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 palemy cheeks with careBecause another’s rosy are?’”He sang softly, enjoying more and more the delicious coolness of the breeze off the river.
