir. He went to Mr Perowne’s party.”

“Yes, yes,” said that gentleman; “we know: but he has come back.”

“No, sir; not while I’ve been on guard – three hours, sir.”

“Call the sergeant,” said Mr Harley, sharply.

He needed no calling, for, hearing voices, he had come out to see who came so late.

“Where is Captain Hilton?”

“I thought he was stopping to sleep at Mr Perowne’s, sir,” said the sergeant, saluting. “Hasn’t been back. Beg pardon, sir; didn’t see it was Mr Perowne.”

“But he left my house hours ago,” said that gentleman.

“Gone to stay at Dr Bolter’s, perhaps, sir,” suggested the sergeant.

“Are you sure he did not return while your back was turned?” said Mr Harley.

“Quite sure, sir. Still, he might, sir; it’s no use to be too sure. Like to go to his quarters, sir?”

“Yes, we’ll go in,” said the Resident, quickly; and following the sergeant, after exchanging glances, the two gentlemen entered Hilton’s room.

The bed had not been pressed, and everything was in order, just as the regimental servant had placed it after his master had dressed to attend the evening fête.

“Mr Chumbley hasn’t come back neither,” said the sergeant.

“Not come back!” said the Resident, wondering. “This is strange. I don’t know, though. They have gone to smoke a cigar with someone, and then decided to stay all night.”

Mr Perowne shook his head, and the Resident felt that his explanation was not good, and both were silent as they walked back towards the entrance of the fort.

“What does this mean?” said Mr Perowne, at last.

“Can’t say yet,” replied the Resident, sharply. “Sergeant, have a look round, and make sure that Captain Hilton and Mr Chumbley have not come back.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll look round,” said the sergeant; “but they couldn’t have landed without the sentries knowing.”

“Go and see,” said the Resident, sternly; and the sergeant saluted and walked away.

“They must be staying somewhere,” said the Resident, who suffered from the desire to keep back the question that so agitated his breast. “Depend upon it, they have gone to the doctor’s to smoke a cigar.”

He felt as he spoke that this was impossible; for he was sure that the hours kept at the doctor’s were too regular for such a relapse.

“And my daughter?” said Mr Perowne, in a cold, stern voice.

“I’ll have the men out to search if it is necessary,” said the Resident, eagerly; “but before we proceed to such an extreme measure, had we not better make more inquiries? Yours is a large house and grounds. She may be back by now.”

Neil Harley felt a strange choking sensation as he spoke, and he knew that his words were weak; but he clung to the hope that there was some mistake, and that Helen was by now safely at home.

“She may,” said Mr Perowne, bitterly. “But it seems to me that there is some trick here. I gave you the credit of it at first.”

“Am I a man so wanting in respect for Helen that I should insult her and you?”

“I – I can’t help it, Harley!” groaned the father. “There seems to be no end to my troubles!”

The Resident looked at him sharply, for that evening he had seemed all life and gaiety.

“Yes, you may look!” groaned the unhappy man; “but everything goes wrong with me. There is, I am sure, some planned affair here; and I believe that Hilton is at the bottom of it.”

“Do not be so ready to condemn, Perowne,” said the Resident, quickly. “I feel sure that Hilton would be guilty of no rash, foolish escapade like this. It is absurd! Good heavens, man! do you think that Helen would degrade herself by eloping? I will not believe it!”

“I wish I could feel you were right,” groaned the unhappy father.

“Why Chumbley is away too. It is like saying that he is implicated.”

“He is Hilton’s chosen companion,” said Mr Perowne, sadly.

“Tut, man; we shall have to look farther afield than that.”

“Then why are they not here to speak for themselves?” cried Mr Perowne, in a querulous, excited way. “Hilton has been constantly hanging about my place a great deal more than Helen liked, and she showed it to-night by completely turning her back upon him.”

“But surely you do not think that Hilton – ” began the Resident.

“I do not think anything,” said Mr Perowne, angrily. “But here is the fact before us: my daughter is missing, and Captain Hilton has not returned to his quarters.”

“Neither has Chumbley,” said the Resident, uneasily.

“Neither has Chumbley,” assented Mr Perowne.

“A man who, beneath his languid indifference, is the soul of honour,” said the Resident; and he led the way to the boat by which Mr Perowne had come across.

The men were lying in the bottom asleep; but they roused up directly as the two gentlemen entered and were rowed to the landing-stage at the foot of Mr Perowne’s garden, where the swift stream was lapping the stones placed to keep it from washing the lawn away.

As they were rowed across Neil Harley found himself looking thoughtfully down into the water time after time, and a curious shuddering sensation came upon him, one which he strove hard to cast off.

He could not, he would not believe it possible, he told himself; but in spite of his efforts, and the mastery he generally had over self, the thought would come.

They found the servants ready with the answer that nothing had been seen of their young mistress, though they had continued searching ever since their master had gone away.

“Shall we look round ourselves?” said Mr Perowne.

“No, if you say the house has been searched.”

“I have been in every room myself.”

“Then let us go on to the doctor’s. We may find Hilton and Chumbley there, and they perhaps can throw some light upon the matter.”

Mr Perowne bowed, and they hurried off to the doctor’s pretty bungalow, a short distance away.

“They are not here, unless they are stopping to sleep.”

“How do you know?”

“There is no light.”

All the same the Resident tapped sharply at the door, and his summons was followed by a thump on the floor, as if someone had leaped out of bed.

The next moment a window was thrown open, and the doctor’s voice was heard.

“Now then: who’s ill?”

“Don’t be alarmed, doctor,” said the Resident.

“Oh, it’s you, Harley. Had too much supper?”

“No, no. Tell me quickly. Did Hilton and Chumbley come home with you?”

“No; they went away ever so long before.”

“Did you see them go?”

“No. Can’t say I did.”

“They have not been back to their quarters.”

“Stopped to have a cigar somewhere.”

“Perhaps so; but tell me, when did you see Hilton last?”

“I don’t know. Oh, yes, I do. He went down towards the river, with a cigar in his mouth.”

“When did you see my daughter?” said Mr Perowne.

“Oh! are you there, Perowne? Well, I don’t know. Not for an hour before we came away.”

“An hour and a half,” said Mrs Bolter’s voice. “We didn’t see her when we came away.”

“Did she go away with anyone, Mrs Bolter?” exclaimed Perowne, eagerly.

“No; I saw her walk towards the house by herself. I’ll get up and dress directly. Perhaps I can do some good. The poor girl has been overcome by the heat, Bolter, and fainted away somewhere in the grounds. We’ll both dress and come on directly, Mr Perowne. Have the shrubberies searched again. Henry, go and rouse up Arthur; he may be useful.”

“Yes, call him,” said the Resident; “he was seen with her last, and may know where she went.”

Volume Two – Chapter Three.
In the Middle of the Night

All Mrs Bolter’s dislike to Helen vanished now that there was trouble on the way; and dressing hastily, she ran across the little bamboo landing to knock at her brother’s door, but without receiving any answer, and knocking again sharply, she ran back to her own room to continue dressing.

She threw open the window to admit a few breaths of fresher air, and in the silence of the night she could hear the receding steps of their late visitors. Then turning sharply she found Dr Bolter yawning fearfully.

“Don’t be so unfeeling, Henry!” she cried; “who knows what may have happened?”

“Unfeeling be hanged!” he said, tetchily. “I only yawned.”

“And very rudely, Henry. You did not place your hand before your mouth.”

“A yawn, Mrs Bolter,” he said didactically, “is the natural effort made for ridding the system – ”

“Of the effects of too much smoking and drinking,” said Mrs Doctor, quickly. “There, do make haste and dress, and then call Arthur again. He does not seem to be moving. How soundly he sleeps. He did not hear us when we came home or he would have spoken.”

“Oh, dear!” yawned the doctor. “I was just in my beauty sleep, and this calling me up is the heigh – hey – ho – ha – hum! Oh! dear me! I beg your pardon, my dear.”

“Are you nearly ready, Henry?” said the lady, who would not notice the last most portentous yawn.

“Where the – ”

“Henry!”

“I mean where are my studs? Oh! all right.”

“Go and see if Arthur is awake, and tell him to get up directly.”

The doctor went slowly and sleepily out of the door, fumbling with his studs the while; and without pausing to knock, walked straight into his brother-in-law’s room.

“Here, Arthur, old man, rouse up!” he cried. “We’re going on to – hullo! Here, Mary, he hasn’t been to bed!” he shouted.

“Not been to bed!” cried the little lady. “Why, Arthur, you foolish – ”

“He isn’t here, my dear,” said the doctor.

“But – but he was here when we came back, was he not?” said Mrs Bolter.

“I don’t know; I only knocked at his door. I was too sleepy to speak, my dear.”

“Oh! Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Bolter, excitedly, “something must have happened, or dear Arthur would not have stopped away like this.”

“I – I hope not,” said the doctor. “There, be calm, my dear; we know nothing yet.”

“Yes – yes, I will be calm,” said the little lady, fighting hard to master her excitement; “but, Henry, if we have brought my poor brother over here to be the victim of some terrible accident, I shall never forgive myself.”

“Oh, stuff – stuff!” cried the doctor, as they looked round the room to find that the bed had not been touched. “Don’t jump at conclusions. What did Harley say?”

“That Arthur was seen last with Helen Perowne – in the garden, I suppose.”

“What? Our Arthur was seen with her last? She missing – he missing – why, by jingo, Mary, that handsome puss has run away with him!”

The doctor burst into a hearty, chuckling laugh.

“Is this a time for jesting, Henry?” said Mrs Bolter, angrily.

“Not at all, my dear,” replied the doctor, “only it looks as if Arthur had made up his mind to do something startling.”

“Arthur – something startling! What do you mean?”

“That he seems to have bolted with Helen Perowne!”

“Henry!”

“Well, my dear, they were seen together last, and they are now missing. What is one to say?”

“If you cannot say words of greater wisdom than that, Henry, pray be silent.”

“All right, my dear – come along.”

But if the doctor was disposed to be silent, so was not his lady, who began to find out cause after cause for her brother’s absence.

“Someone is ill, I’m sure, Henry, and Arthur has been summoned to the bedside.”

“Nonsense! If anyone were ill,” said the doctor, testily, “I should be sent for; and there is no one ill now, though we shall have half a dozen poorly to-morrow after that supper of Perowne’s.”

“Then some terrible accident has happened,” said Mrs Bolter. “Arthur would never have stopped away like this without some special reason.”

“Well, we shall see,” said the doctor.

“Henry,” said the lady, suddenly; and she came to a full stop.

“Yes, my dear.”

“Do you think it likely that Helen Perowne – poor foolish girl – would do such a thing?”

“What, as to run off with Arthur?” chuckled the little doctor.

“For shame, Henry! I say do you think she is likely to have walked down to the river-side because it is cool and slipped in? There is not the slightest protection.”

“No, my dear, I do not think anything of the sort,” replied the doctor, angrily. “She is a deal more likely to be courting some coxcomb or another in a shady walk, and they have forgotten all about the time.”

“Absurd!” exclaimed Mrs Bolter. “Absurd, eh? Why, that’s what she is always thinking about. How many fellows has she been flirting with since we knew her?”

“I am waiting for you, Dr Bolter,” said the lady, austerely, “and I must say that I think your words are very unfeeling indeed.”

“I’ll bleed her if she has fainted!” said the doctor, grimly. “I should like to bleed that girl, old-fashioned as the notion is! If I don’t, I’ll give her such a dosing as she shan’t forget in a hurry – calling a fellow up like this!”

They hurried out into the star-lit night, with everything seeming hushed and strange. The trees whispered low from time to time; then came a sullen splash from the river, as if some huge creature had just plunged in. Once or twice came a peculiar, weird-sounding cry from the jungle – one which made Mrs Doctor forget her annoyance with her husband and creep close to his side. Just then they heard hurried footsteps. “Did you bring your pistols with you, dear?” whispered Mrs Bolter.

“No,” he said, sharply; “I’ve got a rhubarb draught, a bottle of chlorodyne, the sal-volatile, and a lancet. That will be enough. Think I meant to shoot the girl?”

“Don’t be absurd, dear! Take care, there is someone coming.”

“Another call for me!” grumbled the doctor, sleepily. “That’s the effect of giving parties in a hot climate. Hullo!”

“Yes, doctor,” said a familiar voice.

“Oh! it’s you two. Well have you found her all right?”

“We’ve been to Stuart’s,” said the Resident, sharply.

“Well, what news?”

“They have not seen or heard of either of them,” replied the Resident.

“Do you know that my – ”

“Oh, hush!” whispered Mrs Doctor, excitedly, “you had better not – ”

“Why, they must know it, my dear,” he whispered back. “It is of no use to hide anything.”

“I did not understand you, doctor,” said the Resident.

“I say that my brother-in-law, Rosebury, has not been home.”

“The chaplain!” cried Mr Harley, and he stopped short upon the path.

“Hasn’t been home,” continued the doctor. “They’ve all gone in somewhere. Who else is away?”

“Hilton and Chumbley.”

“Oh, it’s all right. They’re somewhere; but it’s very foolish of them to frighten some people and rouse others up like this,” said the doctor.

“I hope we shall find a pleasant solution of what is at present a mystery,” said the Resident. “Mrs Bolter, it is very kind of you to come,” he added, warmly.

“Yes; I thank you too,” said Perowne, in a dreamy, absent way. “It is very strange; but where is Miss Stuart?”

“Stuart said she was asleep,” said the Resident.

“Oh, to be sure. Yes; I remember,” said Mr Perowne.

“We took her safely home,” said Mrs Bolter, quickly.

They had not far to go to the gates of the merchant’s grounds, but it seemed to all to be a long and dreary walk past the various dark houses of the European and native merchants, not one of which gave any token of the life within.

The gates were open, and they walked over the gritting gravel to where the door stood, like the windows of the bungalow, still open, and a lamp or two were yet burning in the grounds, one of which paper lanterns, as they approached, caught fire, and blazed up for a moment and then hung, a few shreds of tinder, from a verdant arch.

It was a mere trifle, but it seemed like a presage of some trouble to the house, seen as it was by those who approached, three of the party being in that unreal, uncomfortable state suffered by all who are roused from their sleep to hear that there is “something wrong.”

The servants looked soared as they entered, and announced that they had been looking, as they expressed it, “everywhere” without success.

Lanterns were lit and a thorough exploration of the grounds followed, the only result being that a glove was found – plainly enough one that had been dropped by someone walking near the river.

That was all, and the night passed with the searchers awaking everyone they knew in turn, but to obtain not the slightest information; and daybreak found the father looking older and greyer by ten years as he stood in his office facing the Resident, the doctor, and Mrs Bolter, and asking what they should do next.

“We must have a thorough daylight search,” said Mr Harley. “Then the boatmen must all be examined. It hardly appears probable, but Hilton and Chumbley may have proposed a water trip. It seems to us now, cool and thoughtful, a mad proposal, but still it is possible.”

“Yes, and Helen would not go without my brother to take care of her,” said Mrs Bolter, triumphantly, for she had been longing for some explanation of her brother’s absence, and this was the first that offered.

“Oh, no, Mary,” said the doctor, crushing her hopes as he shook his head.

“No, Mrs Bolter,” said the Resident, slowly; and he seemed to be speaking and thinking deeply the while. “I am sure Miss Perowne could not be guilty of so imprudent an act.”

“No,” said her father, speaking now more boldly and without reserve. “You are right, Harley. Helen loves admiration, but she would not have compromised herself in such a way, neither would Mr Rosebury have given such an act his countenance.”

The Resident raised his head as if to speak, and then remained silent.

“What are you thinking, Harley,” said the doctor.

“Yes, pray speak out,” cried Mrs Bolter. “I am sure we are all only too anxious to find some comfort.”

“I was thinking of what could have happened to them, for depend upon it they are all together.”

“Yes,” said Mr Perowne; “but you were thinking more than that.”

“I must think,” said the Resident. “I cannot say anything definite now.”

“Then I know what it is,” cried Mrs Bolter.

“Will you kindly speak out, madam?” said the old merchant, harshly.

“I should be sorry to accuse falsely,” said Mrs Bolter, excitedly; “but I was warned of this, and I can’t help thinking that someone else is at the bottom of this night’s work.”

“And who’s that?” said the doctor, quickly.

Mrs Bolter was silent.

“Rajah Murad, you mean,” said the doctor, quickly; “and he has been waiting his time.”

“And now strikes at us like a serpent in the dark!” cried Mr Perowne, angrily. “It is the Malay character all over. Heaven help me! My poor girl!”

Volume Two – Chapter Four.
Mrs Barlow

Mr Perowne’s house was literally besieged the next morning, for the news of the disappearance ran through the little community like wildfire. British and native communities were equally excited; and after snatching an hour’s rest at the imperative command of his wife, the doctor was hastily swallowing some breakfast previous to going back to Mr Perowne’s, but could hardly get on for interruptions.

“I am not alarmed, Henry,” said the little lady, in a quiet, decided way; “and I insist upon your being properly fortified before unduly exerting yourself. I could not bear for you to be ill.”

The words were said very quietly, but in such a tone that Dr Bolter set down his cup, and rising, left his place, and tenderly embraced the earnest little woman he had made his wife.

“I will take all the care I can, my dear Mary,” he said.

“I know you will, Henry,” said the little lady, whose lip quivered slightly as she spoke; “but now go and finish your breakfast, and then start. Don’t be uneasy about me, dear, but go and do what you think best under the circumstances.”

“I will, my love – I will,” said Dr Bolter, with his mouth full of toast.

“It all sounds very alarming, dear, but I cannot help thinking that it will be explained in a very simple manner.”

“I hope so.”

“You see there are four of them; and as Arthur is one, I think we may feel assured.”

“Well, my dear these are business times,” said the doctor, “and we must speak in business ways. Arthur is the best old fellow in the world; but I am sorry to say that he is a terrible old woman.”

“Henry!” said the lady, reproachfully.

“Well, my dear, he is. Now, would you have much confidence in him if it were a case of emergency?”

“I – I think I would sooner trust to you, Henry,” said the little lady, softly; “but do make haste and get a good breakfast. If you want me, send a message, and I will come directly.”

“All right,” said the doctor, rising once more. “Now I’m off.”

“But one moment, Henry,” said the little lady, whose feelings now got the upper hand. “Tell me, dear – do you think anything dreadful has happened?”

“What do you call dreadful, my dear?” said the doctor, cheerily.

“That the crocodiles – ”

She did not finish, but looked imploringly at her lord.

“Bah! – stuff! – nonsense! No, Mary, I don’t.”

“Then that this dreadful Rajah has carried them off?”

“If it had only been Madam Helen, I should have felt suspicious; but what could he want with Hilton and Chumbley, or with our Arthur?”

“To marry them,” suggested Mrs Bolter.

“Stuff! my dear, not he. If Murad had carried her off, he would not have bothered about a parson.”

“But Arthur was waiting about her all the evening.”

“So he was, my dear.”

“And he may have killed Hilton and poor Mr Chumbley, while they were defending her.”

“Yes, he might, certainly,” said the doctor, drily; “but how the – ”

“Henry!”

“I only meant dickens. I say how the dickens he was going to carry her off when he was at the party all the time I can’t see.”

“But was he?”

“To the very last. Oh! it will all settle itself into nothing, unless Arthur has taken Helen off into the jungle and married her himself, with Hilton and Chumbley for witnesses.”

“Is this a time for joking, Henry?” said the little lady, reproachfully.

“Really, my dear, it would be no joke if Arthur had his own way.”

“I’m afraid,” sighed little Mrs Bolter, “that Helen Perowne had a good deal to with my brother accepting the chaplaincy.”

“I’m sure she had,” chuckled the doctor.

“If I had thought so I would never have consented to come,” said the lady with asperity.

“Wouldn’t you, Mary? Wouldn’t you?” said the little doctor, taking her in his arms; and the lady withdrew her words just as a step was heard outside.

“Here’s another stoppage,” cried the doctor, impatiently. “Why, it’s Mrs Barlow. What does she want?”

Mrs Barlow was a widow lady of about forty, the relict of a well-to-do merchant of the station, who, after her widowhood, preferred to stay and keep her brother’s house to going back to England; at any rate, as she expressed it, for a few years.

She was one of the set who visited at Mr Perowne’s, and had also been at the trip up the river to the Inche Maida’s home; but being a decidedly neutral-tinted lady, in spite of her black attire, she was so little prominent that mention of her has not been necessary until now.

“Stop a minute;” she exclaimed, excitedly, as she arrested the doctor on his step.

“Not ill, are you, Mrs Barlow?” queried the doctor.

“Not bodily, doctor,” she began, “but – ”

“My wife is inside, my dear madam,” cried the doctor, “and I must be off.”

“Stop!” exclaimed Mrs Barlow, authoritatively; and she took the little doctor’s arm, and led him back into the breakfast-room. “You are his brother, Dr Bolter. Mrs Bolter, you are his sister, ma’am. I can speak freely to you both.”

“Of course, madam, of course,” said the doctor; and then to himself, “Has the woman been taking very strong tea?”

“I have only just learned the terrible news, Dr Bolter – Mrs Bolter,” cried the lady, “and I came on to you.”

“Very kind of you I am sure, ma’am.”

“What do you think, doctor? You have some idea.”

“Not the least at present, ma’am. I was just off to see.”

“That is good of you; but tell me first,” cried the widow, half hysterically. “You do not – you cannot think – that that dreadful woman – ”

“What, the Inche Maida, ma’am?”

“No, no! I mean Helen Perowne – has deluded him into following her away to some other settlement.”

“Whom, ma’am, Hilton or Chumbley?”

“Oh, dear me, no, doctor; I mean dear Mr Rosebury.”

“Oh, you mean dear Mr Rosebury, do you?” said the doctor.

“Yes, Dr Bolter; oh, yes. Tell me; do you think that dreadful girl has deluded him away?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” cried the doctor, stoutly. “Hang it all, no! I’d give her the credit of a good deal, but not of that. Hang it, no.”

“Thank you, doctor,” said the lady hysterically. “Of course I should have forgiven it, and set it all down to her; but you do me good, doctor, by assuring me that my surmise is impossible. What do you think then?”

“That it’s all a mystery for us to find out, and I was going to hunt it up when you stopped me, ma’am.”

“Excuse me, Mrs Barlow,” said little Mrs Bolter, who had been fidgeting about, and waiting for an opportunity to speak, “but will you kindly explain what you mean by your very particular allusions to my brother?”

“Must I?” said the lady, with a martyred look.

“If you please, ma’am,” said Mrs Bolter, sternly; and the little lady looked as if she were ready to apply the moral thumbscrews and the rack itself to the visitor if she did not make a clean breast.

“Do you not know?” whispered Mrs Barlow, with a pathetic look, and a timidly bashful casting down of the eyes.

“No, ma’am, I do not,” said little Mrs Bolter, haughtily.

“I thought you must have known,” sighed the lady. “But under these circumstances, when he may be in terrible peril, perhaps crying aloud, ‘Rosina, come to my aid,’ why should I shrink from this avowal? I am not ashamed to own it. Ah, Dr Bolter – oh, Mrs Bolter – I have loved him from his first sermon, when he looked down at me and seemed to address me with that soft, impressive voice which thrilled the very fibres of my heart, and now he is gone – he is gone! What does it mean! What shall we do?”

“Mary, you’d better administer a little sal-volatile, my dear,” said the doctor. “You know the strength; I’m off.”

The doctor backed out of the room, leaving Mrs Barlow sobbing on the sofa, and hurried off in the direction of the Residency, talking to himself on the way.

“This is something fresh!” he muttered; “and it isn’t leap-year either. Rum creatures women! I wonder what Mary is saying to her now! Here, paddle me across,” he said to one of the natives who was cleaning out his sampan ready for any passengers who might want to be put across to the island.

As he neared the landing-stage, he found Mr Harley anxiously busy despatching boat after boat up and down stream, each boat being paddled by a couple of friendly natives, and containing a noncommissioned officer and private selected for their intelligence.

“Ah! that’s right, Harley!” said the doctor, rubbing his hands after a friendly salute, and the information given and taken that there was not the slightest news of the missing people. “But don’t you think we ought to take some steps ashore?”

“Wait a moment; let me ease my mind by getting these fellows off,” said the Resident hoarsely; and he gave the men the strictest injunctions to carefully search the banks of the river, and also to closely question every Malay they met as to whether anything of the missing party had been seen. Eight boats had been sent off upon this mission, the men accepting the task readily enough, irrespective of the promise of reward; and hardly had the last been despatched, when the Resident proposed that they should go across to Mr Perowne’s.

“It is only fair to consult him as to our next proceedings,” said the Resident, gloomily; and almost in silence they were paddled across to the mainland, and went up to the scene of last night’s festivities, where everything looked dismal and in confusion. Half-burnt lanterns hung amidst the trees, tables and chairs were piled up anyhow in the grounds, and the lawn was strewn with the débris of the feast yet uncleared away, the attention of the servants having been so much occupied with their search.

The two new-comers found Mr Perowne quite prostrate with this terrible anxiety, and Mr Stuart trying, with his daughter, to administer some little consolation in the way of hope.

“Cheer up, mon!” the old Scot was saying. “I daresay she’ll turn up all right yet.”

Mr Perowne looked at him so reproachfully that the old Scot paused and then turned uneasily away.

“Poor wretch!” he muttered; “he has trouble eneuch – enough I mean.”

“Ah! Harley, what news?” cried Mr Perowne.

“None as yet,” was the reply.

“Have you sent out boats?”

“Yes, eight; and let us hope that they will discover something.”

“But you do not think they will?”

The Resident was silent.

“Harley here thinks that the Rajah is at the bottom of it all,” said the doctor.

“Impossible!” cried the unhappy father. “He was here when she was missed, or I might have suspected him. I fear it is something worse than even that.”

“I cannot help my suspicions,” said the Resident, quietly. “Perhaps I wrong him.”

“I think ye do, Harley,” said the old Scot. “I saw him here long after Miss Helen must have been gone. I’m thinking she and the young officers have taken a boat and gone down the river for a wee bit of game, seeing the night was fine.”

“Oh! papa,” cried Grey, “I am sure Helen would not have been so imprudent.”

“I’m sure it’s very kind of ye to think so well o’ your schoolfellow, but I’m no’ so sure. Trust me, the Rajah had no hand in the matter.”

“He has plenty of servants who would work his will,” said the Resident, thoughtfully; “but this charge of mine must not go forth to Murad’s ears. If I am wronging an innocent man, we shall have made a fresh enemy; and Heaven knows we have enough without that!”

“You may be right,” said the doctor, “but I have my doubts.”

“He’s wrong,” said old Stuart. “He’s not the man with the spirit in him to do so stirring a thing.”

“And he would never take off those two young fellows and my brother-in-law.”

“I begin to think he has,” said Perowne, snatching at the solution once more, after holding the opinion and casting it off a dozen times. “He has never forgiven her for her refusal. Are we to sit still under his insult, Harley? You have plenty of men under your command.”

“True,” said the Resident; “but should I be justified in calling them out and making a descent on Murad’s town upon the barest suspicion?”

Suggestion after suggestion was offered, as the reason of the Resident’s remark was fully realised; but as time went on the little knot of English people more fully than ever realised how helpless they were in the midst of the Malays, whose good offices they were compelled to enlist.

Volume Two – Chapter Five.
A New Phase

The meeting was soon after strengthened by the arrival of Mrs Bolter and the principal ladies of the little community, when before long it became evident that Helen Perowne’s behaviour had made the ladies of one mind.

Their sole idea was that which found vent at last from the lips of Mrs Bolter, who, after a good deal of pressing as to her belief, gave it:

“I am very sorry to express my feelings upon the subject,” she said, “and perhaps I am prejudiced; but I cannot help thinking that Miss Perowne has eloped with Captain Hilton, and Lieutenant Chumbley has gone with them to save appearances.”

“That doesn’t account for Rosebury’s disappearance, my dear,” said the doctor, rather tartly, for he was annoyed at his wife’s decided tone.

“I am sorry to say that Miss Perowne,” continued the lady, “had gained a great deal of influence over my brother, and I daresay he would have acquiesced in anything she wished him to do.”

“I am quite sure you are wronging Helen, and Mr Rosebury as well!” cried Grey Stuart, suddenly. “Mrs Bolter, these words of yours are cruel in the extreme!”

“Maybe, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, tightening her lips.

“And I am sure,” cried Grey, “that Captain Hilton would never have taken such a step; while Lieutenant Chumbley would have been the first to call it madness!”

“And who made you their champion, miss?” cried old Stuart, sharply.

“I only said what I thought was right, papa,” said Grey, with no little dignity. “I could not stand by and hear Helen accused of so great a lapse of duty without a word in her defence.”

“And I am sure, from her father to the humblest here,” said the Resident, taking Grey’s hand and kissing it, “we all honour you for your sentiments, Miss Stuart. And now, Mrs Bolter,” he continued, turning to the doctor’s wife, “as we have heard your belief, let me ask you, as a sensible woman, whether you think such an assertion can be true.”

“I don’t see why you should take up the cudgels so fiercely on Miss Perowne’s behalf, Mr Harley,” said the little lady, quietly.

“That is beside the question,” he retorted, “and I ask you again, do you think this true?”

“I told you beforehand, Mr Harley,” replied the lady, “that I was no doubt very much prejudiced, and I believe I am; but I am at least frank and plain, and repeat, that after due consideration it does wear that aspect to me.”

“Speak out, Mrs Bolter, please,” said the father. “I will have no reservations.”

“It is a time, Mr Perowne, when I feel bound to speak out, and without reservation. I grieve to say that Miss Perowne’s whole conduct has been such as to lead any thoughtful woman to believe that what I say is true.”

There was a murmur of assent here from the ladies present.

“You are in the minority, Miss Stuart,” said the Resident, gravely, as he turned to Grey, who, pale of face and red-eyed, was now and again casting reproachful glances at the severe-looking little lady, “and I thank you for what you have said.”

“I’m beginning to think myself that the wife is right,” said Dr Bolter. “She tells me she has been making inquiries amongst the Malay women – many of whom we know from their coming up to our house for help. They are very friendly towards us; and if there was anything in the Murad theory they would have known, and let it out. You are wrong, my dear. I’m afraid you are wrong.”

Grey raised her eyes to the doctor’s with quite a fierce look, and she turned red and pale by turns ere she answered, loyally:

“No, I am not wrong. Helen would not have been guilty of such an act. I know her too well. Neither,” she added, in a lower voice, “would Captain Hilton.”

“Brave little partisan,” said the Resident, sadly. “You and I will fight all Helen Perowne’s detractors. As you say,” he cried, raising his voice, and a warm flush showing through his embrowned skin, “it is impossible!”

Mr Perowne had been called from the room before the discussion assumed quite so personal a nature, and now he returned, gazing piteously from one to the other as he was asked whether there was any news.

“This suspense is terrible!” he moaned. “Harley, Bolter, pray do something! My poor child! – my poor child!”

There was a sympathetic silence in the now crowded room, as the occupants waited for one of the gentlemen to speak, Dr Bolter looking at his wife, as if to ask, “What shall I say?” and receiving for response a shake of the head.

“The Rajah must, I am sure,” cried Mr Perowne, “be at the bottom of this terrible affair. Mr Harley!” he cried, passionately, “I can bear this no longer, and I insist – I demand of you, as one of her Majesty’s representatives – that you send troops up to the village at once!”

“I have thought of all this, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, “but that would be a declaration of war, and I should not feel justified in taking such a step without authority from the Governor.”

“I do not care!” cried the father, frantically. “War or no war, I demand that, instead of waiting in this cold-blooded way, you have the place searched! This outrage must be due to the Rajah!”

There was a low hum of excitement in the room, as all eagerly watched for the Resident’s reply to what seemed to be, but was not – a just demand.

“I would gladly do as you wish, Mr Perowne,” he replied, “the more readily because it is what my heart prompts; but I must have some good grounds – stronger than mere suspicion – before I can do more than ask the aid of Murad, who is, as you know, a friendly Prince. Again, I must ask you to consider my position here, and my stringent instructions to keep on good terms with this Rajah. Recollect, sir, once again, to do what you propose would be interpreted by the Malays as an act of war. I have the whole community to study as well as your feelings, sir – as well,” he added, in a low voice, only heard by Grey Stuart, “as my own.”

“But my child – my child!” groaned Mr Perowne.

“I have done what I could, sir; sent messengers at once to Murad asking his aid, and whether any of his people can give us help.”

“You did not accuse him then?” said Mr Stuart.

“How could I, sir, on suspicion? No, I have done what is best.”

“But it is horrible!” cried Mr Perowne. “The thought of her being in the power of this unprincipled man is more than I can bear.”

“But we do not know, sir, that this is the case, whatever our suspicions may be.”

“I think they are wrong,” cried Mrs Bolter, quickly, “for here comes someone to tell us who is right.”

She pointed through the window as she spoke, and every head was turned to see the Rajah come hurrying up the pathway leading to the house, his steps seeming to partake of the excitement of the whole group, as he dashed up to the door; and as soon as he was admitted he half ran into the midst of the silent assembly, gazing wildly from face to face, till his eyes rested upon Mr Perowne, to whom he ran, threw his arms over his shoulders, and exclaimed with a passionate, half-sobbing cry:

“Tell me – quick! Tell me it is not true!”

Volume Two – Chapter Six.
A Prince’s Anger

The merchant stared in the young Rajah’s convulsed face without speaking, and Murad exclaimed:

“I had heard news, and was coming down. Then came the messengers; but tell me,” he cried, “I cannot bear it! This is not true?”

Mr Perowne gazed fixedly in the dark, lurid eyes before him, as if fascinated by their power, and then said sternly:

“It is quite true, sir; quite true.”

“No, no!” cried the Malay Rajah, excitedly, “not true that she is gone; not true that she cannot be found?”

“Yes, sir,” repeated the merchant again, in a low, troubled voice. “She was taken from us last night.”

The Rajah uttered some words in his own tongue that sounded like a passionate wail, as he staggered back, as if struck heavily, reeled, clutched at the nearest person to save himself, and then fell with a crash upon the floor.

The little party assembled crowded round the prostrate man; but at a word from Dr Bolter they drew back, and he went down on one knee beside the young man to loosen his collar.

“A little more air. Keep back, please!” said the doctor, sharply. “Mary, a glass of water.”

As Mrs Bolter filled a glass from a carafe upon the sideboard, the doctor took a bottle of strong salts offered by one of the ladies present, and held it beneath the young man’s nostrils, but without the slightest effect.

Then the water was handed to the doctor, who liberally used it about the young Prince’s face, as the Resident drew near and gazed upon the prostrate figure, keenly noting the clayey hue of the face and the great drops of dank perspiration that stood upon the brow.

“What is it, doctor?” he whispered.

“Fainting – over-excitement,” replied Dr Bolter. “He’s coming round.”

The fact was beginning to be patent to all, for a change was coming over the young man’s aspect, and he began to mutter impatiently as the drops of water were sprinkled upon his face, opening his eyes at last and gazing about him in a puzzled way, as if he could not comprehend his position.

Then his memory seemed to come back with a flash, and he started up into a sitting position, muttered a few Malay words in a quick, angry manner, sprang to his feet, and then, with his eyes flashing, he snatched his kris from the band of his sarong, showing his teeth and standing defiant, ready to attack some enemy with the flame-shaped blade that was dully gleaming in his hand.

“Come, Rajah,” said the doctor, soothingly, “be calm, my dear sir. You are among friends.”

“Friends!” he cried, hoarsely. “No: enemies! You have let him take her away, I know,” he hissed between his teeth; “but you shall tell me. Who else has gone?”

“Captain Hilton,” said the doctor.

“Yes, I was sure,” hissed the Malay. “He was always there at her side. I was ref – fused; but I cannot sit still and see her stolen away by another, and I will have revenge – I will have revenge!”

The Malay Prince’s aspect told plainly enough that he would have sprung like a wild beast at his enemy’s throat had he been present; and saving Mrs Bolter and Grey, who stood holding her hand, the ladies crowded together, one or two shrieking with alarm as the Resident quietly advanced to the young Malay.

“Put up your weapon, sir,” he said firmly. “We are not savages. Recollect that you are amongst civilised people now.”

The Rajah turned upon him with so fierce and feline a look that Grey Stuart turned paler than she already was, and pressed Mrs Bolter’s hand spasmodically; but Harley did not shrink, he merely fixed the young man as it were with his eyes, before whose steady gaze the sullen, angry glare of the young Prince sank, and he stood as if turned to stone.

“Yes,” he said, in a guttural voice; “you are right;” and slowly replacing his kris in its sheath, he covered the hilt with his silken plaid before standing there with his brows knit, and the veins in his temples standing out as if he were engaged in a heavy struggle to master the savage spirit that had gained the ascendant.

“That is better,” said the Resident, quietly. “Now we can talk like sensible men.”

“Yes,” replied the Rajah; “but it is hard – very hard. It masters me, and I feel that I cannot bear it. You know what I have suffered, and how I fought it down. Mr Harley, Mr Perowne, did I not act like an English gentleman would have done?”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr Perowne, hastily.

“I tried so hard that I might,” he whispered. “I was born a Malay; but I am trying to become more like you. I thought I had mastered everything; but when I hear this news it is too much for me, and – Mr Harley – doctor – give me something to make me calm, or I shall go mad.”

He turned away and stood for a few moments with his back to them, while the party assembled whispered their thoughts till the young man turned once more, and they saw that his face was calm and impassive, as if no furious storm of rage had just been agitating its surface.

“What are you going to do?” he said, in a low, deep voice, gazing from Mr Perowne to the Resident and back again.

“Search, sir, until we have found the lady,” said the latter, quietly.

“I will help,” said the Rajah; whose eyes emitted a flash that told of the rage in his heart.

“Thank you,” said the Resident, quietly.

“You will pursue them?” continued the Rajah. “Tell me, by your laws do you kill this man for what he has done?”

“We do not think there is any need of pursuit, sir,” replied Mr Harley, quietly; “we fear that there has been an accident.”

“I have brought down two nagas, and two smaller boats,” cried the Rajah, eagerly. “There are a hundred of my people waiting. Shall I send them to follow, or will you give them your commands? They are your slaves until this is done.”

The Resident stood thinking for a minute or two, and the Rajah turned from him impatiently.

“We lose time!” he cried, angrily. “Mr Perowne, you do not speak. Tell me – you are her father – what shall I do?”

Mr Perowne held out his hand, which the Rajah seized.

“Thank you, Rajah,” he said simply; “but we must be guided by wisdom in what we do. Mr Harley will speak directly. He is trying to help us. I cannot say more,” he faltered. “I am crushed and helpless under this blow.”

“Tut, mon! don’t give way!” whispered old Stuart, going to his side. “Keep a stout hairt and all will be well.”

A couple of hours of indecision passed away, for the coming of the Rajah had thrown them off the track. They had had one scent to follow, and, however blindly, they were about to attempt it, but were now thrown back upon two other lines – the one being the suggestion of an accident; the other of elopement.

The hot day was wearing on, and the boatmen were returning boat by boat, but without the slightest information, not even a vague suggestion upon which hope could be hung. Still, nothing more had been done – nothing seemed possible under the circumstances; and a general feeling of despondency was gathering over the little community, when a new suspicion dawned in the Resident’s mind, and he blamed himself for not having thought of it before.

The suspicion had but a slight basis, still it was enough; and eager as he was to find something to which he could cling, Neil Harley felt for the moment glad of the mental suggestion, and felt that all idea of some terrible boat accident might be set aside, for at last he had found the clue.

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.
No False Scent

Neil Harley’s new suspicion, one which he was cautious not to mention as yet, was that, in accordance with the Malay character, this revengeful blow had come from one who owed the English community or Government a grudge.

The Rajah had been the first to suffer from suspicion, but his coming had cleared him somewhat in the eyes of his friends; still there was one who might well feel enmity against the English for the part they had played, and this was one who had not been to clear herself from suspicion.

The Inche Maida had come to the Residency island humbly with her petition – a reasonable suppliant for help against her enemies. She had had her request, if not refused, at all events treated with official neglect. It was no wonder, then, that she should feel aggrieved, and, while wearing the mask of friendship, take some steps to obtain mental satisfaction for the slight.

The Resident pondered upon all this, and felt that she must naturally be deeply wounded. She had borne her disappointment with the patience and stoicism of one of her religion; but all the same she might have been waiting for an opportunity to strike.

“Allah’s will be done!” she had said at their last interview, when the Resident had made a further communication from Government; and she had bent her head and sighed deeply as she turned to go away, but only to return, shake hands with Mr Harley, and thank him.

“You are a good man, Mr Harley,” she had said, “and I know you would have helped me if you could.”

“Yes, she has been most friendly ever since,” he mused, “and her behaviour last night at the party was all that could have been desired.”

Still, he argued, she was a Malay, and all this might have been to serve as a blind to her future acts. She must feel very bitter, and, with all an Eastern’s cunning, she must have been nursing up her wrath till an opportunity occurred for revenge.

This, perhaps, would be that revenge.

“No,” he said, “it was childish;” and he felt directly after that he was maligning a really amiable woman.

He ended by thinking that he could judge her by her acts. If she were innocent of all complicity in the abduction of Helen – if abduction it was – she would come and display her sympathy to her English friends in this time of trouble.

“What do you think, Miss Stuart?” he said, leading her into the opening of a window. “The Inche Maida has cause of complaint against us. Do you think she has had anything to do with getting Helen away?”

“No, I’m certain she has not,” cried Grey, flushing warmly. “She is too good and true a woman.”

“Do you think she likes Helen?” asked the Resident.

“No, I think she dislikes her,” replied Grey; “but she could not be guilty of such a crime as you suggest.”

“I am suspicious,” said the Resident. “Why does she stay away? She must have heard something by this time. Did you see her very late last night?”

“Yes, till very late – till after the disappearance. She was wondering where Helen had gone.”

“Yes,” said the Resident, “that is all in her favour, my dear child; but still she stops away.”

“No,” said Grey, quietly, “she is not staying away. See: here she comes, with her servants. I think she has arrived to offer her services in this time of trouble.”

Grey Stuart was right, for directly after the Malay princess entered the large drawing-room, eager with her offers of help, as her English friend had said.

“I did not know till a messenger came in,” she exclaimed, excitedly. “I was home late, and I was asleep. When I heard of the trouble at the station, I came and brought my servants. What shall I do?”

She was most affectionate and full of pity for Mr Perowne. To the Resident she was friendly in the extreme, and in a frank, genial way, utterly free from effusiveness; while to Grey Stuart she was tenderness itself, kissing her and talking to her in a low voice of the trouble, and keeping her all the time at her side.

“Henry,” said little Mrs Bolter, suddenly.

“Yes, my dear.”

“I don’t trust these black people a bit. They are very friendly and full of offers of service, but I cannot help thinking that they are at the bottom of all this trouble. Do you hear?”

“Yes, my dear, I hear,” said the doctor; “but I cannot say that you are right. It’s as puzzling as the real site of Ophir; but I hope it will all come right in the end.”

Suspicious as Mrs Bolter felt, she did not show her feelings, but joined in the conversation; and she was obliged to own that the conduct of the Inche Maida seemed to be quite that of an English lady eager to help her friends in a terrible time of trial.

In the midst of the conversation that ensued there was the sound of voices outside, and the Resident, closely followed by Mr Perowne and the Rajah, hurried out to see if there was any news.

One of the sergeants, with a private of Hilton’s company, had just arrived on the lawn, these being two of the men who had gone down the river in a sampan.

“Ah! Harris,” exclaimed the Resident, eagerly, on seeing something in the sergeant’s face which told of tidings, “what news?”

The sergeant glanced at Mr Perowne in rather a troubled manner, and hesitated.

“Speak out, my man, for Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed the latter, “and let me know the worst.”

“It mayn’t be the worst, sir,” replied the sergeant, with rough sympathy. “I hope it isn’t, sir; but we found a boat, sir – one of our own boats – left by the ‘Penguin’ for our use at the island.”

“Yes – yes, I know!” exclaimed Mr Perowne.

“Quick! speak out, Harris. What of her?” cried the Resident.

“She was lying bottom up, sir, on a bit of sandbank, a dozen miles down the river, sir; and this was twisted round one of the thwarts – the sleeve just tied round, sir, to keep it in its place.”

As he spoke he held up a light coat, saturated with water, and muddy and crumpled, where it had dried on the way back.

Neil Harley took the coat and examined it carefully. Then laying it down, he said, slowly:

“It looks like Chumbley’s; but I cannot feel sure.”

“I made sure it was one of the lieutenant’s coats, sir,” said the sergeant, respectfully.

“Let us see the boat,” said Mr Perowne. “Where is it?”

“Down at your landing-stage, sir, and – ”

He stopped short, as if afraid he should say too much.

“What is it, Harris? Speak out,” said the Resident, sternly.

“She seems to have been laid hold of, sir, by one of them great river beasts. There’s a lot of teeth marks, and a bit ripped out of her side.”

Mr Perowne shuddered, and Neil Harley recalled the various stories he had heard of crocodiles attacking small boats – stories that he had heretofore looked upon as mythical, though he knew that the reptiles often seized the natives when bathing by the river bank.

“As far as I could judge, sir,” said the sergeant, who, seeing that he gave no offence in speaking out, was most eager to tell all he knew, “it seems as if the officers, sir, had taken the ladies for a row upon the river, when the boat perhaps touched one of the great beasts, and that made it turn and seize it in its teeth. Then it was overset, and – ”

The men started and stopped short, for there was a faint cry of horror, and they all turned to see Grey Stuart standing there pale, with her lips apart, and a look of horror in her fixed eyes, as she saw in imagination the overturned boat, and the vain struggles of those who were being swept away by the rapid stream.

The whole scene rose before her eyes with horrible substantiality – all that she had heard or been told of the habits of the great reptiles that swarmed in the river helping to complete the picture. For as she seemed to realise the scene, and saw the struggling figures in the water, there would be a rush and a swirl, with a momentary sight of a dark horny back or side, and then first one and then another of the hapless party would be snatched beneath the surface.

But even then her horror seemed to be veined with a curious sensation of jealous pain, for she pictured to herself Helen floating down the stream with her white hands extended for help, and Hilton fighting his way through the water to her side. Then he seemed to seize her, and to make a brave struggle to keep her up. It was a hard fight, and he did not spare himself, but appeared to be ready to drown that she might live. The water looked blacker and darker where they were, and there was no help at hand, so that it was but a question of moments before they must sink. And as, with dilated, horror-charged eyes, Grey stared before her to where the river really ran sparkling in the sunshine, the imaginary blackness deepened, and all looked so smooth and terrible that she watched for where that dreadful glassiness would be broken by some reptile rising to make a rush at the struggling pair; and – yes, there at last it was! And with the name of Hilton half-formed upon her lips, she uttered another cry, and fell fainting in the Inche’s Maida’s arms.

Volume Two – Chapter Eight.
Danger Ahead

Grey Stuart lost her cavalier Chumbley soon after supper, for the Princess pointed to a chair beside her, Hilton being very quiet and distant, and in spite of several reproachful glances from his companion’s eyes, proving to be very poor company indeed.

In fact, as soon as he could with decency give up what was to him a tiresome duty, Hilton left the Malay Princess’s side, making the vacancy that was filled up by Grey, while soon after the Rajah came and took a chair upon the other side of the Scottish maiden, chatting to her with a slight hesitancy of speech, but pleasantly and well.

“Do you enjoy – this party?” he said.

“Oh! so much!” replied Grey. “It is so different from anything at home.”

“At home?” queried the Prince, who knew the simplicity of old Stuart’s household.

“I mean at home in England.”

“Oh! yes, I see. At home in England,” said the Prince musingly. “I must go and see at home in England. I should like to go.”

“You would be much pleased, I am sure,” said Grey, smiling; “but it is a very bad climate.”

“That is why you English come to our beautiful land. I see!” exclaimed the Prince. “But you enjoy yourself – this party?”

“Oh! very much!” cried Grey; but a shadow crossed her countenance as she spoke.

“I have said I will try and pass you all,” said the Prince, laughing. “I mean mine to be the greatest of the fêtes. It must be; for if I do not make mine a grander party than all, my people will look down upon me, and say, ‘See how weak and poor he is compared to the English!’ I must make mine very brave and good.”

“I hear what you are saying,” exclaimed the Inche Maida; “but I will excel you; for I will give another party, greater, and brighter, and more beautiful still. Miss Stuart will help me with good advice, and mine shall be more English than yours. We will not be beaten.”

“No, no!” said the Rajah, laughing; “do not help her, Miss Stuart; help me, and I will be so grateful. It is so easy to say I will give a grand party, but it is hard to make it so that it will please these English gentlemen and ladies.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, Prince,” said the Inche Maida.

“Of course – yes,” he replied. “That is where I make things wrong. You English place the ladies first, and I always make mistakes like that.”

“You will soon acquire our habits,” said Grey, who could not help her eyes wandering in search of Hilton.

“Thank you,” said the Prince. “I shall try; but as I say, it is so hard to make a feast quite right. If I want to make a banquet for my people with flowers, and fireworks, and elephants, and gongs, and tom-toms, it is all so easy; but an English party, to satisfy all you – ah! it is too much.”

Meanwhile, heart-sick and disgusted with everything and everybody present, Hilton wandered away to the pagoda, where Mr Stuart had taken up hi quarters directly after supper.

“Hullo! young fellow,” said the old merchant, gruffly, “come to your senses again?”

“Senses? Haven’t been out of them that I know of,” retorted Hilton.

“Well, ye’ve been running wild after Perowne’s lassie.”

“Mr Stuart!”

“And one never sees her without Captain Hilton ahint her.”

“Mr Stuart, I was not aware that I was answerable to you for my conduct,” exclaimed the young officer, hotly.

“Nay – nay – nay – dinna – don’t be fashed, laddie, I was vexed to see ye rinning after a lassie who will throw ye over for the next man she sees – that’s a’ – ”

“Mr Stuart, I will not listen to anything in Miss Perowne’s disparagement!” cried the young man hotly. “How dare you speak to me like this!”

“Have a cigar, laddie?” said the old Scot, drily. “They’re verra good, and they’ll soothe ye down better than anything I ken.”

Hilton glared at him angrily. “There, there, there, let me have my say, laddie. I rather like ye, Hilton, though ye are only a soldier; so don’t fly in a passion with an old man. Tak’ a cigar.”

Hilton hesitated, but finally took the cigar, lit it, and began to smoke.

“I ken weel what’s wrong,” said the old man; “but never heed it, mon. It mak’s ye sore to-day, but ye’ll soon get over it. I’ve seen ivery thing that’s gone on sin the lassies have been here. Try a drappie o’ that whuskie, laddie; that and yon cigar will mak’ ye forget all about the trouble wi’ the girl.”

“Mr Stuart, I must request you to be silent upon this question, unless you wish to quarrel.”

“Quarrel? Not I, lad! I’m as peaceable a body as ever lived; but tak’ my advice – don’t wherret yoursel’ about Helen Perowne. She’s not made for ye.”

“Sir!”

“Hoot, laddie, in a passion again! I tell ye you’re much too good for such a body as she. I ken she’s handsome enough for an angel; but what’s all that if she don’t care a twistle o’ the finger for ye?” Bertie Hilton frowned heavily and smoked furiously; while, when the old merchant thrust the whiskey decanter towards him, he snatched it up, poured out half a tumbler full, and had stretched out his hand to take it and gulp it down, when, to his surprise and anger, old Stuart snatched the tumbler away, poured half of the spirit back into the decanter, and then filled up the tumbler with water.

“Not while I’m sitting by ye, Bertie Hilton,” said the old man. “I like my whuskie and I like to see a fren’ enjoy his drappie wi’ me; but it must be a drappie. When I see a man making a fool o’ himsel’ by taking more than is good, I just stop him if I can, as I stopped you.”

The young man’s face flushed, and an angry remark was about to issue from his lips, when the ridiculous and friendly sides of the question presented themselves to him, and instead of going into a fit of temper consequent upon his irritable state, he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“Hah! That’s better, my lad,” said the old merchant, smiling in his dry, grim fashion. “I like that. Ye’re an officer and ye know how to command yourself as well as your men. Now then, sit down and sup your whuskie and smoke like a man.”

“You shall be obeyed, sir,” said Hilton, good-humouredly.

“That’s right, laddie. Tak’ your misfortunes like a man. I know it’s hard to bear, and nothing wherrets a man more than seeing a lassie play wi’ others before his very een, when a’ the time she has been leading him to believe she cares for him alone?”

“Would it be a very difficult task to you, Mr Stuart, to leave my private affairs alone?” said Hilton, quietly.

“Oh, ay, I’ll leave them alone if ye’ll only be sensible and act like a mon. Bertie Hilton, ye’re a big mon, and a captain in Her Majesty’s service, and ye’re been acting like a weak boy.”

Hilton’s eyes flashed again as he turned angrily upon the old man, who seemed to become more Scottish in his language as he slowly imbibed his native drink.

“I see ya glowering at me, my lad; but I dinna mind it, for I’m one of your best frens, and when I thrash ye with words about your lassie it’s a’ for your good. There, haud yer whisht. I ken what ye’d say, that ye’re a mon and not a boy to be dictated to by an old Scotchman like this.”

“Well, I was thinking something of the kind, Mr Stuart, and so I tell you frankly,” cried Hilton, who could not help feeling amused at the old man’s dry ways. The reproofs, too, came at a time when the younger was very much open to conviction, for his experiences of the last few days had all been towards showing him that Helen Perowne was trifling with him, and if she were now, he felt that she had been from the first.

Still, it was very painful to have to be taken to task like this upon so tender a subject; and after sitting awhile with the old man, he suddenly jumped up, relit his cigar, which he had allowed to go out, and nodding shortly, he strolled out of the pagoda into the grounds.

“Coming to his senses,” said old Stuart, in a thoughtful way. “Hah! I should go rather cross it my lassie were to carry on like Perowne’s Helen. Why, she drives nearly all the young fellows wild. The young hussy! she ought to be shut up in a convent till she comes to her senses. I’d have none of it at home with me.”

Volume Two – Chapter Nine.
A Supplement to a Strange Evening

It was very beautiful in the gardens, and in spite of the number of people present, the place was so large that Hilton had no difficulty in finding a shady path in whose gloom he could walk up and down, finding the silence and darkness congenial in his present state of mind.

Every here and there there were lanterns, and flashes of light came from the illuminated lawn in company with the strains of music; but for the greater part the light was that from the great soft stars in the begemmed arch overhead, and the music that of the swift river rippling against the bank.

What should he do? he asked himself. Would he not be acting a wiser and a more manly part if he at once gave up his pursuit of Helen, and treated her with the contempt she deserved?

For she did deserve contempt. He felt this, and he knew the state of the warm affection he had had for her. He knew she had flirted a little before, but he looked upon that as mere maiden trifling before she had been ready to bestow upon him all the riches of her fresh young love. He was ready to condone anything that had taken place before; but when, after some long experience, he found that he was only being made the plaything of the hour, and that she was ready to throw him over in favour of the newest comer, his heart rebelled.

The fact was that Hilton was coming back to his normal senses very fast, and the idol that he had been worshipping and accrediting with all the perfections under the sun, was beginning to assume a very matter-of-fact, worldly aspect in his eyes.

The chaplain, officer after officer on board ship, Chumbley, Mr Harley, himself – they had all been favoured lovers in turn, and then thrown over after a certain amount of trifling.

“I cannot think how I could have been so foolish!” he exclaimed, suddenly; “and yet she is very beautiful – most beautiful; and when she gives a fellow one of those tender, beseeching looks, he need be made of iron to resist her.”

He walked up and down a little longer, finished his cigar, lit another, and went on, evidently feeling in better spirits.

“I shall get over it in a few days,” he said, with a half laugh, “unless I turn disappointed swain, and go and jump into the river. The crocodiles would soon make short work of me. By jove! how beautiful those fire-flies are!” he exclaimed.

Then he sighed, and went backward mentally.

“They put one in mind of Helen’s beautiful eyes,” he muttered. Beautiful Helen! Bah! Stuff! I’ll be fooled by no woman living!

 
“‘Shall I, wasting in despair.
Die because a woman’s fair?
Shall I pale
my cheeks with care
Because another’s rosy are?’”
 

He sang softly, enjoying more and more the delicious coolness of the breeze off the river.

“I’m nearly cured,” he said, bitterly.

 
“‘I know a maiden fair to see,
            Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
        Beware! beware!
        Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!’”
 

He sang again in a low voice.

“My case exactly. Oh! my dear madam. I’m afraid you will come to grief one of these days, for it is not every fellow who will give you up as I do, and hide his wound under a smiling face.

“And do I give her up?” he said, softly; and there was a tender, dreamy look in his eyes as he spoke.

“Bah! what a madman I am!” he cried, with a mocking laugh; “she throws me over as she has thrown over others. What an idiot I was not to see all this sooner!

“The old story – the old story,” he muttered. “Man’s vanity and woman’s pride. I was conceited enough to think that, though she might trifle with others, I was her one special choice. There was no such other man upon the earth as I, Captain Hilton, the Apollo among his fellows. Serve me right!” he cried passionately, “for a weak fool, and I deserve it all, if only to be a lesson to bring me to my senses?”

Growing excited with his thoughts, he strolled down another path, leading to the lower lawn which sloped to the river.

“I wonder who is with her now!” he muttered, as he gazed with lowering brow at the smooth, star-spangled stream.

“What does it matter! I’ll get a lesson in nonchalance from old Chum! I’ve been fooled like the rest. I might have known that I should be, but I was conceited enough to think that I had thoroughly won her heart.”

He told himself that it was all over now, and smoked away viciously, sending forth great puffs of vapour, still thinking of his position.

“What the dickens did that woman, the Inche Maida, mean!” he said, suddenly, as he strolled now close beside the river in complete forgetfulness of all the dangers with which it was invested by his friends. “Why, if I were a conceited fellow – well, so I am, horribly,” he said, bitterly – “I should have fancied that she was making love to me. It is too ridiculous!” he exclaimed, stopping short, and seeing nothing but introspectively, hearing nothing but the echoes of his own thoughts. “This place is growing hateful to me. I shall get leave or exchange. I feel as if I could not stay here any longer, and – Hah! Help! What! Good Heav – ”

The rest of Hilton’s words did not reach the soft midnight air, for, deep in thought, he had not seen the shadow even of the coming danger which had fallen in an instant, and his mad struggles were proving all in vain.

Volume Two – Chapter Ten.
Plus

As Hilton cried for help his voice sounded stifled and dull, while he vainly tried to cast off a great woollen cloth that had been deftly thrown over his head. It took hardly an instant before it was wound tightly round him. Then a rope was twisted so rapidly round arms and legs, that he was turned, as it were, into a complete mummy; and when his assailants threw him upon the grass he was so helpless that they literally rolled him over and over down the slope of closely shaven herbage into a large row-boat, into whose bottom he fell without pain, and almost without a sound.

“I thought it was the crocodiles,” he said to himself, as his heart beat painfully; and then he began to writhe in spirit at his want of caution, for he felt sure that this, the capture of an officer, was one of the first steps towards an attack upon the Residency island.

Just then he heard a voice, and what seemed to be a whispered order in Malay; and the boat might have been seen to glide away like a shadow over the starry water, breaking it up into spangles as it went on and on towards the middle of the stream without so much as a sound.

Then a pang shot through the young officer’s heart, to tell him that he was not, in spite of his word, quite cured, for his first thought now was: “What will become of Helen!” A few minutes later Chumbley strolled up to the pagoda, where old Stuart was comfortably enjoying his glass.

“Well, old fellow,” he drawled: “not melted away yet.”

“No; nor you neither,” retorted the old merchant. “Want some whuskie?”

“No; I want a cigar,” said Chumbley; and he helped himself from the box. “Seen anything of Hilton?” he asked, as he lit the roll of tobacco.

“Yes! here a bit ago, and then went off to smoke in the cool air. Leave my little girl all right?”

“Yes; she was sitting talking to the Princess and the Rajah in front of the house. What a lovely night!”

“Humph, yes. Pretty well; but you should see the night, laddie, over one o’ the Scottish lochs, wi’ the ootline o’ a mountain stannin oot i’ front o’ the northern sky. Ay, but that’s a sight.”

“Yes, s’pose so,” said Chumbley; “but as we can’t have the night over the Scottish loch, isn’t it as well to make the best of this?”

“Humph! yes,” said the old man; “but I’m getting tired of sitting here. I want to go back home. How much longer is this tomfoolery going to last?”

“Can’t say, sir. Why don’t you go on to the lawn and have a chat?”

“Pah! Do I look like a man who could do that sort of thing?”

“Can’t say you do,” replied Chumbley, cheerfully. “Well, I’m going to look for Hilton!” and, stepping out of the pagoda, he went across the lawn, with his hands deep down in his pockets.

“Now, let’s see,” he said to himself, as he strolled lazily on, “where would that chap be likely to have stuck himself up for a quiet smoke?

“Seems to have had a tiff with beauty to-night. P’r’aps she has pitched him as she has other people before, present company not excepted. All the more likely for him to have gone off for a quiet smoke – Now where would he go?”

There was a pause here, as if for someone else to answer, but as no one did —

“Down by the river,” he said – “safe.” Chumbley thrust his hands lower down into his pockets, and as if led by fate, he followed slowly almost the very track taken by Hilton so short a time before.

Finding that portion of the extensive grounds quite solitary, Chumbley began to hum what was meant for an air, in a peculiar voice more remarkable for noise than tune – due, no doubt, to his having his cigar in his lips, at which he gravely sucked away as if keeping time to the melody he emitted with the smoke.

“Grass too damp to lie down,” he said to himself, “else it would be rather jolly, and I’m precious tired. Not safe though. Old Bolter would vow there was rheumatism and fever in every blade. Why the dickens don’t they put garden seats down here?”

He strolled on, casting his eyes about in every direction in search of his friend.

“Precious dark!” he said. “Now where has old Hilton hidden himself? Hallo! Why there he is! What a jolly old lunatic he must be. I wonder what old Bolter would say?”

For not very far from the bank of the stream, he could dimly make out a figure lying apparently asleep.

Chumbley immediately began to think of the risks to be incurred from crocodiles, and walking quickly up he bent down over the sleeping figure.

“Here – hi! Hallo! Hilton, is that you? Hang it, man, don’t lie there!”

There was no reply, and Chumbley hesitated as to whether he should touch the figure.

“’Tisn’t Hilton!” he said to himself. “One of the servants, perhaps, keeping up his Mohammedan rules on the question of wine upon the wrong side.”

“Hallo! you sir!” he cried aloud. “’Tisn’t safe to lie there; do you hear?” and going down on one knee, he turned the figure completely over. “Here wake up or the crocs will have you! Is anything the matter?”

“Help me up,” came in reply, spoken in good English.

Chumbley was too earnest a man to resist that appeal; and bending lower, he tried to pass one hand beneath the prostrate figure, the man feebly laying his hands upon the lieutenant the while.

Then, in an instant, the feeble clasp became one of iron; and before Chumbley could more than realise that he was being held, a second figure bounded from behind a bush on to his back, dexterously throwing a sort of bag over his head and drawing it tight about his neck.

The young officer was taken by surprise; but he was not so easy a prey as Hilton. As a rule, Chumbley resembled the elephant in his slow, ponderous movement. Now, there was something almost leonine in his activity, the latent almost herculean strength he possessed being brought into play.

Uttering a smothered roar, he tried to shake off his assailants as they clung to his back and neck, pinioning his arms, and holding on so closely, that in the dark the figures of the three men seemed like one huge monstrous creature writhing savagely upon the grass.

Four more dark figures had suddenly appeared upon the scene, looking weird and strange in the starlight; and while the distant sound of voices, with an occasional burst of laughter, came to where the struggle was going on, all here was so quiet – save for the oppressed breathing – that no attention was drawn towards them from the visitor-dotted lawn.

The fresh-comers leaped at Chumbley like dogs at their hunted quarry; but so fierce was the resistance that one of them was dashed to the earth, the others shaken off, and the young man followed up the display of his tremendous strength by making a blindfold effort to ran.

The probabilities are that, as he had instinctively taken the direction leading to the house, he would have got so far that his assailants would not have cared to follow, had not one of them thrust out a foot as Chumbley was passing, and tripped him up, when he fell with a heavy thud to the ground.

Before he could make a fresh effort to rise, half a dozen Malays were upon him; and while some sat and knelt upon, others bound him hand and foot.

Then they paused to listen whether the struggle had been overheard; but finding it had excited no attention either at the house or the Residency island, they leisurely rolled their prisoner over and over down the grassy slope into a waiting boat close up to the bank. A few vessels of water were dipped, and quickly poured over the grass where the struggle had taken place, and then once more the star-spangled surface of the river was broken up as a shadowy boat softly glided out to the middle of the river, and then seemed to die away.

But the incidents of the night were not yet at an end, Fate seemed to lend her aid to bring them to one peculiar bent.

For, hot and weary of the insipid attentions of her new conquest, and fagged out with her task of entertaining so many guests, Helen Perowne began to think of how she should escape, wishing the while that everyone would go, and far from satisfied with her last encounter with Hilton.

She looked round the lit-up space for someone on whom to inflict herself, but Hilton was not there; she could see neither Chumbley nor the Resident, only several of the younger men, merchants and civil officers – no one at all worth talking to save the chaplain, who had been watching her wistfully all the evening, and who now stood with one hand resting upon a chair, looking as if he would have given his life for one kind word from her lips.

“Poor Arthur!” she said, in a half amused, half troubled way, “I wish he would not be so weak?”

She gave another impatient look round, but there was no victim worthy of her arrows; and with an imperious glance at Arthur Rosebury, she let her eyes once more pass over the various groups of guests, for the most part carrying on an animated conversation, and turned to enter the house.

Just as she reached one of the open French windows, a Malay servant approached, and saluted her respectfully.

“The master says will the mistress come down the garden a minute to speak to him?”

“How tiresome!” she exclaimed petulantly. “Where is my father?”

“By the river, mistress, where it is cool to smoke,” replied the man, softly. “He says he will not keep you, but you must come at once.”

This was all in broken English, but sufficiently plain to be understood.

“He might have come to me,” said Helen, impatiently. “I am so hot and tired. There, go on. No, not that way. Let us go by the side path.”

The man bowed and went on, with Helen following, when the chaplain seized the opportunity to join her.

“It is getting cold and damp, Miss Perowne,” he said, softly. “Will you let me put this over your shoulders?”

“What!” she said; “have you been carrying that ever since I gave it to you hours ago?”

The chaplain bowed, and held the light, filmy shawl, that he had felt it a joy to bear, ready to throw over her shoulders.

“No,” she cried, petulantly, “I am too hot as it is. There,” she cried, relenting, as she saw his fallen countenance, and for want of another victim, “you may come with me and carry the shawl till I want to put it on.”

The chaplain’s heart gave a bound, and, too pleased to speak, he followed Helen closely, as the man led her towards the bottom of the lawn, where, as they drew nearer, a dark figure could be dimly seen slowly pacing up and down.

“How angry dear Mary would be if she knew,” thought the Reverend Arthur; “but I cannot help it. I suppose I am very weak, and it is my fate?”

“What is wrong now?” thought Helen, whose conscience was quick to take alarm. “Is he going to speak to me about Hilton? No; he would not have – he could not have been so cowardly as to speak to my father about our quarrel.”

They were very near now, and Helen could see that her father had one hand up to his face, resting the elbow in his other hand.

“It cannot be about Murad. That must be over,” mused Helen. Then aloud, “Is anything the matter, papa? Are you unwell?”

At that moment she realised the fact that the figure in evening dress was not her father, the chaplain noticing her start, and trying to go forward to her aid; but, as he took a step, a hand was clapped over his lips, an arm tightly embraced him, and as he dimly saw a white handkerchief tied across Helen’s face, he was lifted from the ground and borne away, too much surprised to do more than struggle weakly at such a disadvantage that even a strong man would have been as helpless as a child.

Helen made an effort to shriek for aid, but a black cloud seemed suddenly to envelop her in the shape of a great cloth, wrapping her round and round. Then she felt herself lifted from her feet, and half-stifled, half-fainting with the horror of her situation, she was just conscious of being carried for a few minutes, and then of being placed in a boat; while in the midst of her horror and excitement there seemed to come up before her the faces of her three old mistresses at the calm, quiet school, then that of Grey Stuart looking reproachfully, and then all faded away into one complete void.

Volume Two – Chapter Eleven.
A Floating Captivity

What seemed to be an endless ride by water, during which the captives felt over and over again as if they would be suffocated by the folds of the cloths in which they were enveloped.

Several times had the two first prisoners made such desperate efforts to free themselves that the boats in which they were rocked dangerously, that in which Chumbley had been thrown shipping a little water more than once; but finding by degrees that it was only a waste of strength, and contenting themselves with the idea that though an Englishman may never know when he is beaten, they had done everything possible to vindicate their character, they lay quite still, dripping with perspiration and gasping for air.

An hour must have gone by when, in each boat, as the prisoner lay perfectly quiescent, it seemed to strike the captors almost simultaneously that if something were not done suffocation might ensue. Under these circumstances efforts were made to give them a little of that bounteous provision of air that was waiting to revive their exhausted frames.

Chumbley was lying upon his face in the bottom of the boat, the exhaustion having produced a semi-delirious sensation, in which he fancied that he was in evening dress, of a very thick texture, dancing in a crowded ballroom, and so giddy that he was in a constant state of alarm lest he should hurl his partner, the Malay princess, headlong upon the floor.

This sensation kept coming and going with saner thoughts of having done his best, and its being useless to struggle, in the midst of one of which intervals he awoke to the fact that his hands were being held tightly behind him, and back to back. Then someone, with a deftness of habit that told of long custom, tied his thumbs together, and then his little fingers.

Next he felt a stout cord passed round his ankles and another about his legs just above the knees, after which the thick cloth was drawn from his head, and he gasped and panted as he filled his lungs again and again with the pure night air, which cleared his brain and sent the crowded ballroom, the thick costume, and the giddiness of the waltz far back into the unreal region from which they came.

For a moment he revelled in the sight of the brilliant star-lit heavens, and then, almost before he knew it, a cloth was bound tightly round his eyes.

“A seizure by banditti,” muttered Chumbley, “quite in the romantic style, and I shall be held to ransom, when, seeing that I have nothing but my pay – and that is hardly enough for my expenses – I may say, in the words of the monkey who held out his tail to the chained-up dog, ‘Don’t you wish you may get it!’ Oh, I say, though, I’m as sore as if I’d been thrashed. Whatever game is this?”

“If you will promise to be silent,” said a deep voice at his ear in the Malayan tongue, “we will not thrust a cloth into your mouth.”

“I wish they’d pour a glass of Bass into it instead,” thought Chumbley. “I say, you sir,” he replied, in as good Malayan as he could command, “what does this mean?”

“Wait and see.”

“Are you going to kris me?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s a comfort,” muttered Chumbley. “I might have known it by their taking so much trouble, though five minutes ago it would have been a charity to put me out of my misery.”

“Will you be silent if I leave your mouth free?” was asked again.

“I don’t see that it’s of much use to halloo,” said Chumbley, sullenly, “but look here, old chap, what does this mean? Tell me, and I’ll be as quiet as a lamb.”

“Wait and see,” was the reply.

Chumbley was silent for a few minutes, drawing in long breaths of air. Then, addressing his captors, who seemed to him to be steadily rowing on:

“I say,” he exclaimed, “can I have this rag off my eyes?”

“No.”

Another pause, during which the prisoner listened to the pleasant ripple of the water against the boat.

“I say,” from Chumbley.

“Yes.”

“I can’t fight now or else I would.”

There was a low laugh, which seemed to come from a dozen throats, and the same deep voice replied:

“My lord is a giant in strength, but we have him fast.”

“Then set me up, so that I can sit comfortably, or I shan’t be worth a Chinese dragon dollar if you want me for sale.”

There was another low laugh, as if the Malay captors were amused; and then, in obedience to a whispered order, the prisoner was lifted and placed in a more comfortable position, but not without some effort and grunting on the part of the men who essayed to move him, the boat rocking about ominously the while.

“That’s better,” said the prisoner. “Hah, I can get on now! Here I say, old chap, whoever you are, put your hand in my breast.”

“Does my lord wish me to promise that we will not slay him?” said the deep-voiced Malay.

“Bosh! No!” cried Chumbley. “In my breast-pocket. That’s right. Now take out the cigar-case. Not the pocket-book. The cigar-case. That’s it! Now open it and take out a cigar. Put it in my mouth. Have one?”

“My lord’s servant does not smoke when he has work to do,” replied the Malay.

“All right, then, I have none,” said Chumbley, coolly. “Put the end in my mouth, and give me a light. There’s a match-box in my vest.”

There was a low laugh once more in the fore-part of the boat; but the prisoner was too intent upon feeling the hand thrust into his breast, his cigar-case opened and snapped again, the case returned, the roll of tobacco placed in his lips, and then the light struck and held convenient for him to draw.

“Hah!” he said to himself, “it’s wonderful what comfort there is in a cigar at a time like this! How I do pity the poor little women who are not allowed to smoke!”

He said a few words to the Malays, but they were very quiet and reticent; and feeling that it was of no further use to talk to them in their own tongue, which was a trouble to him, he began to think in English, which, if not of much comfort, was at all events an occupation for the time being.

“This is a rum set-out,” he thought, as he settled himself as comfortably as he could, and smoked away. “An hour or so ago I was at an English evening-party, held for coolness upon a lawn. Now I am here in a boat; but where the dickens here is I don’t know.

“But what does it mean? I’m not of the slightest use to anybody; and they are not doing it for revenge, because I haven’t made any enemies. Let me see, though – have I?”

He paused thoughtfully for a few minutes. “No – no, I can’t think of anybody except Miss Helen, for rejecting her tender glances. Let’s see, what did Byron or some other chap say about there being no what-you-may-call-it so dangerous as a woman scorned? Can’t recollect quotations – never could. But that’s all nonsense. Helen Perowne wouldn’t want to have me carried off like this.

“That’s it,” he said, half aloud this time, and after a thoughtful pause. “It’s ransom, that’s what it is. The noodles think because I am an English officer, and flash about in scarlet and gold, that I must be very rich. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”

Chumbley indulged himself with a long and rumbling chuckle.

“They’ll be preciously disappointed on finding out I’ve none, and if they expect to get it out of the British Government they’ll find that the payment will be made in rifle balls, unless some very urgent appeals are made in Parliament respecting the risk, when the question will arise, what will the noble, the British Government, as represented by its Secretary for the time being, think that my great carcass is worth.”

Chumbley had sat there for a considerable time smoking and listening, for he had suddenly awakened to the fact that there was another boat hard by, with whose occupants his captors conversed in a low voice.

Then suddenly he heard a familiar voice speaking fiercely in the Malayan tongue.

Chumbley hesitated for a moment to make sure, and then shouted:

“Why, Hilton, old man, are you there?”

“Chumbley! Here! Help!” cried Hilton. “Help, man, help!”

“Bring it here, then,” said Chumbley, coolly.

“I cannot. I’m a prisoner: seized by Malay scoundrels.”

“Same here, old man,” said Chumbley, puffing away at his cigar, the incandescent part of which was getting dangerously near his nose. “Pleasant finish to the Perowne fête, isn’t it?”

Here there was a fierce adjuration from the Malays in the other boat, which Hilton obeyed to the extent of speaking in a lower tone.

“What is to be done?” he said, “I’d come and help you, but I’m bound hand and foot.”

“So am I, old man,” replied Chumbley, coolly. “Tighter than you are, I’ll swear.”

“But what is to be done?” said Hilton again.

“Goodness knows. Nothing, I should say. Have a cigar?”

“Chumbley!” cried Hilton, passionately, “is this a time for joking, when at any moment our lives may be taken! Be sensible if you can.”

“I thought that was being sensible or philosophical if you like it better, old man. I don’t see that it’s of any use to fret so long as they don’t kill us. It will be a change from pipe-clay and parade; and judging from what I saw between you and someone else in a certain quarter to-day, I should have thought that you would have been glad of a holiday.”

“Holiday, with a kris at our throats,” cried Hilton, passionately.

“Bah! they won’t kill us!” said Chumbley.

“I tell you that is what the scoundrels mean!” replied Hilton. “Not that it matters much,” he added gloomily.

“Oh, doesn’t it!” said Chumbley, “but it does, a good deal. I don’t know that we should make much fuss – soldiers can’t; but I know of plenty of people who would cry their eyes out about me.”

“If the English rajahs,” said a voice, that seemed to the two young men in their bandaged condition to come out of the darkness, and to speak haltingly, as if the utterer were not quite sure of the language in which he spoke – “If the English rajahs will be patient, and not try to escape, no harm shall be done to them.”

“There,” said Chumbley, “do you hear that, old man! Better have a cigar.”

“Rubbish!” cried Hilton, angrily.

“Not a bit of it, old man,” said Chumbley; “they are some of old Perowne’s best, and I have just finished one, and am going to have another. Here! hi! my lord the Malay chief, Maharajah, Muntri, Tumongong, or whatever you are, stop the boat, and give my friend a cigar. Load us both and fire us old chap, and then we can go off comfortably.”

There was no cessation in the rowing; but as Chumbley sat back there he felt his request attended to, the smoked-out cigar being taken from his lips and thrown into the water, where it fell with a loud hiss, the case taken from his breast, opened, and then it seemed that the boats were drawn together, and a cigar was passed to Hilton.

“Got it, old man?” said Chumbley, sucking at his own, and biting off the end.

“Yes,” said Hilton gruffly, as if he were resenting the attentions of his captors.

Then came the sharp sound of a striking match; and though Chumbley tried hard, he found that his eyes were too well bandaged for him to catch even a gleam of the light, so he contented himself with drawing at his cigar, after which there was the loud hiss of the match thrown into the water, and the boats were once more urged onward at a goodly speed.

A little conversation was kept up; but over their cigars the two prisoners seemed to grow thoughtful, and at last there was a pause, which Chumbley broke at last with the question:

“I say, old chap, don’t you think this means ransom?”

There was no reply, and the deep-voiced Malay said, in his own tongue:

“The other boat is far behind.”

It must have been towards morning that a few words were uttered in Chumbley’s boat; there seemed to him, as he immediately became on the qui vive, to be a quickening of the rower’s strokes, the rustling of bushes, some twigs of one of which brushed his arm, and then they ascended, as far as he could judge, a narrow stream for a short distance, for the oars kept striking bushes or reeds on either side; and now the boat that held Hilton had evidently come up close behind.

“They mean to hide us away well, at all events,” thought Chumbley. “Now I wonder whether we have come up the stream or down.”

He had hardly given life to that query, when a gentle check, as if the bows of the boat had run into mud, told that the shore was reached.

A few rapid orders succeeded, and it seemed to Chumbley that now they were about to land he would have his cramped legs unbound; but no. The next minute he was seized by four men, lifted out, and laid upon the soft, mossy ground.

“You there, Hilton?” he said, as he lay upon his side as helpless as a newly-landed fish.

“Yes, I am here,” was the reply.

“The English rajahs can talk as they like,” said the deep-voiced Malay. “No one can hear them now.”

“Humph! Thanks for the great concession,” growled Chumbley; and he was about to take advantage of the permission, when he felt himself again lifted, and laid this time in a kind of hammock that seemed to be slung upon poles, and then for a couple of hours at least, he and Hilton, who was in a similar conveyance behind, were borne along some narrow pathway of the jungle, the leaves, and strands, and thin verdant canes brushing against them constantly, and sweeping their faces at times when they were halted for the bearers to be changed.

“Well,” said Chumbley, chuckling softly, “I hope they are enjoying themselves with their job over me. They’ll declare that they have had the honour of carrying a very great man.”

A final halt at last, when fresh voices were heard. The hammocks were set down upon what seemed to be a framework; then they were lifted, tilted very much at one end, as if a flight of steps were being ascended, and at last the prisoners felt themselves to be landed upon what felt like a bamboo floor.

Next they were lifted out, carried a few steps, and laid upon soft matting; there was the pad, pad – pad, pad of shoeless feet over the floor, and all was perfectly still.

Volume Two – Chapter Twelve.
A Bird in a Cage

Helen Perowne’s horror upon finding herself borne helplessly away was so great that she swooned, remaining insensible for some very considerable time, and when she did recover herself it was only to faint again and again, becoming afterwards so thoroughly prostrate that she took no note of either time or the direction in which she was being taken.

Hours must have elapsed before, in the total darkness caused by the stifling veil thrown over her head, she found that she was being carried in some kind of litter along a forest path, whose leaves and vines brushed her as she passed.

This seemed to last a long time, and to be very unreal and dreamy. In fact, more than once she felt that she must be in some terribly troubled dream, out of which she kept awaking to the reality of her position and calling for help.

It was in vain she knew, for her voice seemed to return upon her; and at last, wearied out and exhausted, she lay there passive, thinking of the past, and wondering what her future was to be.

She was too much prostrated to be able to think with clearness; but her thoughts kept turning to her career since she left England, and the dark, threatening face of Murad was constantly before her eyes. That he was connected with this outrage she felt no doubt, and as she thought of her weak vanity and the strait to which it had brought her, the tears filled her eyes and trickled slowly down her cheeks.

Then other faces rose before her in the darkness, as if upbraiding her for what she had done. She saw the Rev. Arthur Rosebury, calm, patient, and uncomplaining, satisfied if she only gave him a look or word; Chumbley, her very slave at first, but then a rebel, ready to look at her mockingly, as if laughing at his broken chain; Hilton, devoted and tender but exacting, as if he doubted her truth; Murad, again fierce and lurid in his love, so that she shuddered as she saw his dark eyes and white teeth; a dozen others with whom she had trifled; and lastly, the quiet, firm face of Neil Harley, half laughing, half angry with her, but full of determination, as if he were constantly telling her that he was but waiting till she had grown wiser, for she would yet be his.

As these faces seemed to rise before her out of the thick darkness, it was as though she were haunted, and it was in a wild, passionate way that she seemed in her dreamy state to be defying them, bidding them go – all but one, whose power was too great even for her angry words to repel. No; Neil Harley merely mocked and laughed, and seemed to say: “I can wait; I shall appeal no more, for some day I know, as I have often said, I shall have you humbled, a suppliant at my feet, begging me to take you, to protect you, to make you mine. Till then I can wait!”

It was all darkness again, and these words but a fancy of her brain; but how real it all seemed – so real that Helen shuddered as she wept.

“I hate him – I detest him!” she panted. “I would sooner die than humble myself as he has said – sooner become the wife of this Indian prince, of Hilton, or of anyone who pleaded for my love. Supplicate! And to him! What madness! Why do I think such things? Is my brain reeling? Are my senses leaving me? Heaven help me? What shall I do?”

The heat was intense, and the prisoner could hardly breathe, so closely was she veiled; and once more she sank into a dreamy swoon, in which the realities of her condition were so commingled with fancy that she could not separate them, and her efforts to master her reason were growing vain, when she was roused by what she doubted to be real at first, but which proved to be the gruff voices of men speaking by her litter-side.

Soon after she, too, found that she was being carried up a ladder, and rousing herself, she made a feeble effort to get free; but so weak was her straggle, that she was lifted by one man, carried up the steps, and laid upon a couch.

There was a few moments’ pause then, and she heard her late companions depart. Then she felt busy hands about her, their touch making her shriek with horror; but as the stifling veil was removed she found it was nearly daylight, and her relief was great as she saw that she was surrounded by women.

She was too much exhausted to speak; but she found strength enough to join her hands together in a mute appeal for help; and one of the women bent over her, and proceeded to smooth back her dark and tangled hair.

“Give me water!” she panted, hoarsely. “Water!” but her words were not understood, and it was not until she had made signs, pointing to her mouth, that those in attendance brought her a cup of the refreshing fluid.

Whether it was drugged or not she never knew, but directly after she sank into a sleep that was deep enough to resemble a stupor, though most probably this was the effect of her utter weakness and prostration, her mental agony and excitement having been extreme. From this sleep she did not awaken for many hours, when, upon unclosing her eyes, she found that a couple of young Malay girls were watching her, evidently waiting for her to awaken, for no sooner had Helen unclosed her eyes than they proceeded to attend to her toilet, bringing water, brushes, and other necessaries, bathing her face, and then laughingly dressing her hair, chattering away to each other the while.

Helen plied them well with questions, but they only shook their heads; and feeling that it would be of no avail to resist, she submitted quietly to their attentions, letting them arrange her hair, which they did according to their own national tastes, and afterwards began to solicit her to partake of food.

As this last was placed before her Helen shook her head again and again; but the girls became so urgent with their pressure that she at last essayed to partake of the breakfast; but after a few mouthfuls, each of which seemed as if it would choke her, she broke down and crouched there, humbled and worn out with anxiety, sobbing aloud as if her very heart would break.

She felt that in a few short hours all had been changed. The last night she was Helen Perowne, whose lightest word seemed at the station to be obeyed as if it were law, and at whose look a score of people were ready to exert themselves to obey her wishes would she but indicate them to those who acted as if they were her slaves. To-day she was filled with a shrinking horror, for the terrible suspicion was ever gaining ground, and she shuddered in her misery as she thought of what her fate might be.

The hours went slowly on, but her thoughts were rapid. Her suspicions gathered strength, but her mental and bodily forces appeared to be slumbering, and it was only by a strong effort of will that she was able to keep up some semblance of pride, for she felt that her first display of weakness had lowered her terribly in her attendants’ eyes.

By degrees she grew more composed, and in these calmer moments she began thinking of Grey Stuart, and wished for the protection of her company, as she thought more and more of the calm, self-assured manner of her school companion, and wondered what she was doing now.

Helen could see that she was in a handsomely-decorated room, whose bamboo-barred window looked out upon waving palms and flowering trees. The door was hung with a rich silk curtain, and on two sides were low couches or divans, spread with Indian rugs, several of which were lying on the smooth bamboo floor.

There was little of ornament in the room, but the hangings and rugs looked rich, and Helen’s suspicion grew rapidly stronger as her eyes wandered here and there, and she thought of whose all these things must be.

Suddenly a slight rustle of the silken hangings caught her ear, and turning her eyes in the direction, she drew a breath of relief as she saw that it was caused by a little knot of Malay women, who were eagerly scanning her with their great dark eyes, and evidently regarding her as a curiosity.

These departed and others came – dark-faced, scowling women, in their gay sarongs – whispering to each other, and passing comments on the stranger; while Helen sat there, trying hard to keep up her stately air and to let these insolent gazers know that though a prisoner she was an English lady, and their superior still.

Twice over a couple of these visitors addressed some remark to the girls who seemed to have been placed there as attendants. What these remarks were Helen could not tell, but they drew forth angry expostulations from the girls, who at once went and drew the great curtain, and seemed to forbid further intrusion.

This was evidently the case, for saving that her two attendants remained in the room, Helen was undisturbed; and feeling somewhat recovered, she made an effort to win her companions to her side, beginning by questioning them in as friendly a manner as she could assume, but without effect; for though it was evident that one of them understood English words mingled with such Malay as the prisoner could recollect, the girl made no reply, only looked at her with indifferent eyes, and kept on shaking her head to every question as to why the speaker had been seized and was forcibly detained.

Volume Two – Chapter Thirteen.
Helen’s Tirewomen

Helen Perowne’s great horror in her situation of captive was the coming night. The day had been more bearable, as in the comparative coolness of the shaded room with its open windows she had felt the influence of the quietude and calm of the forest at which she gazed. Her mind was tortured by surmises and wonder as to whether her friends would not soon arrive to rescue her, while at every sound she started in fear of seeing her suspicion fully verified; but still she had bravely grown more composed and rested. She was among women, watched by women, and sooner or later she felt sure that someone from the station would arrive in pursuit.

For it was monstrous to suppose that such a crime as the seizure of an English lady would be allowed to pass without swift retribution.

This idea comforted her, and in her more hopeful moments she wondered who would first come to her aid – whether it would be Mr Harley, Hilton, or her father. One of them, well backed by the soldiers, she told herself, would certainly be there ere long; but darkness began to fall. Nobody had been to her help, and shivering with dread, she watched the darkening of the shadows amongst the broad palm leaves, and alternated this with shuddering glances at the door, whose curtain now began to look black and funereal, and added to her dread.

Just at dark a couple of women entered, bearing various dishes for her evening meal; but the sight of food was repugnant to her, and the wine she dared not taste.

Her two attendants were, however, less scrupulous, and they ate and drank heartily, even to finishing the luscious fruit, of which there was a large dish, and whose juice would have been most welcome to Helen’s parched and fevered lips.

At last, though, the remains of the meal were taken away; and after chatting together for some time by the open window, through which the moon shone, and from where Helen sat, turning the two girls into weird-looking silhouettes, they yawned, spoke sleepily, and ended by pointing to the couch the prisoner was to occupy, throwing themselves upon another, and apparently soon falling into a heavy sleep.

Helen lay resting upon her elbow, watching the darkened portion of the great room where her companions lay, and then letting her eyes rest upon the dimly-seen draped door, whose curtain seemed more than once to move, as if being drawn aside.

Watching this till her eyes felt strained, and seeing nothing more, she turned her gaze to the barred window, through which the last rays of the moon were streaming previous to its disappearing behind the dense belt of forest trees. Lower it sank and lower, till the room was in total darkness; and at last, moved by the desire to try and escape from her captivity, Helen rose with her heart throbbing violently, to try in a fearsome hopeless way whether she could not get out of the room, having afterwards some ill-defined idea in her mind that she might, if once clear of the prison where she then was, find her way to some native campong, whose inhabitants would give her shelter, and perhaps take her down the river in their boat to where more certain help might be secured.

It took some time to make up her mind to move, but when she had shaken off her dread and risen softly to her feet, hardly had she gone a yard, when one of the bamboos forming the floor gave a loud creak, and almost before she could realise the fact, the two girls had sprung up, seized her arms, and tenderly but firmly forced her back to her couch.

Helen lay there panting with indignation at the treatment she was receiving, but trying to contain herself, for she felt that any attempt at force would only be to her own injury, and that if she were to escape it must be by some subtle turn. So she lay there perfectly still for quite an hour before making any further attempt to reach the door, this time with as light a step as she could assume.

But though the moment before her companions seemed to be sleeping heavily, her slightest movement made them start up; and after several attempts to escape their watchfulness, one of them took her hand, grasped it firmly, and lay down to sleep by her side.

How that long, stifling night passed Helen Perowne could never afterwards tell; but towards morning she fell into a broken, troubled sleep, from which she awoke to find that the sun was very high, and that the two Malay girls were waiting to act as her tirewomen once again.

She still felt too weak to offer resistance to their acts, and she sat up and allowed them to bathe her face with a delicately-tinted, sweet-scented water, which, with a good deal of merry laughter, they liberally applied. It was cool and refreshing to her fevered cheeks and hands; and seeing that she liked it they kept up the bathing for some little time, chattering to her the while in their own language, which they supplemented now and then with a few words of English.

When this was over at last, and she had dried herself with the perfumed towels they brought, Helen started on finding that a portion of her own clothing had been removed, and that the Malay girls had substituted a couple of gay silken sarongs and a filmy scarf.

She appealed to them to return her own dress, but they only laughed and began to praise the gay colour of the sarongs, playfully throwing them round her to show how well they looked, and then clapping their hands and uttering cries indicative of their admiration of the effect.

Still Helen refused to accept the change, and after trying angry remonstrance, one of the girls ran out, to return directly with a couple of stern-looking, richly-dressed Malay women, who frowningly threatened the miserable girl with the indignity of force.

Still she refused; and clapping her hands, the elder of the two women opened the door for the admission of half a dozen slaves, when, feeling that resistance was vain, Helen signed that she would submit, and with drooping head and throbbing brow allowed her two attendants to drape her as they wished.

This over, breakfast was placed before her, and exhausted nature forced her to partake of the food with a better appetite.

“I shall need my strength,” she said to herself; and she ate and drank, but started at every movement outside the room as she waited the coming of those who would set her free.

“Hilton, in spite of what has passed, will not rest until he has found me – poor fellow!”

She said these last two words with a mingling of contempt and pity in her voice; though had he presented himself then, she would have thrown herself gladly in his arms.

But there was no token of approaching relief. The voices of many women could be heard coming and going about what was apparently a large native house; and the prisoner could not avoid a shudder as from time to time she thought of who must be the owner of the place.

The morning was giving way to the heats of noon, and languid and heart-sick Helen was lying back upon one of the couches, thinking of the happy days of the past, and trying to piece together the broken, incoherent facts connected with her seizure, and wondering whether Murad were the real cause, when the two Malay girls who had left her for a few moments returned, bearing a handful of wreaths of a beautiful fresh white jasmine, which they insisted upon placing in her thick, dark hair.

Helen resisted this trifling for a time, but despair had tamed her spirit; and after a few feeble attempts to stay her persecutors, she sat like a statue, asking herself, with her eyes fixed upon the gay sarong she wore, whether this was the Helen of the past – and what was to be the end.

The two girls placed the lovely white flowers in her hair, laughing with delight, and clapping their hands as they drew back to gaze at their work; after which one of them went off to fetch a common hand-glass of European make, and held it before her face that she might, as they said, “see how beautiful they had made her now.”

Helen was too sick of heart and weary to do more than cast a cursory glance at the glass; but this was followed by another, and then she uttered an anguished cry, shrinking back and cowering down as if with dread as she covered her face with her hands.

Fair Helen was fair no longer. Her face was as swarthy as that of the darkest Malay.

Volume Two – Chapter Fourteen.
Another Prisoner

The awakening of the Reverend Arthur Rosebury was not very much unlike that of the other prisoners. He, too, seemed to have been carried a long distance blindfolded, both in boat and litter; and it all appeared like a continuation of the dream in which he had been plunged since he first met Helen Perowne.

The hours he had spent in her company; the giving up of his little English home; his journey abroad; and his wild Eastern life, had all seemed dreamlike and strange; and it was quite, to his mind, in keeping therewith, that he should have been seized, blindfolded, and carried off by slaves for some reason or another; probably, he argued, because a rival was jealous of the favour in which he stood with Helen, who had only that night appointed him her special personal attendant.

It was all quite consistent with Eastern life and romance, and did not strike him as being at all peculiar, for the fact remains that, while the Reverend Arthur Rosebury was exceedingly clever as a student, and quite a master in his own particular subjects, he was weak as water in worldly matters; and, as his sister too well knew, in many things little better than a child. Add to this that the Reverend Arthur was, for the first time in his life, and at middle age, hopelessly infatuated with Helen, and it is not surprising that his weakness was extreme.

It was all, then, to him a matter of no wonderment, and he would have taken his position coolly enough had he been satisfied that Helen was not in danger. But of this he could not feel assured; and he was troubled in his dull, mild way accordingly. For love blinded him effectually to all Helen’s failings. She was beautiful, and she had looked kindly, almost lovingly upon him, more than once, and those tender looks redeemed all else. She flirted, she coquetted with others; she treated him with marked indifference and contempt; but she had made him love her, and he was one of those who, without reward, would go on patiently loving until the end.

He was a good deal troubled, then, in his own mind about Helen’s fate, for he had seen that she was, like him, seized; but in the confusion that followed, what afterwards took place he could not tell.

When he was able to think a little more clearly, he began to ask himself what he should do to help his companion in distress; and of course, ignorant of the fact that he might prove in his humble way a greater safeguard than either of her other admirers, there he stuck fast. What was he to do to help Helen?

No answer came to this question, so there he paused, meditating hour after hour, until he found himself unbound, and free to gaze about him in a pleasant-looking room, whose window opened upon a fairly-kept garden, full of such a profusion of strange and beautiful plants, shining in the heavy morning dew, that, as the Rev. Arthur Rosebury rested his forehead against the bamboo bars, and looked out, he forgot his present troubles in the glories of a rich botanic feast.

He was interrupted by a hand touching him on the shoulder; and turning, he found a couple of tall, well-armed Malays standing at his side, one of whom pointed to a breakfast arranged upon a clean mat upon the floor, and signed to him that he should eat.

The Reverend Arthur sighed, paused, and asked where was Miss Perowne; receiving for answer a shake of the head, and a fresh intimation that he should eat.

This, after a moment’s hesitation, he sat down and began to do, evidently in a very abstracted mood.

At the end of a minute he rose, beckoned to one of his guards, led him to the window, and pointing out through the open bars to a very beautiful form of convolvulus he took out his penknife, opened it, and placed it in the Malay’s hand, signing to him that he should go out and cut one of the long twining strands.

The man looked at him in a puzzled manner for a few moments, but ended by comprehending; and after saying a few words to his companion, he went out and came round to the window where the Reverend Arthur was watching, and ready to point to the plant, a portion of which the Malay cut, and also a spray of a large jasmine, and brought in.

The prisoner took the plants and his knife, and sat down crosslegged to his breakfast, which became a prolonged meal, full of enjoyment; for between every two mouthfuls there was a long pause, and sections had to be made of the flowers and seed vessels, while notes were made in the notebook the chaplain always carried in his breast-pocket.

Altogether that was a very pleasant meal; and the two Malay guards stared to see how calm and contented their prisoner seemed to be.

Then came a period of depression, during which the chaplain questioned the Malays, making use of all the words that he had studied up during the voyage and since his stay; but they either could not or would not give him any information respecting the object of his inquiry; and he walked dreamily to the window, and stood gazing out once more.

Whatever might be his troubles or perplexities, it was impossible for the Reverend Arthur Rosebury to gaze at the beauties of nature in a botanical form without forgetting the perturbations of his spirit; and consequently he had not been looking out at the wonderful collection of plants, for the most part strange to him, many minutes, before he was signing to the Malay guard to cut him a fresh specimen.

This the man readily did; and with intervals for meals and fits of despondency at not being able to help Helen Perowne, the Reverend Arthur Rosebury passed his first day in prison.

The next was very similar, for he was treated with the greatest of kindness and consideration, except that he could obtain no information whatever respecting his detention or his fellow-captive.

On the third day, upon signifying a desire to have another specimen of the plants in the garden, the guard handed to him one of the little woven caps worn by the Malays, signed to him to put it on as he had not his own hat, led him out through a doorway into the garden, and then said, in fair English:

“You may walk and pick flowers. If you run away you will be killed.”

The chaplain stared at the man, and asked him some other questions, but the Malay guard pointed to the flowers, waved his hand over the garden as if to say, “You are free to walk here;” and seating himself upon a stump, he took out his betel-box, extracted a sirih leaf, smeared it with coral-lime mixed into a cream, rolled a piece of nut therein, and placing the preparation in his mouth, he began to chew it calmly without seeming to heed his prisoner, though he was watchfully observant of him the whole time.

Helen Perowne was entirely forgotten for the space of three hours, during which the chaplain dreamily revelled in the beauties of the wonderful flowers of that Eastern land. He had no thought outside the present, and in a kind of ecstasy he wandered here and there till, truth to tell, he began to feel hungry, and hunger made him look up at the long, low, palm-thatched building that was his prison.

Hunger made him also, for some occult reason, begin to think of Helen, and he found himself wondering whether she was confined anywhere near him, and if so, could he make known his presence by any means.

Just then, seeing him gazing hard at the house, the Malay rose from his seat, where he had remained patiently the whole time, and pointing to the open door, the chaplain went in laden with flowers sufficient to occupy him in making scientific notes for the rest of the day.

Volume Two – Chapter Fifteen.
Chumbley’s Coolness

“I say, this is a rum set-out, Bertie,” drawled Chumbley. “I suppose you are there?”

“Yes, I am here, or there, as you choose to call it,” replied Hilton, rather bitterly, for his bonds gave him no little pain.

“I will loosen the rajahs now,” said the voice that Chumbley had heard all through his unpleasant adventure.

Busy hands were now about them, and a knife was used to cut them free; but their limbs were so cramped by the long confinement, and so tightly bound, that they could hardly move.

Then the handkerchiefs were removed from their eyes, and they lay back on the soft matting gazing about them, the subdued light of the large room in which they found themselves being very grateful to their dazzled eyes.

The man who had set them free from the cords was a stern-looking, muscular Malay in plain cotton jacket and sarong, in whose folds were stuck a couple of formidable-looking krisses; and the place in which the prisoners’ eyes struggled with the light was a tolerably large room floored with split bamboo, the walls being for the most part a kind of basket-work of cane, partially covered with native woven hangings, while the floor was pretty well hidden by Persian and Turkish rugs.

Everything looked cool and comfortable; and, in spite of the absence of tables and chairs, there was a good deal of elegance in the way in which various ornaments of bronze and china were arranged about the apartment. Here and there, too, were objects of European manufacture, principally in glass, Italian imitations of old Venice being principally chosen.

Naturally enough the first glances of the prisoners were aimed at the windows, of which there were two, and at the door; but they were evidently strongly made, and though the bars of the windows were but wood, they were stout bamboos externally almost as hard to cut as flint.

The Malay saw their looks; and making a sign to them, he crossed to the door and threw it open, admitting with the rays of the morning sun the glinting of the spear-heads of half a dozen stout Malay guards.

Closing the door, he beckoned to the prisoners to come to the windows.

Hilton essayed to rise, but sank back upon his mats with an ejaculation indicative of pain, for the attempt was full of suffering to his swollen limbs.

Chumbley, though in pain, was more successful, or more fall of fortitude, for he struggled to his feet, and heavily tottered across the bamboos and mats to the window, which was covered with a beautifully-scented creeper, and through which a pleasant prospect was visible of undulating woodland and dense jungle.

“Quite fresh to me,” muttered Chumbley; “I wonder where we are?”

Not till he had had this glance round did he pay any heed to the Malay, who was pointing to a group below each window of three well-armed men.

“They are to kill you if you try to go,” he said, quietly; and then, with a meaning smile, he left the room, fastening the door with some kind of bar.

“This is atrocious!” cried Hilton, as he bit his lip, and pressed his swollen wrists; while Chumbley dropped at full length upon the mats, turned upon his back, and began to rub his legs.

“A – bom – i – na – ble,” he drawled.

“That scoundrel Murad is at the bottom of it, I’ll swear,” cried Hilton. “Hang the fellow! I could shoot him like a dog.”

“You should have hung him or shot him before he carried out this game,” said Chumbley, rubbing away very softly, and evidently feeling a good deal of satisfaction as his reward.

“It is to get me out of the way while he resumes his attentions to – you know,” he cried, peevishly; “but he might have saved himself the trouble, for I’ve done.”

“He seems to have had an idea of going it wholesale,” drawled Chumbley, “or else he wouldn’t have brought me.”

“What shall we do now?” said Hilton, altering his position, for the numbing sensation was passing off.

“As soon as ever I’ve done rubbing my legs,” said Chumbley, “I’m going to have another cigar; and then if they don’t bring us breakfast I shall have a nap, for I feel as if it would do Mr Chumbley good.”

“Chumbley, I haven’t patience with you!” cried Hilton.

“Not when you have pins and needles in your legs, dear boy; but have a weed to soothe you, and then you can philosophise over our trouble. Say, old chap.”

“What?”

“No parade this morning – no drill. No anything to do at all but lie here and smoke. Hah! this is a nice one. Look out, old man. Catch!”

To Hilton’s annoyance his friend coolly took a cigar from his case, struck a light, and having ignited the end of his roll of tobacco-leaf, he pitched case and match-box to his friend, then lay back and smoked.

For a few minutes Hilton gazed at him in an angry, disgusted manner; but the process of smoking looked so calming in its effects upon his friend, that he submitted to the desire to imitate him, and proceeded to light a cigar himself; but before he had been smoking many minutes, a regular hard breathing told him that Chumbley was dozing, and sure enough he was lying there, heedless of present trouble and that to come, his cigar tightly held between his teeth, and his breath coming and going, as he slept placidly and well.

“I always thought Chumbley cool,” muttered Hilton in an annoyed way; “but he really is the coolest fellow I ever met. Why, that villain may kill us to-morrow – to-day for what I know. Oh, it’s monstrous! and all through that wretched, coquettish girl.”

“I hate myself!” he said, after a few minutes’ pause. Why, he did not say, but he, too, lay back and indulged in his friend’s bad habit, feeling gradually calmer and more at rest, especially as the furtive rub he gave from time to time at one or other of the places where the bonds had been was mollifying in its effect.

Chumbley was fast asleep; of that there could be no doubt, so Hilton determined that it was his duty to watch for both. He could not go to sleep at a time like this, so he began thinking about Helen, muttering angrily the while; but by degrees his countenance softened, his eyes closed, his cigar fell from his lips, the infection of Chumbley’s despised readiness to sleep came over him, and, quite exhausted, he, too, lay breathing heavily, and perfectly unconscious of the lapse of time. Naturally enough he dreamed of Helen and her careless coquettish treatment of his love, which was rapidly cooling down, like the lava after some violent eruption, and giving place to a hard and bitter anger at her heartless ways.

As for Chumbley he was too weary to dream, but slept on as calmly as if he were in his own cot at the fort; perhaps more calmly, for the well-ventilated room was shaded by waving cocoa-palms and the branches of a great durian-tree, while the large leaves of banana kept the sun-rays from the glassless window.

At intervals of about an hour the Malay came in, and stepping softly towards them, seemed to assure himself that they were both asleep, going out directly with a satisfied smile as he saw how calmly they were resting.

“They are brave men, these English,” he muttered. “They will do. It is right. They do not know but that this may be their last day on earth, and yet they sleep.”

Mid-day had long passed before Chumbley awoke suddenly, as if influenced by the presence of the tall Malay, who was standing by him.

“Hallo, old chap!” he drawled, “have I been asleep? I say, have I been asleep?” he added, in the Malay tongue.

“Since morning, rajah, and it is now past mid-day,” replied the Malay, respectfully.

“Here, hi! Hilton! Wake up, old man!” cried Chumbley; and his fellow-prisoner leaped up, looking vacantly before him for a moment or two, and then growing angry as he realised where they were.

The Malay retired at once, and a couple of fresh men entered, bringing brass basins with water, cloths, and English-made hair brushes, and soap. These the two officers gladly used, Chumbley uttering grunts of satisfaction as he indulged in a good wash, and ended by carefully adjusting his short crisp hair.

“That’s better, lad,” he said. “One feels more like a human being now.”

“Yes,” replied Hilton, smiling. “It is surprising what a degraded creature a man feels when he has not made acquaintance for some hours with soap and water.”

“Come, that’s more cheery, my noble. Why, I believe, old fellow, that this affair is doing you good!”

“I suppose I am a little rested,” said Hilton, quietly. “Take away those things,” he said to the Malays, who both bowed respectfully and withdrew.

“I say, Hilton,” said Chumbley, “I suppose this really is Murad’s game, isn’t it?”

“No doubt. Of course it is!”

“Well, he is doing the thing civilly. I wonder whether he treats all his prisoners like this? Hallo! what’s this mean – an execution sheet or a tablecloth?”

“The latter,” said Hilton, quickly.

“And quite right too,” exclaimed Chumbley. “I say, how hungry I do feel!”

These last remarks were elicited by the fact that the tall Malay had returned, ushering in half a dozen more, who quickly spread a white tablecloth in the English fashion; and to the surprise of the prisoners they were served with a capital breakfast, which included, among native luxuries, coffee, very good claret, roast and curried chickens, and fairly-made bread.

“Look here,” said Chumbley, who was staring ravenously at the preparations, “if you have any suspicions about the food being poisoned, don’t say a word about it, old man, until I have fed.”

“Oh, absurd!” replied Hilton. “Why should it be poisoned?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know!” exclaimed Chumbley. “Only let us leave all other discussion till we have discussed our breakfast;” and seating himself in the Malay fashion upon the floor, he at once set an example to his companion, that Hilton was fain to follow.

“As that fellow said somewhere, ‘a child might play with me now,’” sighed Chumbley, and wiping his lips, in token of having finished, he leaned back against the divan. “Done?”

“Yes,” said Hilton, gloomily, “I have done.”

“I wish you had done being glumpy,” said Chumbley. “Why, this is quite a pleasant change. I say, executioner,” he cried, in the Malay tongue, “I have emptied my case. Can we have some cigars?”

The tall Malay, who had been standing with folded arms, looking like a swarthy statue, bowed respectfully, and left the room, the men coming in directly to remove the remains of the breakfast; while their leader returned at the end of a few minutes with a box of cigars, a jar of tobacco, and a couple of large pipes, one of which, a kind of hookah, Chumbley at once appropriated, filled, and began to smoke.

“I say, Hilton, old man, failing the costume – which wants brushing, by the way – I feel quite the Rajah. Take it easy, lad. ’Tisn’t half bad for a change.”

“Hang it, Chumbley, you would make yourself contented anywhere!” cried Hilton, who, now that his hunger was appeased, began to grow angry once more. “Put down that pipe, and let’s see if we cannot contrive some means of getting away from here.”

“Eh?”

“I say put away that pipe, and let’s plan how to get away.”

“Not if I know it,” replied Chumbley. “The tobacco is delicious, and I’m not going to spoil my digestion by putting myself in a fever directly after a meal.”

“But we must make some plans!” cried Hilton.

“Must we? Well, by-and-by will do. I’m very comfortable; and as long as a fellow is comfortable, what more can he want? There, light up and do as I do. I don’t know that I want to escape at all if the cuisine is to be kept up to this mark.”

“But we are prisoners!”

“So we are at the island, man alive. We couldn’t help being brought here; but now we are here, we may as well make the best of it. What splendid tobacco! Real Latakie!”

Hilton fretted and fumed; and finding that he could not move his friend, he went to door and window, examined the walls, and looked up at the open roof; but Chumbley did not move, he merely seemed to be studying their position in the coolest way.

“Look here, sit down, old fellow,” he exclaimed at last, just as Hilton had worked himself into a heat, “it doesn’t seem to me to be of any use to fret and fume. Have a little patience, and let’s see whether this has been done by our dark friend, or else what it does mean.”

“How can a man have patience,” cried Hilton, “seized in this ruffianly way!”

“’Twas rough certainly,” said Chumbley, slowly.

“Torn from his quarters – ”

“To better ones, my dear old man. Let’s play fair. One doesn’t get such a breakfast as this at the fort.”

“Dragged from his love!” cried Hilton, who did not seem to heed his companion’s remarks.

“Well, that last’s all sentiment, old man,” drawled Chumbley. “For my part I think it will do you good. I say – happy thought, Hilton – Helen Perowne’s at the bottom of this, and wanting to get rid of you, has had you carried away. Me too, for fear I should make the running in your absence.”

“Do you wish to quarrel, Chumbley?” cried Hilton.

“Not I. You couldn’t quarrel with me. But joking apart, old man, I saw enough yesterday to know that you had got to the end of your tether, and that – ”

“And that what?” cried Hilton, fiercely; for Chumbley had halted in his speech.

“That she had pitched you over, same as she had a score of others before you.”

“Silence! It is a falsehood – a calumny – a damned lie! How dare you say that?”

“Oh, easy enough!” said Chumbley, without moving a muscle. “It’s just waggling one’s tongue a bit. Bully away, old man, I don’t mind; and you’ll feel better when you’ve rid yourself of all that spleen.”

“As to Miss Perowne knowing of this – ”

“Oh, that’s absurd, of course!” cried Chumbley; “but she has pitched you over, old man, and you now belong to the ranks of the unblessed.”

“I cannot quarrel with you, Chumbley,” said Hilton, cooling down, “because I know you to be too good a fellow to slight; but will you talk sense?”

“Yes, dear boy, of course I will; but I wish you’d try this tobacco. This is sense that I am going to say now. I feel sure that we have been kidnapped so that our new friends may get a nice little sum for us out of the British Government.”

“Well, it is likely,” said Hilton, whose anger had been of a fleeting nature. “But if they do not get the ransom – what then?”

“That’s an unpleasant emergency that it is not worth while to consider until we know that negotiations have failed. It is unpleasant, dear boy, because I suppose we should then get a taste of kris, applied in a dexterous manner peculiar to the Malays, through the hollow of the left shoulder. But that would only be a dernier ressort, and a thousand things might happen in the meantime. It will all come right in the end.”

Seeing that Chumbley was determined to make the best of their position, Hilton gradually began to take somewhat of the same tone; and agreeing with his friend that at present any attempt at escape would be folly, he partook heartily of the excellent second meal provided for them, questioned their guard, but obtained no information whatever as to where they were and why they had been brought, and ended by seating himself by the open window and listening to the weird noises of the jungle as darkness fell.

Feeling weary at last, Hilton sought his couch, and lay thinking once more of Helen, wondering where she was, but with less excitement than of old; and somehow the sweet, earnest face of Grey Stuart rose like a pleasant picture before him, as he fell asleep, thinking that if Helen, with her beauteous face, had only had the sweet disposition of her schoolfellow and companion, what a lovable woman she would have been.

Chumbley was dropping off to sleep at the same time, and he too was thinking of Helen Perowne, and that nature was guilty of making a great mistake in sending such girls abroad upon the earth.

“In fact,” said Chumbley, who was in a drowsy state of content with the rest, good meals, wine and coffee – “in fact, old fellow, I begin to think that women are a great mistake altogether, and I for one am perfectly cured.”

Sleep spread her drowsy wings over his eyes at this point, and his heretical notions had no farther play, for his slumber was dreamless, and he like his friend passed a calm and pleasant night.

They awoke early, and breakfasted in keeping with their time of rising; after which, finding themselves quite alone, and seeing that they were not watched, they had a good quiet investigation of the place, doing what Chumbley called, “a bit of engineering.”

“Don’t seem feasible at present,” said Chumbley at the end of the look round.

“Unless we could bribe the guards,” replied Hilton.

“Yes, it would only be throwing away energy just at present. Let’s bide a wee, as old Stuart would say. I say, old chap, talk about old Stuart, why don’t you marry his pretty little lassie?”

“Why don’t you keep that Solomon-like intellect of yours to bear on the subject in hand?” retorted Hilton. “I’ve done with women.”

“So have I,” said Chumbley. “I’d turn monk if I were offered a nice cell with good shooting and fishing.”

“You’re a queer fish yourself, Chum,” said Hilton, laughing; “but seriously, we must get away from here. It is perfectly absurd! Kidnapped, and nothing else!”

“Quite a romance,” replied Chumbley; “but never mind. We shall know what our ransom is to be to-night.”

“I wonder whether Harley is taking steps to find us?”

“Sure to be, unless he thinks we are drowned,” replied Chumbley. “There’s no knowing. I believe my hat went floating down the river.”

“I hope not,” said Hilton. “If he thought that he would not search for us.”

“Not till he heard about the ransom. I say, old fellow, I’m tired of smoking, I wonder whether they have a billiard table, or chess?”

“Pshaw.”

“Well, then, a pea-rifle to pot the birds.”

“Very likely,” said Hilton, drily, as they sat by the open window, looking out at the soft shadows of the coming night.

“I’d give something to know really why we are boxed up here,” said Chumbley, after a long silence. “It can’t be anything connected with the station, or I should be in a terrible fidget. It must be something to do with us alone.”

“Yes,” replied Hilton; “but it is all darkness at present.”

For the moment it was; but the light came all at once as they sat there having a similar conversation on the evening of the third day, after vainly trying to get some information from their guard, for just before sunset the door was thrown open, and looking very handsome and picturesque, and evidently as if she had paid great attention to her toilet, the Inche Maida entered; and as the two officers started up, she walked straight towards Hilton with extended hand.

Volume Two – Chapter Sixteen.
At Fault Again

“They’ll find out the value of that woman now,” said Dr Bolter to himself; “and if I haven’t done wisely in marrying her, I’m a Dutchman! Why, it’s the very thing! Here am I, Henry Bolter, a duly qualified medical man, physician and surgeon in one, ready to afford bodily relief; and here is Mary Bolter, my wife – fine sound about that,” he said, smiling with satisfaction – “my wife – my little wife – no, my wife is best; it sounds more dignified – my wife, ready to afford mental relief wherever it is needed; and here she is.”

For just then the quick, pattering step of the little lady was heard, and, reticule on arm, she came in bustling, hot, and red-faced.

“Well, my little woman, how are you getting on?” he said cheerily, as he placed his arm round the buxom little waist, and led her to an easy-chair, proceeding afterwards, with all a youth’s tenderness, to take off her broad hat and light scarf, which he carefully laid down for fear of being called to account.

“Oh, don’t ask me, Henry,” she sighed. “My heart is nearly broken with trouble, and I am doing no good at all.”

“Ahem!” ejaculated the doctor, taking her hand and feeling the pulse.

“Don’t be foolish, Henry, dear,” she exclaimed.

“Foolish? No, my dear, certainly not. Hum! Hah! Much fever and exhaustion. Recipe vin Xeres, cochleare magnum. Brisk osculation after the medicine.”

“What?” exclaimed Mrs Bolter.

“You are suffering from weariness and exhaustion, my dear,” said the little doctor; “and I have prescribed for you a drop of sherry, and something to take after it.”

“Not sugar, Henry? and really I would rather not have the wine.”

“Doctor’s orders, my dear. There,” he said, pouring the sherry into a tumbler, and filling it up with cold water, “I have made it as refreshing as I could.”

Mrs Bolter drank off the draught, and made a wry face, holding out her hand.

“Where is the stuff for me to take afterwards?”

“There, my dear,” said the doctor, kissing her very tenderly.

“For shame, Henry!” she cried, blushing like a girl. “Suppose anyone had seen you?”

“Well, it would have been like his or her impudence to look; and if it had been talked about afterwards, really, Mary, my dear, I have grown to be such a hardened sinner over that sort of thing that I shouldn’t care a bit.”

“Really, Henry,” said the little lady, “anyone would think you were a boy, instead of being a middle-aged man.”

“I feel quite a boy,” he said, merrily. “At least, I should if we were not in such trouble.”

“And we are, Henry, indeed,” said the little lady, sadly. “I’m afraid I’m neglecting you terribly, my dear; but I am obliged to try and help that poor man, who is completely prostrate; and if it was not for the help Grey Stuart gives me, I’m sure I should break down. Have you any news?”

“Not a scrap, my dear. Have you?”

“None whatever. But now really, Henry, what do you think of the matter?”

“’Pon my word, my dear, I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t say you believe they have had a boat accident, dear. I cannot bear to think it possible.”

“No, my dear, I don’t, and I cannot believe it,” he replied. “Here is the case: For there to have been a boat accident, Helen, Arthur, Hilton, and Chumbley must have taken a boat, and they must have all gone in together.”

“Or Hilton may have been trying to carry Helen away, and Chumbley and Arthur, who is as brave as a lion in such matters, may have been trying to stop them, or pursued them in a second boat.”

“And a struggle ensued, and the boats upset, eh?”

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs Bolter, with a shudder. “Oh, why did you bring us out here, Henry, for such horrors to happen?”

“I did not know that these horrors had happened, my dear,” said the doctor, drily. “Let’s see first if the boat theory holds water. I don’t believe it does.”

“Then you think Murad is at the bottom of it?” she said, sharply.

“I’m for and against,” he replied. “Let’s wait and see. I don’t believe, however, that they are dead.”

“Oh, no – oh, no!” said Mrs Bolter, shuddering. “I cannot believe that. I’m afraid it’s all due, in some way, to Helen’s folly.”

“Yes, my dear,” said the doctor, “and it has quite upset my intended journey in search of the true Ophir.”

“And that’s your folly. Oh, Henry, how much happier I should be if you would give up that weakness of yours.”

“Sorry I can’t, Mary. It’s an old weakness that increases with age. Don’t be angry with me, my dear.”

“I am not angry, Henry; only you do worry me when you will keep talking about Solomon’s ships coming here for gold.”

“If they’d come here for gold, and you had been living at the time, they would have carried you off, for you are richer than refined – ”

“Now, Henry, I will not sit here and listen to such outrageous flattery of a very ordinary little woman,” said the lady, looking angry, but feeling pleased. “You must be a very weak man to have taken a fancy to me.”

“Let me be weak then, my dear,” said the little doctor.

“Hush!” exclaimed the lady. “Here is Grey Stuart at the gate;” and they listened to the click of the Chinese-made bamboo latch, and directly after, looking thin and pale, Helen’s schoolfellow was admitted.

She did not speak, but looked at Mrs Bolter in a weary, dejected manner, that made the little lady take her in her arms, kiss her tenderly, and then place her beside her upon the couch.

“Never despair, my dear,” she said, cheerily. “There’s always room for hope.”

“That is what I have been trying to think for days past,” sighed Grey; “but the trouble only seems to grow darker.”

“Don’t say that, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs Bolter. “For my part, I will not believe the story of the boat accident; and I have always this consolation – that wherever that foolish girl may be, she has my brother by her side.”

Mrs Bolter felt her cheeks burn a little as she said this; for in her heart of hearts she had not the faith in her brother’s prudence and ability to protect a lady that she professed.

She glanced at the doctor, and her face became a little hotter, for he too was watching her, and she felt that he was reading her thoughts.

“I will try and be as hopeful as you are, dear Mrs Bolter; but it is very hard!”

“Bless the child! I did not think she felt so warm an affection for Helen Perowne,” thought Mrs Bolter; “but it shows how good a heart she has.”

Then aloud:

“Oh, how tiresome! Here is that dreadful Mrs Barlow coming!”

“Say I’m out, my dear,” whispered the doctor, hurriedly. “I’ll slip round through the surgery.”

“I cannot say you are out, Henry,” said the little lady, reprovingly; “but I will say that you are particularly engaged.”

“Yes, my dear – an operation,” whispered the doctor.

“I shall say nothing of the kind, Harry!” exclaimed Mrs Bolter, sternly.

“But she will want to see me, and describe her symptoms.”

“Then she cannot see you,” replied the little lady, with dignity. “I will take care of that.”

Dr Bolter stepped out by one door, and he had hardly closed it after him, when Mrs Barlow entered by the other.

“Ah, my dear Mrs Bolter,” she sobbed, kissing her in spite of a strong objection evinced by the little lady. “Ah, my dear Miss Stuart, these are terrible times.”

She paused, as if expecting one of those she addressed to speak; but save for acknowledging her salutation, they remained silent. “Have you heard the last news?”

“No,” replied Mrs Bolter, quickly. “Quick! what is it?”

“A couple of boatmen have come in just now with some more relics of our missing party.”

“What relics?” cried Mrs Bolter, as Grey turned deadly pale.

“They have found some scraps of clothing, I believe, and a hat,” said the lady.

“Where? Where are they?” cried Dr Bolter, coming in hurriedly, for he had been waiting by the door in the not very creditable position of an eavesdropper.

“Oh, doctor, how you startled me! I wanted to see you?” exclaimed Mrs Barlow. “I fear I am going to have a bad attack of illness!”

Dr Bolter was saved from a bad attack of Mrs Barlow’s symptoms, described to him at full length, by the opportune arrival of Harley.

“Here, Bolter, I want you,” he said, hastily; and making his excuses for having to leave, the doctor hurried out and joined Mr Harley in the garden.

“You have had something brought in,” said the doctor, hastily. “Where is it?”

“Down by the landing-stage. Perowne has got up from his bed to come and see, and Stuart, Murad, and others are down there inspecting them.”

The doctor accompanied the Resident to the landing-stage, where, in the midst of a little group, lay some wet and torn rags and a sodden hat, muddied and out of shape; while, squatting hard by the foul garments, were a couple of Malay fishermen, who had found the scraps and other articles amongst the mangrove-roots miles away.

Dr Bolter threw off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to go down on one knee by the muddy bank, while with contracted eyes and puckered brow the young Rajah looked on.

“What do you make of them, doctor?” said the Resident, hoarsely.

“Lady’s silk dress that has not been taken off, but dragged from its hooks, and ripped and torn away. It seems to have been rolled over and over in the tide till it became fastened on to some snag.”

A shudder ran through the little party, and the doctor continued his examination.

“Hat,” he said, turning it over. “Dreadfully battered and soaked; but it is Chumbley’s, I think.”

“What is that?” said Mr Harley, in a low voice.

“Coat,” said the doctor. “Gentleman’s; and this is a small white tie.”

“Here is a handkerchief,” said old Stuart, picking up what looked to be a mere wisp.

This the doctor took and rinsed in the clear river, starting back on the instant, and only just in time for, attracted by the motion of the white handkerchief in the water, a small crocodile of some six feet long partially threw itself out of the stream; but falling short of its prey, the reptile shuffled back and was gone.

No one spoke; but the presence of these creatures in such abundance, combined with their daring, whispered plainly enough to the party assembled what must be the fate of one who was thrown out into the stream.

The doctor took a step or two back, and then, as coolly as if nothing had occurred, he shook out the folds of the handkerchief – one of a very delicate texture and edged with lace, while in one corner were the two letters, “H.P.,” embroidered by a woman’s hand.

There was a deep groan here, and as the gentlemen turned, it was to see that Murad was resting his face upon a bamboo fence, his hands to his brow, and, turned from them as he was, the lookers-on could see that his breast was heaving, and that the young man was suffering great agony of mind.

“Collect all these together,” said the doctor in a whisper; and one of the soldiers proceeded to obey his orders, when the young Malay leaped upon him fiercely, and tore the handkerchief from his grasp, thrust it into his bosom, and strode away.

The Resident did not move, but stood gazing after the Sultan, his brows contracted, and a peculiar look of dislike gathering in his eyes; but he did not speak, and without a word the various relics were gathered into a basket and carried across to the Residency island, where Dr Bolter announced that he would make a further and more searching examination.

Then the party separated, save that the doctor and Neil Harley had a long conversation together, in which the latter related how thoroughly the river banks had now been searched by the boats enlisted to carry the soldiers, who were most energetically aided by the people belonging to Rajah Murad and the Inche Maida, both of whom continued to almost live at the station, only going away for a few hours at a time to see to their own affairs, journeys from which they came back, with the rowers of the small boats they used looking terribly distressed.

“You can trust me, Harley,” said the doctor. “I will not chatter, even to my wife, though she is to be trusted, too. How do you feel about the matter now?”

“Feel!” said Neil Harley, quietly. “I feel that little Miss Stuart was right in what she said to me.”

“And what was that?”

“That this is a contest between the wits of the Eastern and the European; that we are being deceived; and that Sultan Murad is playing a part.”

“What, after the miserable relics we have just seen?”

“After the miserable relics we have just seen. He has slaves who would die in his service, and who would consider it a merit to deceive the heathen English.”

“Then he is playing his part marvellously well,” said the doctor.

“Magnificently; and if Miss Stuart is right, as I believe she is, for the simple reason that her ideas accord with mine, he is a born actor. That show of grief, and that seizure of the pocket-handkerchief were admirably done.”

“If you believe all this, then,” said the doctor, “why not boldly charge him with the crime!”

“To create a little war, with no better reason than my suspicions? A charge made in face of the most earnest work – while he is striving might and main to serve us.”

“Apparently,” said the doctor.

“Yes, apparently. But you see my position. Here are our two friendly natives both offended, but professing forgiveness, and working for us. I cannot charge them on bare suspicion. I must have some proof.”

“Then why not search land as well as river?”

“How?” said the Resident. “Be reasonable, Bolter. You know as well as I do that the rivers and streams are almost the only roads here. To penetrate elsewhere is to cut your way through the dense jungle. Say I determine to offend the Prince and Princess, and take soldiers, saying I mean to search their little towns, what good would that do?”

“None, certainly,” said the doctor. “They would not leave their prisoners there if they are prisoners.”

“You doubt, then?”

“I doubt, and I don’t doubt. I am not a diplomat, Harley. This is out of my line. If you have a pain, and give me your symptoms, I’ll tell you what causes that pain. I can cut you anywhere without injuring an important artery, nerve, or vein; and I can extract bullets, cure fevers, mend broken bones. I can also classify most of the natural history objects of our district; but over a job like this we have in hand I am at sea. Try Mrs Bolter or Grey Stuart – they will counsel you better than I. Tell me, though, are you going to do anything?”

“Yes. In confidence, I do not trust either Murad or the Inche Maida. This may all be some deeply-laid plot of both to obtain revenge; perhaps to begin ousting us from this place, where we are looked upon with jealousy.”

“Yes, very likely; but what are you going to do?”

“Meet Eastern cunning with Eastern cunning. I am about to employ some people from lower down the river who are now seeking alliance with us, seeing how well it pays.”

“What, as spies?”

“Yes,” said the Resident, quietly. “I do not believe in the present theory of the disappearance, so I shall try these people. If Murad is playing us false, why then – ”

“Well, why don’t you finish?”

“I fear,” said the Resident, fiercely, “that I shall go farther than to exact stern justice for this act; for when a man’s feelings are touched as mine are now – ”

He did not finish, but turned sharply away, as if all this was more than he could bear.

That night the doctor whispered to his wife to keep her counsel, and not to fret about those who were lost, for Neil Harley was deeply moved; and if something startling did not come out of it before many days were past, he, Dr Bolter, was no man.

Volume Two – Chapter Seventeen.
Becoming Humbled

The secret of the peculiarly-scented water was explained: it was a stain, prepared for the purpose, and face, neck, hands, arms were no longer those of Helen Perowne – whose complexion was acknowledged even by her detractors to be perfect – for as she again gazed within the limits of that little badly-reflecting glass, it was to see that her countenance now was as swarthy as that of the darkest of the Malays by whom she was attended.

It was a great shock; but there was a trouble even worse to come.

The two Malay girls burst into fits of laughter as they saw her horror, their eyes glittering with malicious pleasure; and catching Helen’s arms in their hands, they laid them side by side with their own, to show her that they were as nearly as could be of about the same hue.

Then they mockingly pointed to her face, and to their own, holding the glass before her again and again, while from the smattering she knew of the language, Helen made out that they were telling her how beautiful she looked now, and that she ought to be grateful for that which they had done.

By degrees, though, the anguish she was suffering seemed to be realised, and to wake an echo in their coarser minds, and they began to soften towards her, speaking tenderly, and patting her hands and cheeks, and at last going so far as to kiss her, as they whispered what were evidently meant to be words of comfort.

“You foolish thing,” cried the elder of the two; “what is there so dreadful in it all? He loves you, and you will be his chief wife. It is we who ought to weep, not you.”

“Yes,” cried the other, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that only about one word in ten was comprehended by the prisoner; “we are jealous of you, for you take away his love from us. The Rajah has talked about you for a long time, saying how lovely you were, only that you were so fair.”

“I hate you,” cried the first; “but I will not be cruel, for you are in trouble. You have been brought away from your father. I remember so well how I was ready to beat my head against the trees, and to drown myself in the river, when they brought me from my home. But Murad was very angry when I wept, and after a time I learned how to bear my sorrow, and I wept no more.”

“I wept, too,” said the other, “for I loved a handsome young fisherman, and when they dragged me away from my home I fought, and bit, and tore people, and Murad said I was to be krissed and thrown into the river. Then I thought about the crocodiles, and I felt that it would be too dreadful, and I left off crying, and so will you. There, try and bear it, for it is of no avail to weep. Murad is prince, and what he will have he has.”

Hardly one word in ten, but the recurrence of the name “Murad” and “love” were sufficient to make her suspicions certainties; and as she fully realised the extent of her trouble, she shuddered, and sat with her hands tightly clasped, gazing into vacancy, and asking herself what madness had been hers that she should have allowed her folly to bring her to so sad a pass.

She was soon after left to herself, and leaving the matting divan upon which she had been seated, she paced the room, frantically trying door and windows in turn, but only to find all fast. Again and again she found her follies recurring to her mind, and she blamed herself bitterly for her coquetry, and the thoughtless love of admiration which had tempted her to attract the Rajah’s notice.

So terribly agitating were her thoughts now, that in her excitement her hands shook, her legs trembled beneath her weight, and her busy imagination coursed on so swiftly that she saw herself the injured, helpless wife of the insulted Malay, the occupant of a zenana, and the slave of the man whom she had maddened by her weakness and folly.

It was terrible; and so black did the future outlook become to her excited imagination, that the only gleam of hope through the darkness was represented by a shuddering belief that it would be better now to die.

Carried off as she had been, unknown to any but the Rajah’s followers, and now hidden away in this place, that seemed to be far in the depths of the jungle, there seemed no chance of her whereabouts being discovered; while were it known to any European who should see her, upon what would he gaze but one who was in his eyes an ordinary Malay woman!

This, then, was the goal to which her ambition had carried her. It was for this that she had laughed at the protestations of her many admirers, the humblest of whom she would gladly have accepted now sooner than become the wife, or rather slave, of this petty, half-savage Rajah.

“Poor Hilton!” she thought sadly to herself, as she stood by the window, gazing out at the great green leaves of the jungle. Would he suffer much at her loss? or, feeling too indignant on account of her late treatment, be too angry to care?

Then she began thinking of Chumbley, and wished that he, with his strong arm, were by her side to protect her in this hour of need; and it was a bitter humiliation to her to feel that this man, towards whom she had always felt a kind of good-humoured contempt, should be one to whom she was ready to cling in the time of adversity.

Then the calm, pensive features of Arthur Rosebury seemed to rise before her like an upbraiding spectre, and she, for the first time, seemed to see her cruelty in trifling with the best feelings of a man who was gentle, tender, and true of heart as a woman; she knew now how she must have wounded him, and yet he had borne it all in a patient, uncomplaining way, bearing with her follies, displaying no jealousy, but condoning everything, and seeming only too happy if she paid him with a smile.

There was something very nearly akin to pity and regret in her thoughts at this time; and like some punished child, there came to her mind weak, repentant vows of amendment and simple promises never to do so again.

Lastly, the face of Neil Harley seemed to rise before her, not pitying or pleading like the rest, but with a quiet smile of triumph that made her think upon his words, and what is more, set her longing for him to be by her side to help and protect her.

She passed her hands across her eyes angrily, and seemed to disclaim the wish, but directly after came the recollection of her state, and she uttered a weary cry of misery. She had despised him before – he would despise her now; and if he could see her as she had seen herself in that mirror, he would turn from her in disgust.

She pondered again, as she grew calmer, upon his words to her, uttered as they had been in his quiet, bantering way – that he would wait his time till she was weary of trifling with others, when she would turn to him and gladly become his wife.

Never until now had Helen felt how true these words might prove, for as she rested her burning forehead against the bamboo trellis of her window, asking the outer air to cool her fevered face – that face that he would never look upon again with the eyes of love – his calm, grave manner of dealing with others seemed so representative of power and readiness to help, that her heart went out to him as to her natural protector, and in a low, passionate voice, she murmured:

“Neil – Neil – come to me before it is too late!”

Then came once more as it were a wave of despair to sweep over her and overwhelm her in misery and despair.

“It is too late – too late,” she moaned. “I might have been happy and at peace, but it is too late – too late.”

As she stood there wringing her hands, she found herself thinking more and more of Neil Harley, and she saw now what she had been too indifferent to appreciate before; that beneath his calm, half-mocking mien there was a depth of affection that she now began to realise to its fullest extent.

And yet he had borne with her follies patiently, merely laughing at acts that she knew now must have given him great pain, doubtless feeling that some day she would sorrow for what she had done, and seek by her affection to recompense him for all that had gone before.

Her heart told her, now that she did turn to him – that she was feeling the strength of his love in the echo it met with in her own heart. She had not known that it was there – this love for him – but it surely was; and now her punishment was to be a terrible one – that of one torn by regret for the love that might have been hers, but which she had cast away.

For it was too late now – too late, and those words seemed to be ever repeating themselves in her ears.

She had never cared for either of those who had been her slaves in turn. Their attentions and service had been pleasant, and they had been in favour for the time; but she soon wearied of them, and but for the fact that Captain Hilton was cast in a firmer mould than either of the others, the days of his love-slavery would have been shorter far. Would he come and try to save her? her heart asked – would Neil Harley come?

She asked this again and again, but each time, with crushing violence, the answer seemed to come that if they did, it would be too late – too late.

It was wonderful how, in the few hours she was left alone, her thoughts seemed now to centre upon the Resident. She remembered her father, and thought of how he would be troubled at her absence; and she recalled Hilton, Chumbley, the Reverend Arthur Rosebury, but only as subsidiary portraits in her mental picture. Neil Harley’s was the principal figure, and his face seemed to smile now encouragement to her as she mentally appealed to him for help, looking to him as the one whose duty it was to afford her protection, and save her from the perils which hemmed her in.

“It will he – it is – a bitter lesson to me,” she thought, as she grew more calm. “He will find out where I am – he will never rest until he does; and when he sees me will he cast me off? No,” she cried, hysterically; “he will have pity on me – have pity – for, oh, Heaven help me! I need it now sorely.”

These thoughts brought calmness to the prisoner, and uttering a sigh of relief, she left the window, and threw herself wearily upon the soft mats spread for her use – neither chair nor table being in the apartment – and there she reclined, wondering how long a time would elapse before Neil Harley could come to her help; for minute by minute her belief strengthened that, well supported by her friends, he would soon be there.

Helen’s increasing calmness gave her a return of appetite, and she gained strength for trials to come by partaking heartily of the food placed before her; and, as the evening advanced into night, she lay down and rested, giving her companions no trouble by fresh attempts to escape.

The bright morning sunshine gave her fresh hope and a sense of cheerfulness which she assumed with beating heart was due to the fact that Neil Harley was drawing nearer, and in this elated spirit she partook of breakfast, the two Malay girls laughing merrily and pausing to place some sweet-scented flowers in her tresses. Then she had to submit while they made some alteration in the way in which they had bound up her hair, showing their teeth more than seemed necessary, and drawing her attention to the fact that they were not only dyed, but filed in a particular way.

They were very attentive, bringing her flowers and fruit in large quantities. Then they brought brighter and gayer sarongs, asking her if she would change, telling her that her darkened face was becoming, pointing to her teeth at the same time, and tapping their own.

She was puzzled for the time, but the explanation was not long in coming.

In the course of the morning, while she sat listening to the babble of the two attendants, but with her ears strained to catch every external sound, she suddenly heard voices outside talking earnestly, and her heart gave a hopeful throb as she turned her head, her fond imagination suggesting, at once, the thought that the excitement outside was due to the knowledge of strangers being at hand.

Helen’s hope died out like the flickering flame of an exhausted lamp, as the thick woven curtain hanging over the door was held aside, and a tall, muscular, repulsive-looking Malay woman entered with three others, whom, by their rich dresses, Helen supposed to be the Rajah’s wives.

They looked at her once or twice, and then stood talking together in their own tongue. Then they left the room quickly, and returned to speak eagerly, glancing the while at where Helen sat watchfully scanning them, till the tall, repulsive woman, having apparently received her instructions, they all approached the soft matting couch.

It was a strange experience for an English lady, and Helen’s heart beat fast as she asked herself what all this meant.

“It is some native form of marriage-service,” she thought, to which she was about to be compelled to submit. She had heard of marriage by proxy, and this might be one; for in her state of alarm she was ready to accept any idea, preposterous though it might seem.

“I will not submit!” she said to herself, and setting her teeth fast, she prepared to resist them as long as she had life. This she felt was the meaning of her being attired in the Malay fashion; and gazing from one to the other in an excited way, she drew herself up and awaited the attack, if attack there was to be.

The tall Malay woman came up to her slowly, till she stood smiling beside the couch, while the others seemed to carelessly group themselves together, as if what was to occur was not of the slightest consequence; but Helen saw they were watching her with eager interest all the same.

A fresh regret assailed the prisoner now, and that was her want of knowledge of the Malay tongue, as she sat wondering what was the meaning of the conversation that had taken place.

The tall woman spoke to her then slowly, and trying to make her comprehend, but it was some moments before Helen understood her demand.

“Let me look at your teeth.”

Helen shrank back, but the woman’s hand was upon her lips, and she forced one aside, laying bare the pure white ivory, and then snatched her hand away with a contemptuous ejaculation full of disgust.

“Bad! bad!” she cried in Malay; and then all laughed, as Helen rose up and drew away from them, her eyes flashing with indignation.

“I will make them well,” said the woman, taking a little woven grass bag from her sarong, and drawing therefrom a small brass phial and a steel implement, whose use Helen did not then comprehend.

The woman spoke to her then in an imperative tone, stepped forward, and, taking her arm, tried to force her into a sitting posture; but with a cry of anger Helen thrust her back and ran to the door, dragging aside the curtain, and trying to pass through.

The effort was vain, and uttering some sharp angry commands, the woman advanced to her once more, speaking rapidly in her own tongue, and before Helen could avoid her rapid action, she found herself pinioned by the wrists.

What followed was, as Helen afterwards recalled it, one frantic struggle against superior power. She remembered crying loudly for help, being held back upon the matting, and suffering intense pain, as her tormentors held her lips apart, some of them scolding virulently, others laughing and ridiculing her; and then a feeling of exhaustion came on, and nature could do no more than beneficently bring upon her complete ignorance of the indignity to which she, an English lady, was forced to submit, by steeping her senses in a profound swoon, leaving her at the mercy of Murad’s slaves.

Volume Two – Chapter Eighteen.
Doctor Bolter Makes Plans

“I don’t think I can do any good if I stay here,” said Doctor Bolter to himself. “I’ve done everything I could think of, and I am ready to own that it is very terrible; but a month has gone by now, and a doctor who is so used to facing death and seeing people die does not – cannot feel it as others do.

“That is, of course, when a man – his brother-in-law – is dead; but I don’t even know that poor Arthur Rosebury is dead, and as we say, while there’s life there’s hope.

“Humph! How stupid of me! I don’t know that there is life, so how can there be hope?”

Doctor Bolter was on his way back home after a professional round amongst his patients. His eyes were fixed upon the ground, and every now and then, as he walked slowly on in the heat, he paused to examine some fly or ant that crossed his path, or settled upon the bamboo railings of a garden.

“Good morning, doctor,” said a pleasant voice, that made him start from the contemplation of a spider to a far more agreeable sight – that of the face of Grey Stuart, who looked up at him in a weary, appealing way.

“Ah, my little rosebud,” he said, smiling. “Tut! I had forgotten. Why Grey, my child, you don’t look well. Hah! this won’t do,” he continued, letting his fingers slip from her hand to her wrist. “Bit feverish, my dear. Grey, my child, you’re fretting about Helen Perowne.”

“It is so terrible, this suspense, doctor,” she said, pleadingly.

“Yes, my dear, it is very terrible; but keep that sunshade up; the sun is very powerful this morning.”

Grey raised her creamy-white sunshade that she had allowed to hang by her side, and as the doctor finished counting the throbs of her pulse, he drew her hand through his arm, patted it into position and then walked slowly on by her side.

“Nature says, my dear, that we must not fret and worry ourselves, because if we do we shall be ill.”

“Oh, yes, doctor,” sighed Grey, with a pitiful look in her soft eyes, “but this passing away of day after day is dreadful. What are we to do?”

“Wait, my dear, wait.”

“Wait!” cried Grey, whose eyes flashed for a moment. “Oh, if I were a man, I think I would find some means of discovering what has become of our friends.”

“Well, my little maiden, you are not a man, and are not likely to be,” said the doctor, smiling; “but no doubt your advice may be good, though your action might be weak. Now, then, tell me – what would you do if you were a man?”

“I would send out parties to search,” cried Grey, indignantly. “Who knows where our poor friends may be!”

“Ah, who knows, my dear inconsiderate little friend?” said the doctor, quietly. “Now, don’t you know that for nearly a month past Harley has had, not parties, but single men – natives – out in search of information about our friends?”

“No,” said Grey, “I did not know that.”

“No, you did not know that, my dear, but he has, and without the slightest success, although he has promised a heavy reward for any valuable information.”

“It is very good of Mr Harley, and I beg his pardon,” sighed Grey.

“And I take upon myself to say that the pardon is granted,” said the doctor. “And now, my dear, I suppose you think that this is not enough, but that we – I mean Harley – ought to send out soldiers?”

“Yes, I have thought so,” said Grey, hesitatingly.

“Hah! yes, I suppose so; but it has never occurred to you, my dear, I daresay, that in this jungle-covered country, where the rivers are the only roads, the passage of soldiers, with the stores they require, is a terribly difficult affair.”

“I fear it would be,” said Grey; “but the case is so urgent, doctor.”

“Terribly urgent, my dear; but like some of the urgent cases with which I have to deal, I have to do all I can, and then leave the rest to nature. Let us hope, my dear, that nature will work a cure for us here, and that one of these days they will all turn up again alive and well.”

“Oh, doctor, do you think so?” cried Grey, who was ready to cling to the slightest straw of promise.

“I don’t say that I think so,” he replied, “I say I hope so.”

Grey sighed.

“There, there, there, I forbid it,” said the doctor, with assumed anger. “We cannot have you fretting yourself ill, my dear, for we want your help. My little wife could not get on at all without you to cheer and comfort her; and I believe if it were not for you poor Perowne would go distraught. Then there’s your father, who looks upon you as the one object of his life; and lastly, there’s your doctor.”

“You, dear Doctor Bolter,” said Grey, smiling in his face.

“Yes; that is the person I mean, my dear. Do you want to disgrace him?”

“Disgrace you, doctor?” said Grey, wonderingly.

“Yes, by turning weak and delicate and ill after all I have done to keep you sound and well. No, Grey Stuart, my dear; there are some people in this busy world of ours who must never break down, never want rest, and never be ill in any shape; those people are doctors like me – and clever, useful little women like you. Depend upon it, my dear, if you were to turn poorly there would be a regular outcry upon the station, and everyone would be finding out your value.”

“But they used to do without me, doctor,” said Grey, smiling.

“Exactly, my dear; but now that they have become used to the luxury of your presence they will not do without it again. No, my dear; you must not turn ill. Ergo, as Shakspere’s clown says, you must not fret. Let’s hope, my dear, that all will come right yet.”

“I will try and hope, doctor,” said Grey, quietly, “and I will not fret.”

“That’s right, little woman. Depend upon it, two such dashing fellows as Chumbley and friend Hilton will not drop out of sight like stones thrown down a well. They’ll turn up again some day. Good-bye. Take care of my little wifie: she’s the only one I’ve got, you know,” he added, laughingly. “Going to see her now?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“When is she going to leave Perowne?”

“He is not fit to leave at present,” said Grey, shaking her head.

“Then I suppose we must stay,” said the doctor, parting from Grey with quite a parent’s solicitude; and then he stood watching her as she went beneath the shady trees.

“That little lassie is fretting about one of those chaps,” said the doctor; “I’ll be bound she is. She wouldn’t turn pale and red, and grow thin and weak, because Helen Perowne has disappeared. I wonder whether it’s big Chumbley. Well, we shall see. Now about my projects.”

He walked slowly homeward and entered the snug cottage-like place, which was the very pattern of primness, and day by day grew more like to the place where he had first set eyes upon his wife.

“Seems precious dull without the little woman,” he muttered; “but I suppose I mustn’t grumble as she’s away to do good to others.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down the room.

“Dear, dear me,” he said, impatiently; “a man, especially a doctor, can’t go on bemoaning people for ever. Where would science be if he did? Of course I’m very sorry about poor old Arthur, though after all perhaps he’ll turn up all right, with his vasculum full of new orchids. Here’s time galloping away, weeks and months and years, and I never get a bit nearer to the solution of my problem. Here am I, as I may say, right upon the very spot, and yet I do nothing whatever to prove that this is the place to which King Solomon sent to find his gold, and apes, and peacocks.”

Dr Bolter took off his sun-hat, and rubbed his bald head in a peculiarly vicious way, and then went on debating the question so as to work himself up to the carrying out of the project which he had in view.

“Here’s the case,” he said. “My wife’s out; there’s nobody ill, for I’ve polished off all that needs doing this morning, so when could there be a better chance? I’ll go, that I will.”

But there came up, as if to oppose him, the recollection of the morning after Mr Perowne’s party, and he was obliged to ask himself how could he go now?

“I don’t care,” he cried, angrily. “I have done all I could, and thought of all I could, and I can do no more. Here’s my wife out nearly always now, so that she would not miss me, so I ought to go. I might discover that this is the real site of Solomon’s gold mines, and if so – Phew, what a paper to read at the Royal Geographical!

“I’ll go! My mind’s made up. I’ll go, that I will,” he exclaimed; “and somehow I seem to fancy that this time I shall make my great discovery. Hah! yes; what a discovery! And that paper read before the Royal Society – a paper on the discovery of the Ancient Ophir, by Dr Bolter, F.R.S. Why, my name – our name I should say, for Mary’s sake – would be handed down to posterity.”

Here the doctor gave his head another rub, as if to get rid of a tiresome fly.

“I don’t know about posterity,” he muttered. “It wouldn’t matter to me, as I’ve no youngsters. Still it would be a fine discovery to make. But – ”

Here he had another vicious rub.

“Suppose in the meantime Helen Perowne and the rest of the party come back!”

Volume Two – Chapter Nineteen.
Dr Bolter Takes a Holiday

That question of the possibility of Helen Perowne coming back interfered a good deal with Doctor Bolter’s project – one which he had been longing to put in force for months and months – a project which his journey to England and his marriage had set aside, though it was never forgotten.

“Suppose Helen comes back?” he asked himself often.

“Well, I ought to be here,” he said; “but if she were to return in my absence she couldn’t help being pleased, for I might have discovered the gold mines. But ought I to tell Mary where I am going?”

“No,” he said, decidedly; “she would object. She might agree to my going upon a collecting expedition; but she would say as she said before, that the Ophir question was a myth.”

Somehow the more Dr Bolter tried to make up his mind to go, the more undecided he grew. He wanted to make an expedition into the interior very badly, but the hidden influence of that very decided little woman his wife was there still, making him feel guilty and like a child who tries to conceal some fault; and somehow, the more he tried to shake off the sensation, the worse he felt. – “There, it’s no use,” he cried at last, angrily. “No sooner does a man marry than farewell to independence. They say a man and his wife become one flesh, and really I think it’s a fact, for the man is completely absorbed and it’s all wife. The man becomes nobody at all.”

The doctor went into his own room, half museum, half surgery, and in a listless, pettish way he began to pull out drawer after drawer of specimens, some of which required examination badly, for the ants were beginning an attack, and this necessitated the introduction of a pungent acid which these busy little insects did not like.

“I might find gold in abundance,” said the doctor, as he busied himself over his specimens. “I might make such discoveries as would cause my name to be famous for ever, and here am I tied as it were by one unfortunate step to my wife’s apron. Hah! I was a great idiot to sacrifice my liberty.

“Not I,” he added, sharply. “Not I. She is a bit of a tyrant with me, and she’s as jealous as Othello, but she is an uncommonly nice little woman, and bless her, she thinks I’m about the cleverest fellow under the sun.

“Well, there’s not much to grumble at there,” he said, decidedly, as he smiled and settled his chin in his collar. “I don’t see that I need mind her being a bit jealous of me. It shows how fond she is, and she must be very proud of me if she thinks like that.”

This idea gave the little doctor so much satisfaction that for the moment he determined to go up to Perowne’s and ask his wife for leave of absence for a few days.

“N-no! It wouldn’t do,” he muttered, shaking his head dolefully. “She would not let me go. I shall have to make a bold dash for it if I do mean to have a run, and face the consequences afterwards.

“Look here, you know,” he cried gazing round at his specimens; “it’s about pitiful, that’s what it is, and I might just as well give up collecting altogether. Such an invitation from the Inche Maida as I had, to make her place my home, and start from there upon my investigations, only that stupid jealous idea on the part of my wife stopped it! Bah! It is intolerable.”

He thrust in a drawer in a most vicious manner; but Doctor Bolter’s annoyance with his wife came and went like an April shower. On re-opening the drawer he proceeded to arrange the specimens that his petulant fit had disturbed.

“I shall have to give it up,” he said, sadly. “So I may as well make the best of it, and – Hooray!”

Doctor Bolter slapped one of his legs vigorously, as if he were killing a fly, and a sunshiny look of pleasure spread all over his face.

“To be sure! The very idea! I’ll carry it out too – just a little – so as to be quite square with her; and who knows but what I might pick up some news of them after all. Why didn’t I think of this before?

“Let me see,” he continued, thoughtfully, “how shall I manage it? What shall I do? I know. I’ll run right up the river – ten miles or so beyond the Inche Maida’s – and then strike into one of the supplementary streams, and make straight for the mountains.

“That will be capital!” he cried, rubbing his hands. “Who knows but what I may hit upon some one or other of the old gold-workings; find ancient implements – proofs perhaps that Solomon’s ships sailed up this very river. The idea is grand, sir, and I’ll be off at once!”

The idea was so “grand, sir,” that in that hot climate it put the little doctor in a profuse perspiration, and he walked up and down the room, handkerchief in hand, dabbing his face and head.

“Yes,” he cried eagerly, “I may find out something about Helen Perowne and our other friends. I’ve got a good excuse for going now, and go I will!”

He stood thinking for a few minutes; and then, adjusting his puggree so as to give plenty of shelter to the back of his head, he walked down to the river-side, and one of the Malay boatmen paddled him in his sampan across to the Residency island, where he stepped out and walked up to Mr Harley’s official room, to find that gentleman looking older and more careworn than was his wont.

“Well, doctor, what news?” he said, anxiously. “Anything wrong?”

“No; nothing fresh.”

“No fever or cholera to add to one’s trouble, eh?”

“Nothing at all,” was the reply. “No, sir, I can present you with a clean bill of health.”

“Then why have you come? Not for nothing, doctor,” said the Resident sharply.

“Here, I say,” cried the little doctor, “don’t be so horribly inhospitable when a man comes to see you?”

“Inhospitable? Nonsense! You have not come across here to find hospitality. Now, doctor, speak out. What is it? Do you know anything?”

“Plainly, no. But the fact is,” said the visitor, clearing his throat, “I am not busy now; Mrs Bolter is a good deal away from home, so I thought this would be a favourable opportunity for taking a boat and a man or two, and going up the river to explore a few of the side streams so as to try and find Helen Perowne.”

“Rubbish!” said the Resident, sharply.

“Eh?” ejaculated the doctor, who was taken aback by the Resident’s quick, unceremonious way of speaking.

“I said Rubbish, Bolter, and I now say Humbug, man! Do you think I do not know better than that?”

“My dear Harley!” exclaimed the little doctor, indignantly.

“Look here, Bolter, you want an excuse for one of your gold hunts – your Ophir explorations. Why don’t you go, then, without all this childish excuse? You are your own master.”

The doctor was so taken aback by his friend’s onslaught that he shook his head vigorously.

“Well, suppose we say Now that Mrs Bolter is away?” said the Resident, smiling.

“Hadn’t we better drop that line of argument?” said the doctor, uneasily. “Really, Harley, you know, it’s too bad – ’pon my honour it is. It isn’t gentlemanly!”

“My dear Bolter,” began the Resident.

“There are private matters!” cried the doctor, fuming, “upon which no man ought to touch, and my domestic relations are of that kind!”

“I should not have spoken,” said the Resident, “only you – a man who can do as he likes about going out collecting – came to me with such a weak piece of sham by way of excuse for your actions, Doctor, I blush for you!”

“Well, come, I will be honest with you; I am going out collecting and exploring.”

“Of course you are. I knew.”

“Stop a moment,” exclaimed the doctor, “let me finish. I should not go, only the idea occurred to me that I might perhaps get upon the track of that poor girl! If I do, I shall follow it to the end.”

The Resident said something in a hasty, indistinct tone, and the doctor stared at him, quite startled by his manner.

“Why, Harley!” he exclaimed, “one would think that you were hard touched in that direction!”

“Touched!” cried the Resident, recovering his equanimity, and putting on his official mask. “Why man, of what stuff do you suppose I am made? Am I not answerable to Government as well as to my own conscience for the welfare of all who are here; and do you suppose that I can bear this terrible visitation, even after this length of time, with equanimity?”

“No, no, of course not – of course not,” cried the doctor, hastily.

“Well, there, go, and good speed to you. I sincerely hope that you may discover something. Would you like Sergeant Harris with you?”

“No, no, certainly not! I believe in going quietly and almost alone. Look here, Harley, you would trust me entirely if you were unwell. Now suppose you do the same over this matter.”

The Resident nodded.

“Now, to tap this subject once again – repetition though it may seem – tell me, after due thought, what is your opinion now? Do you still suspect Murad?”

“I cannot say,” replied the Resident. “I did suspect him, but he has been so earnest in his offers of help, and his men have joined so thoroughly with ours in searching the river and scouring the jungle-paths, that there are times when I cannot believe him guilty.”

“Have you heard any more from your fresh allies?”

“Nothing,” replied the Resident. “They confess themselves at fault; while Murad has been here this morning to tell me that he was put upon a new scent yesterday, but that it turned out to be a false one. This man puzzles me, clever as I thought myself, for I have not found out yet whether or no he has been throwing dust in my eyes. Probably I never shall.”

“I am afraid he is deep,” said the doctor, thoughtfully.

“Very deep or very shallow,” said the Resident. “Some day, perhaps, we shall know. You are going up the river, then? When do you start?”

“As soon as I have had a little chat upon the subject with you know. I will not be very long away, Harley, and you will take care of my people like the rest – I mean have an eye on home.”

“Go, and good luck go with you,” said the Resident warmly. “Trust me, Bolter, I will do my best.”

“You don’t think, then, I ought to stay?”

“No; we have done all we can. Who knows but what you may hit upon some clue in your wanderings.”

“Ah! who knows!” said the doctor. “More wonderful things have happened, eh?”

“Chance sometimes solves problems that hard work has not mastered, Bolter,” said the Resident, smiling. “There, good-bye!”

“Good-bye,” said the doctor, shaking hands heartily; and leaving Neil Harley’s room, he began to wipe his face.

“I’m afraid I’ve been acting like a terrible humbug,” he muttered, “for I have not the remotest hope of finding Helen Perowne. I wish I were not such a moral coward over such things as this. Poor old Harley! he’s terribly cut up about matters, and I must seem strangely unfeeling. What a girl that was!

“Tut – tut – tut!” he exclaimed. “Why do I speak of her as gone? What a girl she is! Well, so far so good. Harley makes no objection to my going away. Now let us see what the general will say.”

Doctor Bolter felt that he had his most terrible task to perform in getting leave of his wife, and he returned home with a peculiar sensation of dread.

“It is very strange,” he said; “but I am getting nervous I think. I never feel it at any other time but when I am going to make some proposal to Mrs Bolter.”

To his great discomposure he found the lady within. This might have been looked upon as an advantage but he was not, he said, quite prepared; and he sat listening to her accounts of Mr Perowne’s state, and Grey Stuart’s kindly help. She suddenly turned upon him:

“Henry,” she exclaimed, “You were not thinking, of what I said.”

“I – I beg your pardon, my dear,” he replied. “Of what were you thinking, then?” The doctor hesitated a moment, and then he felt that the time had come for speaking.

“I was thinking, my dear, that no better opportunity is likely to offer for one of my expeditions.”

Mrs Bolter looked at him rather wistfully for a few moments, and then said, with a sigh: “Perhaps not, Henry. You had better go.”

“Do you mean it, Mary?” he said, eagerly. “If you think the station can be left in safety, perhaps you had better go,” she said, quietly. “I will have Grey Stuart to stay with me. I will not stand in your way, Henry, if you wish to leave.”

“It almost seems too bad,” he said, “but I should really like to go for a day or two, Mary. Harley says he can spare me, and no better chance is likely to come than now.”

“Then by all means go,” said Mrs Doctor, “only pray take care, and remember, Henry,” she whispered affectionately, “I am alone now.”

Vowing that those last words would make him come home far more quickly than he had intended, the doctor prepared the few necessaries he always took upon such occasions, and was about to start, when there was a fresh impediment in the person of Mrs Barlow, who came in, looking the picture of woe, and ready to shake hands effusively, and to kiss Mrs Bolter against her will.

“Going out, doctor?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, for some days.”

“But you will come to my house first? there is an injured man there. He came and begged me to fetch you to him, for he could not come himself.”

“A Malay?”

“Yes; a native. And he begged so hard that I was compelled to come.”

“Just as I was going out, too,” muttered the doctor, pettishly; but he never refused a call to duty, and hurrying out, he left the widow with his wife, while he went down to the well-appointed little house sleeping in the sunshine close to the river.

As he drew near he saw, at a little distance, a scuffle going on amongst a party of Malays, one of whom seemed for a moment to be struggling against five or six others; but no outcry was made, and deeming it to be some rough play upon the part of the fishermen, he paid little heed to what followed, merely noting that the men hustled their companion into a boat and paddled away.

The next minute he was at Mrs Barlow’s house, where a swarthy-looking Malay presented himself and told his symptoms, which were of so simple a character that the doctor was able to prescribe, and then hurry back to send the medicine required.

This last was received by the sick man from the doctor’s messenger; and no sooner was he gone than it was observable that the invalid rose from the mat upon which he had lain. He laughingly stole off to the river-side, where he entered a sampan, and paddled away after his companions, one of whom had left him to personate the only messenger who had been able to reach the station, though only then to fail in eluding the keenness of those who watched every house, and who kept their eyes upon the doctor, when half an hour later, totally regardless of the heat of the sun, he embarked in a boat and was paddled up the river by a couple of men, the companions of former excursions, old friends, whom he knew he could trust.

There were several boats lying lazily upon the water, with sleepy-looking Malays in each, and as the doctor’s swift little vessel pushed off, eyes that had looked sleepy before opened widely and watched his departure.

“Shall we follow?” said one man, in a low voice.

“No; he goes to shoot birds. Let him be.”

The sun poured down his rays like silver flames through the leaves of the cocoa-palms; and while the doctor’s boat grew smaller and smaller till it turned a bend in the stream, the occupants of the sampans lying so idly about the landing-stage exchanged glances from time to time, but seemed asleep whenever the owner of a white face drew near.