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 ofhislife; 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 ofThe 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.”
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 ofhislife; 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 ofThe 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.
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 eveningfête.”“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 anal frescosupper 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.
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 eveningfête.”
“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 anal frescosupper 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.
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.