Chapter IX: Part 9

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 _fetes_. 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 _fete_, 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.