One Maid's Mischief

“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.