Volume Three—Chapter Twenty.Riches Take to Themselves Wings.“Ah, Grey, my child,” said little Mrs Bolter, with a loud burst of sobbing, as soon as they were alone, “if ever you marry, don’t marry a medical man! I try so hard—Heaven knows how hard—not to let such thoughts come into my mind; but I’ve altered terribly, my dear, since I was married. The doctor has made me love him very much; and it’s being so fond of him that has caused this dreadful jealous feeling to spring up; and it finds vent in my being snappish to him, and complaining about all sorts of trifles that are of no consequence at all!”“But you ought not to let such thoughts come into your mind,” said Grey, reproachfully.“I know I ought not, my dear,” said the unhappy little body, clinging to her young friend’s hand; “but they will come. It’s just as if I were being tempted by mocking spirits, which keep on pretending to open my eyes when the doctor is out.”“Open your eyes, dear Mrs Bolter?” said Grey, who found relief for her own sore heart in trying to soothe another’s.“Yes, my dear. I’m confessing quite openly to you now, my dear; but I know that you will never betray me. They seem to open my eyes to all sorts of things, and make me see the doctor, when he is called in to ladies, taking their bands and feeling their pulses; and oh, my dear, it is very dreadful to sit at home and think that your husband is holding some handsome woman’s hand and wrist, and feeling the beatings of her pulses, and perhaps all the time forgetting that he has a poor, anxious little wife at home thinking he is so long away!”“When that same husband loves you very dearly, and is most likely longing to be back by your side,” said Grey, reproachfully.“If one could only feel that,” said Mrs Bolter, “instead of being in such torture and misery, and wishing a hundred times a day that I had never listened to the doctor, and given up our quiet little home!”“When you have come out to make his life so happy?” said Grey, smiling.“I try to, my dear; but I can’t help thinking sometimes,” said the poor little woman, pathetically, “that his heart is more devoted to Solomon’s gold—”“Oh, Mrs Bolter!”“And apes.”“My dear Mrs Bolter!”“And peacocks,” sobbed the little woman, “than it is to me. Ah, my dear, when you marry—”“I shall never marry, Mrs Bolter,” said Grey, with a sad ring in her voice.“Oh, you don’t know, my child. I used to say so, and think that I was as firm as a rock, and as hard as iron; but, oh, these men—these men—when once you listen to their dreadful, insinuating talk, they seem to get the better of your proper judgment, and end by completely turning you round their finger.”Grey smiled in her face and kissed her.“There, there!” cried Mrs Bolter, changing her tone, “I am afraid I have lowered myself terribly in your eyes this morning, my dear. I’m growing into a very, very strange creature, and dreadfully weak! Those torturing thoughts keep suggesting to my foolish heart that the doctor has gone up the river on purpose to see the Inche Maida!”“Oh, no; he cannot!” said Grey, smiling.“Well, perhaps not, my dear; but whether or no, if he was to come back now, and confess that he had done so, I feel perfectly certain that, after scolding him well, I should forgive him. I’ve grown to be a very different body to the one you knew when you used to come to us from the Miss Twettenhams’.”“Now, look here, dear Mrs Bolter,” said Grey, who, in her friend’s trouble, seemed to have changed places with her, and become the elder of the two, “I believe Dr Bolter to be a really good, true man, to whom I should go in trouble and speak to as if he were my father, sure that he would be kind and wise, and help and protect me, whether my trouble were mental or bodily.”“My dear,” cried Mrs Bolter, gazing at her with admiration, “you talk like a little Solomon! Ah!” she cried impatiently, “I wish there had never been a Solomon at all!”“Why?” said Grey, wonderingly.“Because then Harry would never have been always dreaming about gold, and Tarshish and Ophir, and all that stuff!”“My dear Mrs Bolter,” continued Grey, affectionately, “I feel that I am perfectly right about Doctor Bolter, and I hope you will not be hurt when I tell you that I think you are very hard and unjust to him!”“Hurt, my darling!” sobbed the little woman, “no, indeed I am very grateful, my dear, and I wish you would scold me well. It would do me good!”“I am sure, then, without scolding you,” said Grey, smiling, “that the doctor is one of the best of men!”“He is—he is, indeed, my dear!” cried Mrs Bolter; “and I’m sure I’d forgive him anything!”“And you have nothing to forgive,” said Grey. “I am sure of it; and I hope and pray that you will not be so unjust!”“Do you think I am unjust, my dear?” said the little lady.“Unintentionally, yes,” replied Grey; “and it is such, a pity that there should be clouds in such a happy home!”“You—you are—a dear little angel of goodness, Grey!” sobbed Mrs Bolter; “and you seem to come like sunshine into my poor, weak, foolish heart; and I’ll never be suspicious or unkind to him again! He’s only studying a little up the river of course; and I’m—as you’ve shown me—a weak, foolish, cruel—”“Affectionate, loving wife,” interrupted Grey, who felt herself crushed the next moment in little Mrs Bolter’s arms.“Bless you, my dear!” she cried. “I’ll—”“Hush!” whispered Grey. “Here is my father!” The little lady hastily wiped her eyes as she glanced through the veranda, and saw the bent, thin, dried-up figure of the old merchant coming through the burning sunshine past the window, and then he stopped and tapped at the door.“May I come in?” he said. “I’m not a patient.”“Yes, yes, come in!” cried Mrs Bolter, cheerfully.“How do—how do?” he cried, on entering. “Weel, Grey bairnie, how is it with ye?”He kissed her in his dry fashion, smiling slightly as he smoothed his child’s fair hair, and bending down to kiss her.“I’m verra hot, and verra dry and parched up like, so I thought I’d joost step in and ask for a glass of watter, and joost a soospeeshun of the doctor’s bad whuskee to kill the insects.”“Which I’m sure you shall have, Mr Stuart,” cried little Mrs Bolter, eagerly.“Weel, Grey, my bairnie, ye look red in your een and pale, when you ought to be verra happy to think things are all so pleasant and smooth for you.”“Indeed, I try to be very happy and contented, father,” she said, with a slight catching of the breath.“Try,” he cried, “try? Why, it ought to want no trying; you ought to be as happy as the day is long.”“For shame, Mr Stuart,” cried Mrs Bolter, handing him the large cool tumbler of water with the whiskey already in. “Would you have her show no sympathy for people who are all in trouble? It’s a weary, miserable world, and I wonder you can look as happy as you do.”“Hoot—toot, Madam! weary miserable world! Here are you with the best of husbands. You ought to be ready to jump for joy.”“But I’m not,” said the little woman, passionately. “But I’m not so miserable as I was.”“That’s a comfort,” said the little merchant, drily; and he took a sip from his tumbler—a goodly sip—as if he intended to finish all that was there. “Hech! madam, ye didna forget the whuskee.”“Is it too strong, Mr Stuart? Let me put in a little more water.”“Mair watter! nay; ye’d spoil a verra decent drink for a hot day.”“I’m glad you like it.”“Hah! ye ought to be verra happy indeed, wumman, for the doctor’s a good man, and a trusty fren’. Hah! that’s good whuskee,” he added, with a sigh of satisfaction after a deep draught. “Life would be but a sore lookout in these parts wi’-out joost a soop o’ whuskee to take the taste o’ the crocodiles out o’ the watter.”“It is very hot out of doors, is it not, father?” said Grey, who was wondering what he meant to say.“Ay, it’s hot enough,” he replied. “An’ so ye’re not verra happy, Mrs Bolter? Ay, but ye ought to be, and so ought my child Grey here, wi’ every comfort in life except extravagances, which I don’t hold with at all. She lives well, and dresses quietly, as a young lady should, and her father has not set up a grand house to flash and show in, and then have to give it up, and go and live in one that’s wee.”“I don’t quite understand you,” said Mrs Bolter, colouring slightly, and looking indignant. “But if you are hinting at the doctor being extravagant, I cannot sit here without resenting it, for a more careful man never lived.”“Ay, but he is a sad dog, the doctor,” said old Stuart, with a twinkle full of malice in his eye.“How dare you say such a thing to me—his wife!” cried Mrs Bolter, indignantly.“Hoot! wumman; dinna be fashed!” exclaimed old Stuart, who seemed delighted to have roused a spirit of opposition in his friend’s wife. “But I’ll say this o’ him,” he continued, gradually growing more Scottish of accent; “he does keep gude whuskee. Ay, I was na’ speaking o’ him when I talked aboot lairge and sma’ houses, but o’ poor Perowne. Ay, but it’s a bad job.”“What, about poor Helen?” said Mrs Bolter. “Ay, and his affairs. I suppose ye ken a’?”“His affairs?” exclaimed Mrs Doctor. “What do you mean?”“Oh! I thought a’ Sindang knew he’d failed. Sax hundred pounds o’ my money goes with the rest. But there, puir mon, he’s in trouble enough wi’ the loss o’ his daughter, and I’ll never say a word about it more.”“Is Mr Perowne in fresh trouble then, father?” said Grey, eagerly.“Weel, my lassie there’s naught fresh about it, for he must have expected it for a year or two. He’s been going down-hill a lang time, and noo he’s recht at the bottom.”“Has he failed, father?”“Joost ruined and bankrupt, my lassie, and Helen won’t have a penny to call her own—a proud, stuck-up—”“Hush, father! I cannot bear it,” cried Grey, with spirit. “Helen Perowne is my friend and schoolfellow, and surely she is in trouble enough to ask our sympathy and not our blame!”“Why, how now, lassie!” cried the old man angrily. “Ay, but ye’re quite right,” he said, checking himself. “We ought to pity them, and not jump upon ’em when they’re down. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my bairnie—quite recht.”“Oh, Mr Stuart, how shocking; and just when he is so ill and cast down! Grey, my child, I must go and see if I can be of help to him. Will you stay with your father?”“Ay, she’ll stay, and you may too, Mrs Bolter, for Perowne has gone across to the Residency, and before now they’re awa’ up the river to try and find his poor lassie. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my child; and if they find her and bring her back, stop wi’ her and comfort her, and do the best ye can. I’m sorry for them, for we’re none o’ us pairfect. But this is verra gude whuskee, Mrs Bolter. When do ye expect the Doctor home?”“I don’t know, Mr Stuart,” she said, sadly. “Soon, I hope; but when he does come back he’ll have to go after the expedition. It’s very sad to be a doctor’s wife.”“To be wife to some doctors,” said old Stuart, laughing; “but not to our Bolter. Eh, but ye’re a lucky wumman to get him. If ye hadn’t taken him, I believe I should have made him marry my lassie here. There, I must be for going though, for my hands are full. I’m trying to save a few hundreds for poor Perowne out of the wreck.”“When shall I see you again, father?” said Grey, clinging to him affectionately.“Oh, heaps o’ times, my bairnie, when ye don’t expect it. I’m always looking out after ye, but I know ye’re all recht wi’ Mrs Bolter here, so do all ye can.”He nodded and smiled as he went out of the room, but looked in again directly.“Ye needna be uneasy you two,” he said, “for I’m having a watch kept over ye both, though ye don’t ken it; so go on joost as usual. If I hear of the doctor coming, Mrs Bolter, I’ll let ye know.”They heard his steps in the veranda, and directly after saw his bent, thin figure out in the scorching sun, with no further protection than a bit of muslin round his old straw hat, and looking as if he were not worth fifty pounds in the world, and the last man to be the father of the graceful little maiden sitting holding Mrs Bolter’s hand.
“Ah, Grey, my child,” said little Mrs Bolter, with a loud burst of sobbing, as soon as they were alone, “if ever you marry, don’t marry a medical man! I try so hard—Heaven knows how hard—not to let such thoughts come into my mind; but I’ve altered terribly, my dear, since I was married. The doctor has made me love him very much; and it’s being so fond of him that has caused this dreadful jealous feeling to spring up; and it finds vent in my being snappish to him, and complaining about all sorts of trifles that are of no consequence at all!”
“But you ought not to let such thoughts come into your mind,” said Grey, reproachfully.
“I know I ought not, my dear,” said the unhappy little body, clinging to her young friend’s hand; “but they will come. It’s just as if I were being tempted by mocking spirits, which keep on pretending to open my eyes when the doctor is out.”
“Open your eyes, dear Mrs Bolter?” said Grey, who found relief for her own sore heart in trying to soothe another’s.
“Yes, my dear. I’m confessing quite openly to you now, my dear; but I know that you will never betray me. They seem to open my eyes to all sorts of things, and make me see the doctor, when he is called in to ladies, taking their bands and feeling their pulses; and oh, my dear, it is very dreadful to sit at home and think that your husband is holding some handsome woman’s hand and wrist, and feeling the beatings of her pulses, and perhaps all the time forgetting that he has a poor, anxious little wife at home thinking he is so long away!”
“When that same husband loves you very dearly, and is most likely longing to be back by your side,” said Grey, reproachfully.
“If one could only feel that,” said Mrs Bolter, “instead of being in such torture and misery, and wishing a hundred times a day that I had never listened to the doctor, and given up our quiet little home!”
“When you have come out to make his life so happy?” said Grey, smiling.
“I try to, my dear; but I can’t help thinking sometimes,” said the poor little woman, pathetically, “that his heart is more devoted to Solomon’s gold—”
“Oh, Mrs Bolter!”
“And apes.”
“My dear Mrs Bolter!”
“And peacocks,” sobbed the little woman, “than it is to me. Ah, my dear, when you marry—”
“I shall never marry, Mrs Bolter,” said Grey, with a sad ring in her voice.
“Oh, you don’t know, my child. I used to say so, and think that I was as firm as a rock, and as hard as iron; but, oh, these men—these men—when once you listen to their dreadful, insinuating talk, they seem to get the better of your proper judgment, and end by completely turning you round their finger.”
Grey smiled in her face and kissed her.
“There, there!” cried Mrs Bolter, changing her tone, “I am afraid I have lowered myself terribly in your eyes this morning, my dear. I’m growing into a very, very strange creature, and dreadfully weak! Those torturing thoughts keep suggesting to my foolish heart that the doctor has gone up the river on purpose to see the Inche Maida!”
“Oh, no; he cannot!” said Grey, smiling.
“Well, perhaps not, my dear; but whether or no, if he was to come back now, and confess that he had done so, I feel perfectly certain that, after scolding him well, I should forgive him. I’ve grown to be a very different body to the one you knew when you used to come to us from the Miss Twettenhams’.”
“Now, look here, dear Mrs Bolter,” said Grey, who, in her friend’s trouble, seemed to have changed places with her, and become the elder of the two, “I believe Dr Bolter to be a really good, true man, to whom I should go in trouble and speak to as if he were my father, sure that he would be kind and wise, and help and protect me, whether my trouble were mental or bodily.”
“My dear,” cried Mrs Bolter, gazing at her with admiration, “you talk like a little Solomon! Ah!” she cried impatiently, “I wish there had never been a Solomon at all!”
“Why?” said Grey, wonderingly.
“Because then Harry would never have been always dreaming about gold, and Tarshish and Ophir, and all that stuff!”
“My dear Mrs Bolter,” continued Grey, affectionately, “I feel that I am perfectly right about Doctor Bolter, and I hope you will not be hurt when I tell you that I think you are very hard and unjust to him!”
“Hurt, my darling!” sobbed the little woman, “no, indeed I am very grateful, my dear, and I wish you would scold me well. It would do me good!”
“I am sure, then, without scolding you,” said Grey, smiling, “that the doctor is one of the best of men!”
“He is—he is, indeed, my dear!” cried Mrs Bolter; “and I’m sure I’d forgive him anything!”
“And you have nothing to forgive,” said Grey. “I am sure of it; and I hope and pray that you will not be so unjust!”
“Do you think I am unjust, my dear?” said the little lady.
“Unintentionally, yes,” replied Grey; “and it is such, a pity that there should be clouds in such a happy home!”
“You—you are—a dear little angel of goodness, Grey!” sobbed Mrs Bolter; “and you seem to come like sunshine into my poor, weak, foolish heart; and I’ll never be suspicious or unkind to him again! He’s only studying a little up the river of course; and I’m—as you’ve shown me—a weak, foolish, cruel—”
“Affectionate, loving wife,” interrupted Grey, who felt herself crushed the next moment in little Mrs Bolter’s arms.
“Bless you, my dear!” she cried. “I’ll—”
“Hush!” whispered Grey. “Here is my father!” The little lady hastily wiped her eyes as she glanced through the veranda, and saw the bent, thin, dried-up figure of the old merchant coming through the burning sunshine past the window, and then he stopped and tapped at the door.
“May I come in?” he said. “I’m not a patient.”
“Yes, yes, come in!” cried Mrs Bolter, cheerfully.
“How do—how do?” he cried, on entering. “Weel, Grey bairnie, how is it with ye?”
He kissed her in his dry fashion, smiling slightly as he smoothed his child’s fair hair, and bending down to kiss her.
“I’m verra hot, and verra dry and parched up like, so I thought I’d joost step in and ask for a glass of watter, and joost a soospeeshun of the doctor’s bad whuskee to kill the insects.”
“Which I’m sure you shall have, Mr Stuart,” cried little Mrs Bolter, eagerly.
“Weel, Grey, my bairnie, ye look red in your een and pale, when you ought to be verra happy to think things are all so pleasant and smooth for you.”
“Indeed, I try to be very happy and contented, father,” she said, with a slight catching of the breath.
“Try,” he cried, “try? Why, it ought to want no trying; you ought to be as happy as the day is long.”
“For shame, Mr Stuart,” cried Mrs Bolter, handing him the large cool tumbler of water with the whiskey already in. “Would you have her show no sympathy for people who are all in trouble? It’s a weary, miserable world, and I wonder you can look as happy as you do.”
“Hoot—toot, Madam! weary miserable world! Here are you with the best of husbands. You ought to be ready to jump for joy.”
“But I’m not,” said the little woman, passionately. “But I’m not so miserable as I was.”
“That’s a comfort,” said the little merchant, drily; and he took a sip from his tumbler—a goodly sip—as if he intended to finish all that was there. “Hech! madam, ye didna forget the whuskee.”
“Is it too strong, Mr Stuart? Let me put in a little more water.”
“Mair watter! nay; ye’d spoil a verra decent drink for a hot day.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Hah! ye ought to be verra happy indeed, wumman, for the doctor’s a good man, and a trusty fren’. Hah! that’s good whuskee,” he added, with a sigh of satisfaction after a deep draught. “Life would be but a sore lookout in these parts wi’-out joost a soop o’ whuskee to take the taste o’ the crocodiles out o’ the watter.”
“It is very hot out of doors, is it not, father?” said Grey, who was wondering what he meant to say.
“Ay, it’s hot enough,” he replied. “An’ so ye’re not verra happy, Mrs Bolter? Ay, but ye ought to be, and so ought my child Grey here, wi’ every comfort in life except extravagances, which I don’t hold with at all. She lives well, and dresses quietly, as a young lady should, and her father has not set up a grand house to flash and show in, and then have to give it up, and go and live in one that’s wee.”
“I don’t quite understand you,” said Mrs Bolter, colouring slightly, and looking indignant. “But if you are hinting at the doctor being extravagant, I cannot sit here without resenting it, for a more careful man never lived.”
“Ay, but he is a sad dog, the doctor,” said old Stuart, with a twinkle full of malice in his eye.
“How dare you say such a thing to me—his wife!” cried Mrs Bolter, indignantly.
“Hoot! wumman; dinna be fashed!” exclaimed old Stuart, who seemed delighted to have roused a spirit of opposition in his friend’s wife. “But I’ll say this o’ him,” he continued, gradually growing more Scottish of accent; “he does keep gude whuskee. Ay, I was na’ speaking o’ him when I talked aboot lairge and sma’ houses, but o’ poor Perowne. Ay, but it’s a bad job.”
“What, about poor Helen?” said Mrs Bolter. “Ay, and his affairs. I suppose ye ken a’?”
“His affairs?” exclaimed Mrs Doctor. “What do you mean?”
“Oh! I thought a’ Sindang knew he’d failed. Sax hundred pounds o’ my money goes with the rest. But there, puir mon, he’s in trouble enough wi’ the loss o’ his daughter, and I’ll never say a word about it more.”
“Is Mr Perowne in fresh trouble then, father?” said Grey, eagerly.
“Weel, my lassie there’s naught fresh about it, for he must have expected it for a year or two. He’s been going down-hill a lang time, and noo he’s recht at the bottom.”
“Has he failed, father?”
“Joost ruined and bankrupt, my lassie, and Helen won’t have a penny to call her own—a proud, stuck-up—”
“Hush, father! I cannot bear it,” cried Grey, with spirit. “Helen Perowne is my friend and schoolfellow, and surely she is in trouble enough to ask our sympathy and not our blame!”
“Why, how now, lassie!” cried the old man angrily. “Ay, but ye’re quite right,” he said, checking himself. “We ought to pity them, and not jump upon ’em when they’re down. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my bairnie—quite recht.”
“Oh, Mr Stuart, how shocking; and just when he is so ill and cast down! Grey, my child, I must go and see if I can be of help to him. Will you stay with your father?”
“Ay, she’ll stay, and you may too, Mrs Bolter, for Perowne has gone across to the Residency, and before now they’re awa’ up the river to try and find his poor lassie. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my child; and if they find her and bring her back, stop wi’ her and comfort her, and do the best ye can. I’m sorry for them, for we’re none o’ us pairfect. But this is verra gude whuskee, Mrs Bolter. When do ye expect the Doctor home?”
“I don’t know, Mr Stuart,” she said, sadly. “Soon, I hope; but when he does come back he’ll have to go after the expedition. It’s very sad to be a doctor’s wife.”
“To be wife to some doctors,” said old Stuart, laughing; “but not to our Bolter. Eh, but ye’re a lucky wumman to get him. If ye hadn’t taken him, I believe I should have made him marry my lassie here. There, I must be for going though, for my hands are full. I’m trying to save a few hundreds for poor Perowne out of the wreck.”
“When shall I see you again, father?” said Grey, clinging to him affectionately.
“Oh, heaps o’ times, my bairnie, when ye don’t expect it. I’m always looking out after ye, but I know ye’re all recht wi’ Mrs Bolter here, so do all ye can.”
He nodded and smiled as he went out of the room, but looked in again directly.
“Ye needna be uneasy you two,” he said, “for I’m having a watch kept over ye both, though ye don’t ken it; so go on joost as usual. If I hear of the doctor coming, Mrs Bolter, I’ll let ye know.”
They heard his steps in the veranda, and directly after saw his bent, thin figure out in the scorching sun, with no further protection than a bit of muslin round his old straw hat, and looking as if he were not worth fifty pounds in the world, and the last man to be the father of the graceful little maiden sitting holding Mrs Bolter’s hand.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty One.The Fire Burns Again.Days of anxiety and watching, with no news of the expedition which had started directly after Grey Stuart’s father had crossed over to the island. The English community at Sindang were extremely uneasy, for it struck them that the Malays were keeping aloof, and that their servants looked ill-conditioned and sulky.A strange silence seemed to reign in the place, with an almost utter absence of trade. No boats came down with flowers and fruit, and no cheerful intercourse was carried on as heretofore. Nothing had been seen of the Inche Maida, and Murad was quite an absentee; while not a word had been brought down the river relating to the doings of the expedition.In accordance with the Resident’s secretly-issued orders, every European left stood in readiness to flee to the Residency island, where the little garrison, under the care of a subaltern, kept strict watch and ward, and held themselves prepared to go to the aid of the merchants and their families, should there be need.But day after day glided by, and still no doctor—no news.“Poor Mr Perowne!” said Mrs Bolter one afternoon, as she sat talking to Grey Stuart, and discussing the terrible state of his affairs, of which the merchant made no secret; “it will be a sad downfall for them; but there, there, merchants fall and rise again very quickly, and let’s hope all will come right in the end—Wasn’t that the doctor’s step, my dear?”“No,” said Grey, quietly, as she tried to look free from uneasiness.“I wish we could get some news, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter.“All in good time,” said Grey, looking happier than she felt. “We shall hear soon.”“I—I hope so, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter; “but it is very sad to be a wife, waiting as I wait.”“But with patience now,” said Grey, smiling. “You are happy now in your mind?”“Ye-s! Oh! yes I am now, my dear; and I will never let such thoughts gain an entrance again.”“I know you will not,” said Grey, leaning towards her to lay her hand upon the little lady’s arm, in token of gentle sympathy, for the tears were in Mrs Bolter’s eyes, and she showed in pallor how deeply she was feeling the absence of husband and brother.That day the little station appeared as it were asleep in the hot sunshine, and the silence was oppressive in the extreme. One of the Malays, who seemed to take an interest in Mrs Bolter, consequent upon his having been cured by the doctor of a very dangerous complaint, had been started up the river in his boat, to see if he could learn any news of the party, and this messenger was anxiously expected back.“I can’t help it, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, turning to Grey, after some hours’ silence, “I can’t help thinking that something serious is wrong. Oh! how shocking it would be to be deprived of our protectors!”“But Dr Bolter has been away for longer at a time than this, has he not?” said Grey, as she sat there, wondering whether the officers of the expedition were safe—above all, Captain Hilton.“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, with a sigh; “he has been away longer before now; but no news of my brother—no news of him—it is very hard to bear.”“No, no, no,” whispered Grey, passing a soft arm round her neck; “try and be patient—try and think hopefully of everything. We must be patient at a time like this.”“But you cannot feel as I do, my dear,” cried Mrs Bolter. “You have friends away, but not one whom you dwell upon as I do.”Grey’s eyes wore a very piteous aspect, but she said nothing, only did battle with a sigh, which conquered and fought its way from her labouring breast.“But I am trying, Grey, my darling,” said the little woman, drying her eyes; “you know how patient I have been, and how I have taken your advice. Not one allusion have I made to the Inche Maida since you talked to me as you did. Now, have I not been patient?”“You have indeed,” said Grey, smiling at her sadly.“And I’m going to take your advice thoroughly, for I’m beginning to think that the little girl I began by patronising has grown wiser than I. There, you see, I have dried my eyes, and—Bless my heart, here is Mr Stuart, and he will see that I have been crying.”She jumped up and ran out of the room as the little merchant came to the door, and entered without ceremony.“Well, Grey, my bairnie,” he said, as she kissed him affectionately, while, as soon as he had drawn back, he took out his broad kerchief to dab his brow, and seemed to wipe the kiss carefully away.“You have news, father?” cried Grey, eagerly. “Pray speak!”“Well, don’t hurry me, child,” he replied. “I’ve just come from the landing-stage—and I’ve seen that Malay fellow, Syed—and he says the expedition is coming back.”“Coming back, father? Oh! why did you not speak before?”“Syed has just come down with the stream. The water’s low and they’ve got aground a few miles up, but they expected to be afloat soon.”“But is anyone hurt, father? Have they found Helen? Pray—pray speak!”“Only a few of the men a bit hurt, it seems. Officers all right,” said the old man, speaking very coolly, and consequently in excellent English.“But Helen? Have they found Helen?”“It seems not, from what the fellow knew,” said the merchant, coolly. “Where’s Mrs Bolter?” he said, in a low voice.Grey’s heart seemed to stand still. “Oh! father!” she sighed, “is he hurt?”“No; he’s aboard,” replied the merchant. “But where is she?”“She left the room as you came in; but why do you not speak out?”“I was thinking o’ Mrs Bolter, my dear. Isn’t she a bit—you know—jealous, lassie?”“Don’t ask me such questions, father,” cried Grey, in a low voice. “What do you mean?”“I’m thinking she’ll be a bit put out if it is as I hear.”“Why, father?” cried Grey, as her mind filled with strange imaginations. “But tell me quickly,” she whispered, “is Mr Chumbley safe?”“Yes, yes,” said old Stuart; “he’s safe enough, lassie.”“And—and—”“The Resident? Yes; he’s well.”“But father, you—you have not told me about Captain Hilton.”“Hilton? Oh, ay, he’s all well! Hang it if here isn’t that Barlow woman! I left her at the landing-place pumping Syed.”As he finished speaking, Mrs Barlow, panting, hot, and excited, half ran into the room.“No news—no news of poor Mr Rosebury!” she cried; “but oh, my dear Mrs Bolter—my dear Mrs Bolter!”“What is it—what is it?” cried that lady, opening the door, and entering the room, trembling visibly. “You’ve brought me some terrible news! I know you have! Speak to me—speak directly!”“Yes, yes, my dear: but try and bear it with fortitude.”“Yes, I will,” she panted. “My brother—is dead!”“No, no,” sobbed Mrs Barlow; “there is no news of him; but the Malay has told me all!”“All? All what?” cried Mrs Bolter.“They found Doctor Bolter at the Inche Maida’s.”“I knew it!” cried Mrs Bolter, excitedly.“And he and the Inche Maida have been up one of the little rivers in his boat, and the officers caught them, and brought them back.”
Days of anxiety and watching, with no news of the expedition which had started directly after Grey Stuart’s father had crossed over to the island. The English community at Sindang were extremely uneasy, for it struck them that the Malays were keeping aloof, and that their servants looked ill-conditioned and sulky.
A strange silence seemed to reign in the place, with an almost utter absence of trade. No boats came down with flowers and fruit, and no cheerful intercourse was carried on as heretofore. Nothing had been seen of the Inche Maida, and Murad was quite an absentee; while not a word had been brought down the river relating to the doings of the expedition.
In accordance with the Resident’s secretly-issued orders, every European left stood in readiness to flee to the Residency island, where the little garrison, under the care of a subaltern, kept strict watch and ward, and held themselves prepared to go to the aid of the merchants and their families, should there be need.
But day after day glided by, and still no doctor—no news.
“Poor Mr Perowne!” said Mrs Bolter one afternoon, as she sat talking to Grey Stuart, and discussing the terrible state of his affairs, of which the merchant made no secret; “it will be a sad downfall for them; but there, there, merchants fall and rise again very quickly, and let’s hope all will come right in the end—Wasn’t that the doctor’s step, my dear?”
“No,” said Grey, quietly, as she tried to look free from uneasiness.
“I wish we could get some news, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter.
“All in good time,” said Grey, looking happier than she felt. “We shall hear soon.”
“I—I hope so, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter; “but it is very sad to be a wife, waiting as I wait.”
“But with patience now,” said Grey, smiling. “You are happy now in your mind?”
“Ye-s! Oh! yes I am now, my dear; and I will never let such thoughts gain an entrance again.”
“I know you will not,” said Grey, leaning towards her to lay her hand upon the little lady’s arm, in token of gentle sympathy, for the tears were in Mrs Bolter’s eyes, and she showed in pallor how deeply she was feeling the absence of husband and brother.
That day the little station appeared as it were asleep in the hot sunshine, and the silence was oppressive in the extreme. One of the Malays, who seemed to take an interest in Mrs Bolter, consequent upon his having been cured by the doctor of a very dangerous complaint, had been started up the river in his boat, to see if he could learn any news of the party, and this messenger was anxiously expected back.
“I can’t help it, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, turning to Grey, after some hours’ silence, “I can’t help thinking that something serious is wrong. Oh! how shocking it would be to be deprived of our protectors!”
“But Dr Bolter has been away for longer at a time than this, has he not?” said Grey, as she sat there, wondering whether the officers of the expedition were safe—above all, Captain Hilton.
“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, with a sigh; “he has been away longer before now; but no news of my brother—no news of him—it is very hard to bear.”
“No, no, no,” whispered Grey, passing a soft arm round her neck; “try and be patient—try and think hopefully of everything. We must be patient at a time like this.”
“But you cannot feel as I do, my dear,” cried Mrs Bolter. “You have friends away, but not one whom you dwell upon as I do.”
Grey’s eyes wore a very piteous aspect, but she said nothing, only did battle with a sigh, which conquered and fought its way from her labouring breast.
“But I am trying, Grey, my darling,” said the little woman, drying her eyes; “you know how patient I have been, and how I have taken your advice. Not one allusion have I made to the Inche Maida since you talked to me as you did. Now, have I not been patient?”
“You have indeed,” said Grey, smiling at her sadly.
“And I’m going to take your advice thoroughly, for I’m beginning to think that the little girl I began by patronising has grown wiser than I. There, you see, I have dried my eyes, and—Bless my heart, here is Mr Stuart, and he will see that I have been crying.”
She jumped up and ran out of the room as the little merchant came to the door, and entered without ceremony.
“Well, Grey, my bairnie,” he said, as she kissed him affectionately, while, as soon as he had drawn back, he took out his broad kerchief to dab his brow, and seemed to wipe the kiss carefully away.
“You have news, father?” cried Grey, eagerly. “Pray speak!”
“Well, don’t hurry me, child,” he replied. “I’ve just come from the landing-stage—and I’ve seen that Malay fellow, Syed—and he says the expedition is coming back.”
“Coming back, father? Oh! why did you not speak before?”
“Syed has just come down with the stream. The water’s low and they’ve got aground a few miles up, but they expected to be afloat soon.”
“But is anyone hurt, father? Have they found Helen? Pray—pray speak!”
“Only a few of the men a bit hurt, it seems. Officers all right,” said the old man, speaking very coolly, and consequently in excellent English.
“But Helen? Have they found Helen?”
“It seems not, from what the fellow knew,” said the merchant, coolly. “Where’s Mrs Bolter?” he said, in a low voice.
Grey’s heart seemed to stand still. “Oh! father!” she sighed, “is he hurt?”
“No; he’s aboard,” replied the merchant. “But where is she?”
“She left the room as you came in; but why do you not speak out?”
“I was thinking o’ Mrs Bolter, my dear. Isn’t she a bit—you know—jealous, lassie?”
“Don’t ask me such questions, father,” cried Grey, in a low voice. “What do you mean?”
“I’m thinking she’ll be a bit put out if it is as I hear.”
“Why, father?” cried Grey, as her mind filled with strange imaginations. “But tell me quickly,” she whispered, “is Mr Chumbley safe?”
“Yes, yes,” said old Stuart; “he’s safe enough, lassie.”
“And—and—”
“The Resident? Yes; he’s well.”
“But father, you—you have not told me about Captain Hilton.”
“Hilton? Oh, ay, he’s all well! Hang it if here isn’t that Barlow woman! I left her at the landing-place pumping Syed.”
As he finished speaking, Mrs Barlow, panting, hot, and excited, half ran into the room.
“No news—no news of poor Mr Rosebury!” she cried; “but oh, my dear Mrs Bolter—my dear Mrs Bolter!”
“What is it—what is it?” cried that lady, opening the door, and entering the room, trembling visibly. “You’ve brought me some terrible news! I know you have! Speak to me—speak directly!”
“Yes, yes, my dear: but try and bear it with fortitude.”
“Yes, I will,” she panted. “My brother—is dead!”
“No, no,” sobbed Mrs Barlow; “there is no news of him; but the Malay has told me all!”
“All? All what?” cried Mrs Bolter.
“They found Doctor Bolter at the Inche Maida’s.”
“I knew it!” cried Mrs Bolter, excitedly.
“And he and the Inche Maida have been up one of the little rivers in his boat, and the officers caught them, and brought them back.”
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Two.Help in Need.If little Mrs Bolter had seen her lord—the quiet, suave medical man, who by his genuine admiration had so late in life won her heart—she would have trembled with the idea that he was about to fall down in a fit of apoplexy. For as he realised who was the showily-dressed Malay who had taken Helen Perowne in his arms, he first turned sallow with the heart-sinking sensation consequent upon seeing his helpless charge in the hands of one who, spite of his assumption of English manners and customs, remained at heart a fierce and unscrupulous savage.But the next moment the pallor passed away, his face flushed with rage, and as his indignation increased, he became absolutely purple.He made a furious struggle to escape from those who held him and get to Helen’s side; for in those angry moments his English blood was on fire, and little, stout, short-winded, and pretty well exhausted by previous efforts as he was, he forgot everything but the fact that there was a helpless girl—an English lady—in deadly peril, and asking his aid. Numbers—personal danger—his own want of weapons—all were forgotten; and the little doctor would have attempted anything then that the bravest hero could have ventured to save Helen Perowne from her captors.But it was not to be: one man, however, brave, when left to his natural strength of arm, is as nothing against a score; and literally foaming now with rage, Doctor Bolter, as he was mastered by the Sultan’s men, had nothing left but his tongue for weapon, and this—let him receive justice—he used to the best of his power while Murad remained on deck.Dog, coward, reptile, contemptible villain, disgrace to humanity, fiend in human form, scoundrel whom he would kick—these and scores of similar opprobrious terms the doctor applied to the Rajah, making the crew of the prahu scowl and mutter, and draw their krisses in a threatening manner, as they looked at Murad for orders to slay the infidel dog who dared revile their chief.But in his calm triumph Murad stood gazing in a sneering irritating way at the doctor, speaking no word, but seeming to say—so the doctor interpreted it:“Curse and rail as you will, I have won, and no words of yours can hurt me.”“Will nothing move you, dog that you are?” cried the doctor. “Oh, if I had but my liberty!” and his rage increased to such a pitch that his anger approached the ridiculous, for, failing English terms, he turned round and swore at the Rajah in Latin, in French, and finally rolled out a series of ponderous German oaths garnished with many-syllabled adjectives.Murad seemed moved at last, and after calmly walking to and fro the bamboo deck, he suddenly turned upon the doctor.“Silence, English dog!” he hissed; “or my men shall kris you, and throw you out!”“Dog yourself!” roared the doctor. “Oh! if I had you sick in bed for twenty-four hours! I’d—”“Silence!” roared Murad, fiercely, for he noted the ominous looks of his men, and felt that if he did not resent these insults he would be losing caste amongst them; and as he spoke he struck the doctor—bound and helpless as he was as to his hands, and held by a couple of the prahu’s crew—a violent blow across the mouth.The doctor’s lip was cut, and the blood trickled down his chin as the Rajah turned contemptuously from him, and then staggered head first, and finally fell prone upon his face. For it was the only retaliation in Doctor Bolter’s power, and he took it: as the Rajah turned, the doctor threw all the strength he had left into one tremendous kick, as a scoundrel should be kicked, and the above was the result.Furious with rage the Rajah struggled to his feet, whipped out his kris and dashed at the prisoner; but just then there was a warning shout, and a small sampan that had been coming rapidly down-stream hitched on to the prahu, and one of the occupants climbed on board.He ran to the Rajah, and said something in a low voice which made Murad turn colour; and hastily thrusting his kris back in its sheath, he began to issue orders to his crew.“I’m glad he didn’t kill me,” muttered the doctor; “I’m glad for Mary’s sake; but I’m not sorry I kicked the villain all the same. What are they about to do now?”He soon learned, for the Sultan’s orders resulted in the prahu’s crew imitating his boatmen’s manoeuvre, running her close into the bank and under the shelter of the broad, overhanging boughs, the place being so well suited that even the large naga was entirely concealed.As soon as these plans were being carried out, the doctor had been hurried—in spite of some resistance—into the after-part of the boat, where he was roughly thrown down upon the deck; but he knew from what was being done that help must be close at hand—and help of a substantial nature, or else the occupants of this large and well-armed craft would not have hidden and left the river clear.“Perhaps,” he thought, “it may be meant as an ambush, and some of our friends are running the risk of capture.”He felt lightened though at heart, and lay perfectly still—not in obedience to his captors, but to listen as he gazed straight up at the leaves and boughs above his head.The time went on, and from being red hot with passion the doctor began to cool down; his heart had ceased to bound, and the burning sensation in his temples became less painful. He wondered where they had placed Helen, then whether there was any boat coming down the river; and at last, so still was everybody, so silent the leafy arcade, that the doctor’s natural history proclivities began to be even then aroused.For as he lay there upon his back, first one and then another brilliant fly came and darted about through the network of sunrays; while soon after there was a beautiful bird perched upon a twig not ten feet from his face, where he could see the varied tinting of its feathers. Then, as it flew off, he saw what had alarmed it, and that it was not the crew of the boat, but first one and then another, till there were quite half a dozen monkeys of an extremely rare kind climbing and playing about in the branches of one of the biggest trees. Then came close to him a wonderfully-tinted parroquet, and then a lustrous sunbird began to dart about in an open space.“If I only had my gun,” muttered the enthusiast; and then he was listening intently to the beat of oars.The doctor’s thoughts were interrupted the next moment by some one kneeling down beside him, and he saw the gleaming eyes and white teeth of Murad, who drew the doctor’s attention to a bare kris which he held in his hand, and then pointed at his prisoner.“Look!” he whispered; “if you make a sound while that boat goes by, I shall kill you as I would a dog!”“Thankye,” said the doctor, quietly; and he lay still thinking.There was help coming—help for him and for the poor girl whom he had sworn to protect. If he let that help go by he would be resigning Helen Perowne to a fate worse than death; and growing enthusiastic as he thought, he mused on, telling himself that he was an Englishman and very brave, and that he’d die sooner than not make an effort to save the poor girl in his charge.Then he shuddered as he thought of death, and felt that he would like to live longer at any cost, and that he dare not risk his life; but directly after he began comforting himself with the idea that if matters came to the worst, and he did call for help, the chances were great against Murad striking him in a vital place.“And I can cure a wound,” he muttered; “and as to poison on those krisses, it’s an old woman’s tale.”All this time the sound of the oars had come nearer and nearer, till to the doctor they seemed to be just abreast.But no; they were still coming nearer, and his heart began to beat furiously, as, taking advantage of Murad’s head being turned, the doctor freed his hands from their bonds and then lay thinking.Should he risk it? Should he give it up?Life was very sweet. So was honour; and that poor girl had claimed his protection.“And how could I look her father in the face if I did not try my best to save her?” he thought.Still the sound of oars came nearer—beat, beat—beat, beat; and now he knew that the boat must be nearly abreast—so plainly did the plashing sound.He looked up at Murad, who, kris in hand, was listening and watching together. He glanced at the dull-hued wavy blade, and saw its keen point and edge, thinking with a kind of curiosity how wide a wound it would make in him as he recollected how many he had cured for the men who had been in engagements; and then he asked the question again:“Should he risk his life for Helen’s sake?”The sound of the oars was louder than ever; and now he knew that the boat must be really abreast—and an English one too—otherwise why this hiding and the Rajah’s anxious look?“Not only for Helen’s sake, but as an Englishman’s duty,” he said to himself; and he drew a long breath.“Help!” he roared, “help! boat ah!”He would have said “Ahoy!” but with a snarl like that of a wild cat, Murad threw himself upon his prisoner, striking savagely at his breast with the keen weapon, to pin him to the naga’s bamboo deck.But with the effort of a man striving to save his life, the doctor managed to wrench himself a little on one side, and the keen kris passed between his breast and arm as he seized the Rajah by the throat.The struggle that followed was almost a matter of moments, before Doctor Bolter went over the side, plunging down into deep water, and rising outside the screen of leaves, to swim vigorously towards the English boat, which was coming rapidly towards where the Rajah’s naga lay.A spear splashed into the water by the doctor’s head, but the boughs prevented the thrower from taking a good aim; and almost directly after the swimmer was hauled on board, and the Rajah’s naga was seen to be trying to steal out some fifty yards ahead.A call to surrender was answered by a shout of defiance, and the Malays began to manfully ply their oars; but a volley from the soldiers’ pieces seemed to quell their ardour and to cause confusion, in the midst of which the English boat dashed alongside, and Hilton, Chumbley, the Resident, and a score of the soldiers poured over the side, driving the spear-armed crew below, the Rajah going down from a cut over the forehead from the Resident’s sword.The naga was mastered; and the doctor, hunting out where Helen had been placed, she was soon afterwards sobbing in her father’s arms.
If little Mrs Bolter had seen her lord—the quiet, suave medical man, who by his genuine admiration had so late in life won her heart—she would have trembled with the idea that he was about to fall down in a fit of apoplexy. For as he realised who was the showily-dressed Malay who had taken Helen Perowne in his arms, he first turned sallow with the heart-sinking sensation consequent upon seeing his helpless charge in the hands of one who, spite of his assumption of English manners and customs, remained at heart a fierce and unscrupulous savage.
But the next moment the pallor passed away, his face flushed with rage, and as his indignation increased, he became absolutely purple.
He made a furious struggle to escape from those who held him and get to Helen’s side; for in those angry moments his English blood was on fire, and little, stout, short-winded, and pretty well exhausted by previous efforts as he was, he forgot everything but the fact that there was a helpless girl—an English lady—in deadly peril, and asking his aid. Numbers—personal danger—his own want of weapons—all were forgotten; and the little doctor would have attempted anything then that the bravest hero could have ventured to save Helen Perowne from her captors.
But it was not to be: one man, however, brave, when left to his natural strength of arm, is as nothing against a score; and literally foaming now with rage, Doctor Bolter, as he was mastered by the Sultan’s men, had nothing left but his tongue for weapon, and this—let him receive justice—he used to the best of his power while Murad remained on deck.
Dog, coward, reptile, contemptible villain, disgrace to humanity, fiend in human form, scoundrel whom he would kick—these and scores of similar opprobrious terms the doctor applied to the Rajah, making the crew of the prahu scowl and mutter, and draw their krisses in a threatening manner, as they looked at Murad for orders to slay the infidel dog who dared revile their chief.
But in his calm triumph Murad stood gazing in a sneering irritating way at the doctor, speaking no word, but seeming to say—so the doctor interpreted it:
“Curse and rail as you will, I have won, and no words of yours can hurt me.”
“Will nothing move you, dog that you are?” cried the doctor. “Oh, if I had but my liberty!” and his rage increased to such a pitch that his anger approached the ridiculous, for, failing English terms, he turned round and swore at the Rajah in Latin, in French, and finally rolled out a series of ponderous German oaths garnished with many-syllabled adjectives.
Murad seemed moved at last, and after calmly walking to and fro the bamboo deck, he suddenly turned upon the doctor.
“Silence, English dog!” he hissed; “or my men shall kris you, and throw you out!”
“Dog yourself!” roared the doctor. “Oh! if I had you sick in bed for twenty-four hours! I’d—”
“Silence!” roared Murad, fiercely, for he noted the ominous looks of his men, and felt that if he did not resent these insults he would be losing caste amongst them; and as he spoke he struck the doctor—bound and helpless as he was as to his hands, and held by a couple of the prahu’s crew—a violent blow across the mouth.
The doctor’s lip was cut, and the blood trickled down his chin as the Rajah turned contemptuously from him, and then staggered head first, and finally fell prone upon his face. For it was the only retaliation in Doctor Bolter’s power, and he took it: as the Rajah turned, the doctor threw all the strength he had left into one tremendous kick, as a scoundrel should be kicked, and the above was the result.
Furious with rage the Rajah struggled to his feet, whipped out his kris and dashed at the prisoner; but just then there was a warning shout, and a small sampan that had been coming rapidly down-stream hitched on to the prahu, and one of the occupants climbed on board.
He ran to the Rajah, and said something in a low voice which made Murad turn colour; and hastily thrusting his kris back in its sheath, he began to issue orders to his crew.
“I’m glad he didn’t kill me,” muttered the doctor; “I’m glad for Mary’s sake; but I’m not sorry I kicked the villain all the same. What are they about to do now?”
He soon learned, for the Sultan’s orders resulted in the prahu’s crew imitating his boatmen’s manoeuvre, running her close into the bank and under the shelter of the broad, overhanging boughs, the place being so well suited that even the large naga was entirely concealed.
As soon as these plans were being carried out, the doctor had been hurried—in spite of some resistance—into the after-part of the boat, where he was roughly thrown down upon the deck; but he knew from what was being done that help must be close at hand—and help of a substantial nature, or else the occupants of this large and well-armed craft would not have hidden and left the river clear.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “it may be meant as an ambush, and some of our friends are running the risk of capture.”
He felt lightened though at heart, and lay perfectly still—not in obedience to his captors, but to listen as he gazed straight up at the leaves and boughs above his head.
The time went on, and from being red hot with passion the doctor began to cool down; his heart had ceased to bound, and the burning sensation in his temples became less painful. He wondered where they had placed Helen, then whether there was any boat coming down the river; and at last, so still was everybody, so silent the leafy arcade, that the doctor’s natural history proclivities began to be even then aroused.
For as he lay there upon his back, first one and then another brilliant fly came and darted about through the network of sunrays; while soon after there was a beautiful bird perched upon a twig not ten feet from his face, where he could see the varied tinting of its feathers. Then, as it flew off, he saw what had alarmed it, and that it was not the crew of the boat, but first one and then another, till there were quite half a dozen monkeys of an extremely rare kind climbing and playing about in the branches of one of the biggest trees. Then came close to him a wonderfully-tinted parroquet, and then a lustrous sunbird began to dart about in an open space.
“If I only had my gun,” muttered the enthusiast; and then he was listening intently to the beat of oars.
The doctor’s thoughts were interrupted the next moment by some one kneeling down beside him, and he saw the gleaming eyes and white teeth of Murad, who drew the doctor’s attention to a bare kris which he held in his hand, and then pointed at his prisoner.
“Look!” he whispered; “if you make a sound while that boat goes by, I shall kill you as I would a dog!”
“Thankye,” said the doctor, quietly; and he lay still thinking.
There was help coming—help for him and for the poor girl whom he had sworn to protect. If he let that help go by he would be resigning Helen Perowne to a fate worse than death; and growing enthusiastic as he thought, he mused on, telling himself that he was an Englishman and very brave, and that he’d die sooner than not make an effort to save the poor girl in his charge.
Then he shuddered as he thought of death, and felt that he would like to live longer at any cost, and that he dare not risk his life; but directly after he began comforting himself with the idea that if matters came to the worst, and he did call for help, the chances were great against Murad striking him in a vital place.
“And I can cure a wound,” he muttered; “and as to poison on those krisses, it’s an old woman’s tale.”
All this time the sound of the oars had come nearer and nearer, till to the doctor they seemed to be just abreast.
But no; they were still coming nearer, and his heart began to beat furiously, as, taking advantage of Murad’s head being turned, the doctor freed his hands from their bonds and then lay thinking.
Should he risk it? Should he give it up?
Life was very sweet. So was honour; and that poor girl had claimed his protection.
“And how could I look her father in the face if I did not try my best to save her?” he thought.
Still the sound of oars came nearer—beat, beat—beat, beat; and now he knew that the boat must be nearly abreast—so plainly did the plashing sound.
He looked up at Murad, who, kris in hand, was listening and watching together. He glanced at the dull-hued wavy blade, and saw its keen point and edge, thinking with a kind of curiosity how wide a wound it would make in him as he recollected how many he had cured for the men who had been in engagements; and then he asked the question again:
“Should he risk his life for Helen’s sake?”
The sound of the oars was louder than ever; and now he knew that the boat must be really abreast—and an English one too—otherwise why this hiding and the Rajah’s anxious look?
“Not only for Helen’s sake, but as an Englishman’s duty,” he said to himself; and he drew a long breath.
“Help!” he roared, “help! boat ah!”
He would have said “Ahoy!” but with a snarl like that of a wild cat, Murad threw himself upon his prisoner, striking savagely at his breast with the keen weapon, to pin him to the naga’s bamboo deck.
But with the effort of a man striving to save his life, the doctor managed to wrench himself a little on one side, and the keen kris passed between his breast and arm as he seized the Rajah by the throat.
The struggle that followed was almost a matter of moments, before Doctor Bolter went over the side, plunging down into deep water, and rising outside the screen of leaves, to swim vigorously towards the English boat, which was coming rapidly towards where the Rajah’s naga lay.
A spear splashed into the water by the doctor’s head, but the boughs prevented the thrower from taking a good aim; and almost directly after the swimmer was hauled on board, and the Rajah’s naga was seen to be trying to steal out some fifty yards ahead.
A call to surrender was answered by a shout of defiance, and the Malays began to manfully ply their oars; but a volley from the soldiers’ pieces seemed to quell their ardour and to cause confusion, in the midst of which the English boat dashed alongside, and Hilton, Chumbley, the Resident, and a score of the soldiers poured over the side, driving the spear-armed crew below, the Rajah going down from a cut over the forehead from the Resident’s sword.
The naga was mastered; and the doctor, hunting out where Helen had been placed, she was soon afterwards sobbing in her father’s arms.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Three.The Return to Sindang.For a time no one spoke in the doctor’s cottage; but old Stuart took a very large and a very loud pinch of snuff, which seemed as if he had been loading his nose with powder, for it went off directly after with a report-like sneeze that made the jalousies rattle.“Is—is this—these words—are they true?” said Mrs Bolter, at last, with unnatural calmness.“Yes, yes, my dear, quite true!” cried Mrs Barlow, excitedly.“Did—did you hear anything of this, Mr Stuart?” said Mrs Bolter, in a low, constrained voice.“Well, I did hear—am I to tell you?”“Yes—everything,” replied Mrs Bolter, now perfectly cool and calm.“I heard that the doctor had been found up the river somewhere with a black lady in his boat; but I didn’t hear it was the Inche Maida.”“But my heart told me it was,” muttered poor little Mrs Bolter, whose good resolutions were all swept away by her agonising feeling of jealousy. Then aloud, with a fierce look of anger, but speaking in quite a hoarse whisper, “Go!” she said, pointing to the door. “You wicked woman, go! You have taken delight in coming to tell me this!”“No, no!” cried Mrs Barlow, bursting into tears; “it was from friendship—from the sisterly love I have for you! It was for your brother’s sake!”“If—if ever my brother returns, he shall never speak to you—bad, weak, wicked woman that you are! Leave my house!”“But, Mrs Bolter—dear Mrs Bolter—”“Leave my house!” continued the little woman in the same low, excited whisper; and she seemed to advance so menacingly upon the merchant’s widow, that she backed to the door in alarm, and regularly fled.“Dear Mrs Bolter—” began Grey.“Don’t speak to me, my dear,” said the little lady. “I’m not at all angry. I’m perfectly calm. There, you see how quiet I am. Not the least bit in a passion.”Certainly she was speaking in a low, passionless voice, but there was a peculiar whiteness in the generally rather florid face.“But the news may not be true,” pleaded Grey; “and even if it is, what then? Oh, Mrs Bolter, pray think!”“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, “I have thought, and I’m quite calm. I shall suffer it, though, no more. I shall wait till my dear brother is found, and then I shall go straight back to England. I shall go by the first boat. I will pack up my things at once, and get ready. You see I am quite calm. Mr Stuart, you have always been very kind to me.”“Well, I don’t know, not verra,” said the old Scot; “but ye’ve been verra good to Grey here.”“I’m going to ask a favour of you, Mr Stuart.”“Annything I can do for ye, Mrs Bolter, I will.”“Then will you give me shelter with Grey here for a few weeks?”“Or a few months or years if ye like,” said the old man, taking a liberal pinch of snuff; “but ye needn’t fash yourself. You won’t leave Harry Bolter.”“Not leave him?” said the little lady, with forced calmness.“Not you, for I don’t believe there’s aught wrong. It’s a bit patient he’s found up the river, and if it isn’t, it’s somebody else; and even if it wasn’t, ye’d just give him a bit o’ your mind, and then you’d forgive him.”“Forgive him?” said Mrs Bolter; “I was always suspicious of these expeditions.”“Always,” assented old Stuart. “He has told me so a score of times.”“Then more shame for him!” cried Mrs Bolter; “How dare he! No, Mr Stuart, I am not angry, and I shall not say a word; but I shall wait till my poor brother is found, and then go back to England.”She sat down very quietly, and sat gazing through the window; while old Stuart went on taking snuff in a very liberal manner, glancing from time to time at the irate little lady, to whom Grey kept whispering and striving to bring her to reason.This went on for a good hour, till Grey was in despair; when suddenly Mrs Bolter sprang to her feet, red now with excitement, as she pointed through the window.“Am I to bear this?” she said, in the same whisper. “Look, Grey! Look, Mr Stuart! You see! He is coming home, and he is bringing this woman with him!”Grey started, for there indeed was the doctor, leading a closely-veiled Malay lady, apparently walking slowly and leaning heavily upon his arm.Old Stuart took another pinch of snuff, and made a good deal of noise over it, as a cynical smile began to dawn upon his face; and he watched little Mrs Bolter, who drew herself up and stood with one hand resting upon the back of a chair.“What can I say to her?” murmured Grey to herself. Then softly to Mrs Bolter:“Pray listen to him: it is only some mistake.”“Yes, my dear, I will listen,” said Mrs Bolter, calmly; and then she drew a long catching breath, and her eyes half-closed.Just then the doctor threw open the door, and carefully led in his companion.“Ah, Grey, you here!” he cried. “Back again. Mary, my love! I’ve brought you a surprise.”He dropped his companion’s hand, and she stood there veiled and swaying slightly, while he made as if to embrace his wife.“Hallo!” he exclaimed, as she shrank away.“Don’t—don’t touch me,” she cried, in a low, angry voice, “never again, Bolter; I could not bear it!”“Why, what the—Oh, I see! Of course! Ha, ha, ha!”Mrs Bolter stared at him fiercely, then at his companion, as in a curious, hasty way, she tore away her veil with trembling hands, revealing the swarthy skin and blackened and filed teeth, seen between her parted lips; her hair dark as that of the Inche Maida, and fastened up roughly in the Malay style. She was trying to speak, for her bosom was heaving, her hands working; and at last she darted an agonising glance at Grey Stuart, who was trembling in wonderment and fear.The next moment the stranger had thrown herself at Mrs Bolter’s feet, and was clinging to her dress, as she cried hysterically:“Mrs Bolter—Grey—have pity on me! You do not know?”“Helen!” cried Grey; and she filing her arms round her schoolfellow, as Mrs Bolter uttered that most commonplace of common expressions—“Oh! my goodness, gracious me!”“Yes, Helen Perowne it is, my dears,” said the little doctor, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “I think I found Solomon’s Ophir this time, eh?”“Henry!—Henry!” panted Mrs Bolter; “what does this mean?”“Mean? That you haven’t given me a kiss, my dear! Never mind the company. That’s better,” he cried, as he took the kiss—audibly.“But you don’t explain, Henry.”“Explain, my dear,” said the doctor, softly, as he pointed to where Helen lay with her face buried in Grey Stuart’s breast. “Nothing to explain; only that I was up one of the rivers and found the lost one here before the expedition came. But didn’t I say so, Stuart, old fellow? It was Murad, after all.”A low moan from Helen made Mrs Bolter dart towards her.“Oh! my child, my child! and to come back to us like this!” cried Mrs Bolter, helping Grey to place Helen upon the couch, the tears running down her cheeks the while; and all dislike to the station beauty seeming to have passed away as she took the swarthy head to her bosom, and knelt there, rocking herself softly to and fro.“Can we do anything to help, doctor?” said old Stuart, in a whisper.“No: let ’em all have a good cry together. Nature’s safety valve, old fellow,” said the doctor, coolly.“Then I propose that we just go and leave ’em. What do you say to a pipe in the surgery?”“And a cool draught of my own dispensing, eh?” said the doctor, with his eyes twinkling. “One moment, and we will.”“But where’s Perowne?”“Upset! Lying down on board the naga, and too ill to come. I brought her on to the women as soon as I could.”He trotted across to his wife. “That’s right, little woman!” he said, squeezing Mrs Bolter’s arm. “You’ll be a better doctor now than I. She’s very weak and low and—” He whispered something in her ear.Poor little Mrs Bolter turned up her face towards him with a look full of such horror, misery and contrition that he was startled; but setting it down to anxiety on Helen’s behalf he whispered to her that all would soon be well.“Take her up to the spare room, dear,” he said, in a whisper. “You must not think of sending her home. You’ll do your best, eh?”“Oh! yes, Henry,” she said, as she looked at him again so piteously that he forgot Grey’s presence, and bent down and kissed her.“That’s my own little woman, I knew you would,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll want me; but if you do, I’m in the surgery. Well, little Grey, what do you want—news?”Grey’s lips said “yes” without a sound.“Well, everybody’s all right except a few scratches, and I’m choked with thirst.”Five minutes after he was compounding draughts for himself and the old merchant from a large stone bottle andaqua distil., as the druggists call it; while soon after, over what he called a quiet pipe, he told his adventures to his friend.It was just about the time when, as Helen’s swarthy head lay upon the cool white pillow in the bungalow spare room, Mrs Bolter poured some cool clear water into a basin, and then dropped in it a goodly portion of aromatic vinegar, which with a sponge she softly applied to Helen’s fevered brow.Grey held the basin and a white towel, while Mrs Bolter applied the sponge once—twice—thrice—and the weary, half-fainting girl uttered a low moan.Again Mrs Bolter applied the cool soft sponge to the aching temples, and then, as there was no result but another restful sigh, interrupted this time by a sob, she applied the sponge again after a careful wringing out, still with no effect but to bring forth a sigh.This time poor Mrs Bolter, who had learned nothing from her lord, took the towel, for she could not resist the temptation, and softly drew it across Helen’s brow, as the poor girl lay there with closed eyes.The towel was raised from the swarthy forehead, and Mrs Bolter looked at it, to see that it was white as it was before.This time she exchanged a look of horror with Grey, down whose cheeks the tears flowed fast, as she leant forward and kissed Helen’s lips.“No, no, don’t touch me,” she moaned, but Grey held her more tightly.The sobs came fast now as two dark arms were flung round Grey’s white neck, and Mrs Bolter’s eyes grew wet as well, as she drew a long breath, and then sat down by the bedside, saying, softly:“Oh! my poor girl!—my poor girl!”Helen heard it as she felt Grey’s kisses on her lips; and as she realised that there was no longer cause for dread as to the reception she would receive, her tears and sobs increased for a time, but gradually to subside, till at last she lay there sleeping peacefully—the first sleep of full repose that she had slept since the eventful night of thefête.It was not to last, though, for when, an hour later the doctor came softly up, and laid a finger upon one throbbing wrist, his brow contracted, and he shook his head.“Is there danger, doctor?” whispered Grey, softly, startled as she was by his manner.“I fear so,” he whispered; “she has gone through terrible trials; fever is developing fast, and in her condition I tremble for what may be the end.”
For a time no one spoke in the doctor’s cottage; but old Stuart took a very large and a very loud pinch of snuff, which seemed as if he had been loading his nose with powder, for it went off directly after with a report-like sneeze that made the jalousies rattle.
“Is—is this—these words—are they true?” said Mrs Bolter, at last, with unnatural calmness.
“Yes, yes, my dear, quite true!” cried Mrs Barlow, excitedly.
“Did—did you hear anything of this, Mr Stuart?” said Mrs Bolter, in a low, constrained voice.
“Well, I did hear—am I to tell you?”
“Yes—everything,” replied Mrs Bolter, now perfectly cool and calm.
“I heard that the doctor had been found up the river somewhere with a black lady in his boat; but I didn’t hear it was the Inche Maida.”
“But my heart told me it was,” muttered poor little Mrs Bolter, whose good resolutions were all swept away by her agonising feeling of jealousy. Then aloud, with a fierce look of anger, but speaking in quite a hoarse whisper, “Go!” she said, pointing to the door. “You wicked woman, go! You have taken delight in coming to tell me this!”
“No, no!” cried Mrs Barlow, bursting into tears; “it was from friendship—from the sisterly love I have for you! It was for your brother’s sake!”
“If—if ever my brother returns, he shall never speak to you—bad, weak, wicked woman that you are! Leave my house!”
“But, Mrs Bolter—dear Mrs Bolter—”
“Leave my house!” continued the little woman in the same low, excited whisper; and she seemed to advance so menacingly upon the merchant’s widow, that she backed to the door in alarm, and regularly fled.
“Dear Mrs Bolter—” began Grey.
“Don’t speak to me, my dear,” said the little lady. “I’m not at all angry. I’m perfectly calm. There, you see how quiet I am. Not the least bit in a passion.”
Certainly she was speaking in a low, passionless voice, but there was a peculiar whiteness in the generally rather florid face.
“But the news may not be true,” pleaded Grey; “and even if it is, what then? Oh, Mrs Bolter, pray think!”
“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, “I have thought, and I’m quite calm. I shall suffer it, though, no more. I shall wait till my dear brother is found, and then I shall go straight back to England. I shall go by the first boat. I will pack up my things at once, and get ready. You see I am quite calm. Mr Stuart, you have always been very kind to me.”
“Well, I don’t know, not verra,” said the old Scot; “but ye’ve been verra good to Grey here.”
“I’m going to ask a favour of you, Mr Stuart.”
“Annything I can do for ye, Mrs Bolter, I will.”
“Then will you give me shelter with Grey here for a few weeks?”
“Or a few months or years if ye like,” said the old man, taking a liberal pinch of snuff; “but ye needn’t fash yourself. You won’t leave Harry Bolter.”
“Not leave him?” said the little lady, with forced calmness.
“Not you, for I don’t believe there’s aught wrong. It’s a bit patient he’s found up the river, and if it isn’t, it’s somebody else; and even if it wasn’t, ye’d just give him a bit o’ your mind, and then you’d forgive him.”
“Forgive him?” said Mrs Bolter; “I was always suspicious of these expeditions.”
“Always,” assented old Stuart. “He has told me so a score of times.”
“Then more shame for him!” cried Mrs Bolter; “How dare he! No, Mr Stuart, I am not angry, and I shall not say a word; but I shall wait till my poor brother is found, and then go back to England.”
She sat down very quietly, and sat gazing through the window; while old Stuart went on taking snuff in a very liberal manner, glancing from time to time at the irate little lady, to whom Grey kept whispering and striving to bring her to reason.
This went on for a good hour, till Grey was in despair; when suddenly Mrs Bolter sprang to her feet, red now with excitement, as she pointed through the window.
“Am I to bear this?” she said, in the same whisper. “Look, Grey! Look, Mr Stuart! You see! He is coming home, and he is bringing this woman with him!”
Grey started, for there indeed was the doctor, leading a closely-veiled Malay lady, apparently walking slowly and leaning heavily upon his arm.
Old Stuart took another pinch of snuff, and made a good deal of noise over it, as a cynical smile began to dawn upon his face; and he watched little Mrs Bolter, who drew herself up and stood with one hand resting upon the back of a chair.
“What can I say to her?” murmured Grey to herself. Then softly to Mrs Bolter:
“Pray listen to him: it is only some mistake.”
“Yes, my dear, I will listen,” said Mrs Bolter, calmly; and then she drew a long catching breath, and her eyes half-closed.
Just then the doctor threw open the door, and carefully led in his companion.
“Ah, Grey, you here!” he cried. “Back again. Mary, my love! I’ve brought you a surprise.”
He dropped his companion’s hand, and she stood there veiled and swaying slightly, while he made as if to embrace his wife.
“Hallo!” he exclaimed, as she shrank away.
“Don’t—don’t touch me,” she cried, in a low, angry voice, “never again, Bolter; I could not bear it!”
“Why, what the—Oh, I see! Of course! Ha, ha, ha!”
Mrs Bolter stared at him fiercely, then at his companion, as in a curious, hasty way, she tore away her veil with trembling hands, revealing the swarthy skin and blackened and filed teeth, seen between her parted lips; her hair dark as that of the Inche Maida, and fastened up roughly in the Malay style. She was trying to speak, for her bosom was heaving, her hands working; and at last she darted an agonising glance at Grey Stuart, who was trembling in wonderment and fear.
The next moment the stranger had thrown herself at Mrs Bolter’s feet, and was clinging to her dress, as she cried hysterically:
“Mrs Bolter—Grey—have pity on me! You do not know?”
“Helen!” cried Grey; and she filing her arms round her schoolfellow, as Mrs Bolter uttered that most commonplace of common expressions—
“Oh! my goodness, gracious me!”
“Yes, Helen Perowne it is, my dears,” said the little doctor, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “I think I found Solomon’s Ophir this time, eh?”
“Henry!—Henry!” panted Mrs Bolter; “what does this mean?”
“Mean? That you haven’t given me a kiss, my dear! Never mind the company. That’s better,” he cried, as he took the kiss—audibly.
“But you don’t explain, Henry.”
“Explain, my dear,” said the doctor, softly, as he pointed to where Helen lay with her face buried in Grey Stuart’s breast. “Nothing to explain; only that I was up one of the rivers and found the lost one here before the expedition came. But didn’t I say so, Stuart, old fellow? It was Murad, after all.”
A low moan from Helen made Mrs Bolter dart towards her.
“Oh! my child, my child! and to come back to us like this!” cried Mrs Bolter, helping Grey to place Helen upon the couch, the tears running down her cheeks the while; and all dislike to the station beauty seeming to have passed away as she took the swarthy head to her bosom, and knelt there, rocking herself softly to and fro.
“Can we do anything to help, doctor?” said old Stuart, in a whisper.
“No: let ’em all have a good cry together. Nature’s safety valve, old fellow,” said the doctor, coolly.
“Then I propose that we just go and leave ’em. What do you say to a pipe in the surgery?”
“And a cool draught of my own dispensing, eh?” said the doctor, with his eyes twinkling. “One moment, and we will.”
“But where’s Perowne?”
“Upset! Lying down on board the naga, and too ill to come. I brought her on to the women as soon as I could.”
He trotted across to his wife. “That’s right, little woman!” he said, squeezing Mrs Bolter’s arm. “You’ll be a better doctor now than I. She’s very weak and low and—” He whispered something in her ear.
Poor little Mrs Bolter turned up her face towards him with a look full of such horror, misery and contrition that he was startled; but setting it down to anxiety on Helen’s behalf he whispered to her that all would soon be well.
“Take her up to the spare room, dear,” he said, in a whisper. “You must not think of sending her home. You’ll do your best, eh?”
“Oh! yes, Henry,” she said, as she looked at him again so piteously that he forgot Grey’s presence, and bent down and kissed her.
“That’s my own little woman, I knew you would,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll want me; but if you do, I’m in the surgery. Well, little Grey, what do you want—news?”
Grey’s lips said “yes” without a sound.
“Well, everybody’s all right except a few scratches, and I’m choked with thirst.”
Five minutes after he was compounding draughts for himself and the old merchant from a large stone bottle andaqua distil., as the druggists call it; while soon after, over what he called a quiet pipe, he told his adventures to his friend.
It was just about the time when, as Helen’s swarthy head lay upon the cool white pillow in the bungalow spare room, Mrs Bolter poured some cool clear water into a basin, and then dropped in it a goodly portion of aromatic vinegar, which with a sponge she softly applied to Helen’s fevered brow.
Grey held the basin and a white towel, while Mrs Bolter applied the sponge once—twice—thrice—and the weary, half-fainting girl uttered a low moan.
Again Mrs Bolter applied the cool soft sponge to the aching temples, and then, as there was no result but another restful sigh, interrupted this time by a sob, she applied the sponge again after a careful wringing out, still with no effect but to bring forth a sigh.
This time poor Mrs Bolter, who had learned nothing from her lord, took the towel, for she could not resist the temptation, and softly drew it across Helen’s brow, as the poor girl lay there with closed eyes.
The towel was raised from the swarthy forehead, and Mrs Bolter looked at it, to see that it was white as it was before.
This time she exchanged a look of horror with Grey, down whose cheeks the tears flowed fast, as she leant forward and kissed Helen’s lips.
“No, no, don’t touch me,” she moaned, but Grey held her more tightly.
The sobs came fast now as two dark arms were flung round Grey’s white neck, and Mrs Bolter’s eyes grew wet as well, as she drew a long breath, and then sat down by the bedside, saying, softly:
“Oh! my poor girl!—my poor girl!”
Helen heard it as she felt Grey’s kisses on her lips; and as she realised that there was no longer cause for dread as to the reception she would receive, her tears and sobs increased for a time, but gradually to subside, till at last she lay there sleeping peacefully—the first sleep of full repose that she had slept since the eventful night of thefête.
It was not to last, though, for when, an hour later the doctor came softly up, and laid a finger upon one throbbing wrist, his brow contracted, and he shook his head.
“Is there danger, doctor?” whispered Grey, softly, startled as she was by his manner.
“I fear so,” he whispered; “she has gone through terrible trials; fever is developing fast, and in her condition I tremble for what may be the end.”
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Four.Neil Harley’s Prophecy.The circumstances were so grave, that directly after the return of the Resident’s boat with the prisoners and the captured naga, special communication was sent to the seat of the Straits Government, and pending a reply to the despatch, the Residency island was placed thoroughly in a state of defence.The Europeans in Sindang held themselves in perfect readiness to flee to the island for safety at a moment’s notice; and every man went armed, and every lady went about as a walking magazine of cartridges, ready for the use of husband or friend.They were troublous times, full of anxieties, without taking into consideration the cares of the sick in body and mind.The prisoners were secured in the little fort on the island, where Murad preserved a sulky dignity, remaining perfectly silent; and whenever an attempt was made to question him about the chaplain, he either closed his eyes, stared scornfully at his questioners, or turned his back.Rigid watch and ward was kept, the men’s pouches were filled with ball-cartridges, and every one fully expected an attack from the people of Sindang, to rescue their Sultan, and avenge the insult of his being placed in captivity.Among other preparations, the doctor set Mrs Bolter to work to scrape linen for lint in case of the demand exceeding the official supply; but somehow the days glided on, and there was no need for it, not a shot being fired, not a kris or spear used. The people ashore looked gloomy and taciturn, but offered no violence.On the contrary, they seemed disposed to make advances to the daring, conquering people, who had not scrupled to seize their chief and keep him confined—they, a mere handful of people amongst thousands.The fact was, they were completely cowed, knowing, as they did, how easily help could be procured, and how formidable that help would be.But the English at the station could not realise this. They only knew that they were dwelling upon a volcano which might at any time burst forth and involve them in destruction; the military portion feeling certain that sooner or later an attempt would be made to rescue the Rajah.The days glided by, and the topics of conversation remained the same—another week had passed and there had been no attack.How was Miss Perowne—had anyone seen her?Was she never to be “Fair Helen” again?Was it true that the Rajah had made a daring attempt to escape?Had the Inche Maida sworn to rescue him, and was she coming down the river like a new Boadicea, with a hundred water war-chariots to sweep the British invader from the land?Was Helen Perowne dying, and had Mr Perowne died in the night?These are specimens of the questions that were asked, for the little community was in a perfect ferment. The loveliness of the weather, the brilliant days and delicious nights passed unnoticed, for everyone was intent on danger alone.It was, then, a matter of intense relief to hear, time after time, that the manufactured dangers were merely the fictions of some of the most timid; and though the rumour was again and again repeated that the Inche Maida was coming, she did not come, but remained quiescent at her home, truth to say, though, with boats manned and armed, not for attack, but ready to take her and her chief people to a place of safety, should the English visit her with inimical intent. She had sinned against them, and could not know how chivalrously Chumbley had kept the matter secret and prevailed upon his friend.Meanwhile, in the midst of these anxieties, when rumour ran riot through the place, and the more nervous shivered and started at every sound, and took no step without feeling that a kris was ready to strike, Helen—the main cause of all the station troubles—lay happily unconscious of what was passing.For Doctor Bolter was right; the excitement had borne its seeds, and after her system had bravely battled with disease for a time, fighting it back during all the most trying of her adventures—no sooner was she in safety at the station, than it claimed its own, and she lay now at the doctor’s cottage sick unto death.Never had sufferer more devoted attention than that which Helen received from her old schoolfellow and Mrs Bolter; while the doctor himself was in almost constant attendance, watching each change, and denying himself rest in his efforts to save the life that seemed to be trembling in the balance.“This is a pleasant place to have brought you to, Mary,” he said, more than once. “It was a shame! but I never could foresee such troubles as this; and after all, I am not so very sorry.”“Not sorry?” she replied.“Well, of course, my dear, I am awfully sorry about the way in which Arthur is missing; but as to myself, one does get very selfish in middle-age.”“Selfish? Is this a time to talk of being selfish?” said the little lady, reproachfully.“Well, perhaps not,” the doctor replied; “but really I’m glad I’ve got you here, Mary, for I don’t know what I should have done without you. You’re a perfect treasure.”Mrs Doctor looked pacified, and worked harder than ever.“Here, I generally bring you bad news,” said old, Stuart, coming in one day to see his nurse, as he called Grey, who had become a permanent dweller at the cottage, “but I’ve got some good for you this time.”“What is it?” said the doctor. “Have they found Rosebury?”“No; but you need not be so nervous any more, for here is a gun-boat coming up the river.”Boom!“There it is announcing itself,” said old Stuart, with a chuckle. “That’s the sort of thing to keep the natives in awe, a great gun like that.”The coming of the powerful war-steamer with reinforcements, and a tender in the shape of a swift despatch-boat, did act as a repressing power, and silenced for good any latent ideas of rising against the English; and in obedience to the despatch received by the Resident, Murad and a couple of his officers were at once placed on board under a strong guard; and, within an hour of the arrival of the steamer and the despatch-boat, he was on his way to Singapore to take his trial.There was no attempt at resistance, the prisoners meeting their fate in a stolid, indifferent way, while after a short consultation at the Residency, the crew of the Sultan’s boat were brought out from the fort and questioned.To a man they denied all knowledge of the whereabouts of the chaplain; and when offered their liberty on condition of his being found, they calmly accepted their position, and expressed their readiness to go back to prison.Harley was the president of the little court; and at last he addressed them, and offered them their liberty on another condition.“Murad will never return here,” he said, “and you are clear of all allegiance to him. I am empowered to offer you your freedom if you will all swear henceforth to serve the English Government.”They all brightened up at once, and expressed themselves ready to obey.“Then you are free,” said the Resident; “you can return to your homes.”The men stared. They could not believe in such clemency; but no sooner had they realised the fact, than their stolid, sulky look was exchanged for one of extravagant joy, and their delight after having resigned themselves to death knew no bounds.“Now,” exclaimed the Resident, “tell me at once—where is the chaplain?”Only one man spoke:“We do not know, my lord.”“Is—is he dead?”“Why should he be dead, my lord?” said the man. “Why should Murad kill him? No; he had reasons, and we know that he had him taken away with the lady—that is all.”“But where did he imprison him?”“Allah and our lord the Sultan only know,” said the man, impressively. “Murad was wise. When he made plans it was in his own mind, and he told them to none but the slaves who were to do his bidding. Let us free, and we may perhaps find the Christian priest. If we do, we will bring him back.”There was nothing more to be done, and the station was relieved of the presence of a danger that seemed imminent so long as Murad was there.The time glided on, and still there was no news of the chaplain. The Inche Maida’s home had been visited again and again, but she either did not know or would confess nothing, preserving a studied dignity, and seeming to be neither friend nor enemy now; while, this being the case, the chaplain’s absence began to be accepted as a necessity, and there were days when Mrs Barlow was the only one who mourned his loss.“It’s mind—mind—mind,” said the doctor, as he came out of Helen’s room, over and over again; and the questioner he addressed was Neil Harley. “It’s mind, sir, mind; and until that is at rest, I see no chance of her recovery. Medicine? Bah! it’s throwing good drugs away.”The constant attention went on, and as almost hourly the Resident or one of the officers came to inquire, there seemed to be times when Doctor Bolter did not know whether Helen or her father would be the first to pass away. He was constantly going to and fro; and after many days of suffering, when Sindang had pretty well sunk into its normal state of quietude, and Helen’s fever began to subside, it left her so weak that the doctor threw up his hands almost in despair.“It lies with you two now, more than with me,” he said to Grey and Mrs Bolter; and with tears in their eyes, they were compelled to own their helplessness as well.It was on one of the hottest and most breathless days of the tropic summer, that, with her eyes red, and weary with long watching, Grey Stuart sat in her old school-companion’s chamber, thinking of the changes that had taken place since that morning when Helen and she were summoned to the Miss Twettenhams’ room regarding the levity displayed, as the ladies called it, towards Helen’s first admirer.Fair Helen then—now she looked more like a native woman than ever, with her piteous great eyes gazing wildly at her friend, as if asking her for help.But that she had wept till the fount of her tears seemed dry, Grey could have thrown herself sobbing at Helen’s side; now she could only take her wasted hand and try to whisper some few comforting words.“Has Mr Rosebury been found?” she exclaimed, suddenly; and on being answered in the negative, as she had been fifty times before, she wrung her hands and sobbed wildly.“My fault—my cruel fault!” she cried, in a weak, high-pitched voice; “you will all curse me when I am dead.”“My child—my dear child,” sobbed Mrs Bolter; and then, unable to contain herself, she hurried from the room, and Grey strove to calm the excited girl. She had tended her constantly, telling herself that it was a duty; but the task had been a bitter one, for ever, in the hours of Helen’s delirium, she had listened to her wild words as she spoke constantly of him and his love, reproaching him for not coming to save her from Murad, and neglecting her when she was praying for him to come.Grey felt a pang at every word; and as Helen spoke in this way, she recalled the tender scenes she had witnessed, and the young officer’s infatuation with her beauty.And now on this particular day her trial seemed to be harder than ever, for suddenly Helen turned her weary head towards her, and clasping her hands with spasmodic energy, she whispered:“Grey, I have been cruel and hard to you, I know. I stood between you and your love—but you forgive me now?”“Oh, yes, yes, that is all past and gone!” cried Grey, excitedly.“Yes, yes, that is all past and gone, and now you will do this for me. I think I am going—I cannot live long like this—tell him, then, quickly—tell him I must see him—tell him that he must come.”Grey’s heart sank within her, and she rose slowly from her seat, and loosed the two thin hands she had held. It was like signing her own death-warrant to send this message, for if Captain Hilton did not know of her wanderings, and this, Helen’s last wish, he—who was, perhaps, forgetting more and more his love—would hardly dwell upon it again. To do this was to revive it, for she told herself that Hilton would be too generous not to respond.But Grey Stuart was a heroine—one of those women ready at any sacrifice of self to do a duty; and she turned to go just as Mrs Bolter entered the room.“What is it—what does she want?” whispered the little lady eagerly.“Helen wishes to see—” began Grey, in a choking voice.“Yes, yes, I must—I will see him, to humble myself before I die!” moaned Helen.“Will you—send at once,” panted Grey, with her hand pressed upon her side, for she could hardly speak the words—“send for Captain Hilton to come?”She forced the words from her lips, and then sank back in her chair with a blank feeling of misery upon her, to gather force to enable her to flee from a house where she told herself that she could no longer stay.It was but momentary this sensation, and then she uttered a sob, and the tears began silently to flow, for she heard Helen say, in a quick, harsh, peevish voice:“No, no, you mistake me! I want Mr Harley quick, or—too late!”
The circumstances were so grave, that directly after the return of the Resident’s boat with the prisoners and the captured naga, special communication was sent to the seat of the Straits Government, and pending a reply to the despatch, the Residency island was placed thoroughly in a state of defence.
The Europeans in Sindang held themselves in perfect readiness to flee to the island for safety at a moment’s notice; and every man went armed, and every lady went about as a walking magazine of cartridges, ready for the use of husband or friend.
They were troublous times, full of anxieties, without taking into consideration the cares of the sick in body and mind.
The prisoners were secured in the little fort on the island, where Murad preserved a sulky dignity, remaining perfectly silent; and whenever an attempt was made to question him about the chaplain, he either closed his eyes, stared scornfully at his questioners, or turned his back.
Rigid watch and ward was kept, the men’s pouches were filled with ball-cartridges, and every one fully expected an attack from the people of Sindang, to rescue their Sultan, and avenge the insult of his being placed in captivity.
Among other preparations, the doctor set Mrs Bolter to work to scrape linen for lint in case of the demand exceeding the official supply; but somehow the days glided on, and there was no need for it, not a shot being fired, not a kris or spear used. The people ashore looked gloomy and taciturn, but offered no violence.
On the contrary, they seemed disposed to make advances to the daring, conquering people, who had not scrupled to seize their chief and keep him confined—they, a mere handful of people amongst thousands.
The fact was, they were completely cowed, knowing, as they did, how easily help could be procured, and how formidable that help would be.
But the English at the station could not realise this. They only knew that they were dwelling upon a volcano which might at any time burst forth and involve them in destruction; the military portion feeling certain that sooner or later an attempt would be made to rescue the Rajah.
The days glided by, and the topics of conversation remained the same—another week had passed and there had been no attack.
How was Miss Perowne—had anyone seen her?
Was she never to be “Fair Helen” again?
Was it true that the Rajah had made a daring attempt to escape?
Had the Inche Maida sworn to rescue him, and was she coming down the river like a new Boadicea, with a hundred water war-chariots to sweep the British invader from the land?
Was Helen Perowne dying, and had Mr Perowne died in the night?
These are specimens of the questions that were asked, for the little community was in a perfect ferment. The loveliness of the weather, the brilliant days and delicious nights passed unnoticed, for everyone was intent on danger alone.
It was, then, a matter of intense relief to hear, time after time, that the manufactured dangers were merely the fictions of some of the most timid; and though the rumour was again and again repeated that the Inche Maida was coming, she did not come, but remained quiescent at her home, truth to say, though, with boats manned and armed, not for attack, but ready to take her and her chief people to a place of safety, should the English visit her with inimical intent. She had sinned against them, and could not know how chivalrously Chumbley had kept the matter secret and prevailed upon his friend.
Meanwhile, in the midst of these anxieties, when rumour ran riot through the place, and the more nervous shivered and started at every sound, and took no step without feeling that a kris was ready to strike, Helen—the main cause of all the station troubles—lay happily unconscious of what was passing.
For Doctor Bolter was right; the excitement had borne its seeds, and after her system had bravely battled with disease for a time, fighting it back during all the most trying of her adventures—no sooner was she in safety at the station, than it claimed its own, and she lay now at the doctor’s cottage sick unto death.
Never had sufferer more devoted attention than that which Helen received from her old schoolfellow and Mrs Bolter; while the doctor himself was in almost constant attendance, watching each change, and denying himself rest in his efforts to save the life that seemed to be trembling in the balance.
“This is a pleasant place to have brought you to, Mary,” he said, more than once. “It was a shame! but I never could foresee such troubles as this; and after all, I am not so very sorry.”
“Not sorry?” she replied.
“Well, of course, my dear, I am awfully sorry about the way in which Arthur is missing; but as to myself, one does get very selfish in middle-age.”
“Selfish? Is this a time to talk of being selfish?” said the little lady, reproachfully.
“Well, perhaps not,” the doctor replied; “but really I’m glad I’ve got you here, Mary, for I don’t know what I should have done without you. You’re a perfect treasure.”
Mrs Doctor looked pacified, and worked harder than ever.
“Here, I generally bring you bad news,” said old, Stuart, coming in one day to see his nurse, as he called Grey, who had become a permanent dweller at the cottage, “but I’ve got some good for you this time.”
“What is it?” said the doctor. “Have they found Rosebury?”
“No; but you need not be so nervous any more, for here is a gun-boat coming up the river.”
Boom!
“There it is announcing itself,” said old Stuart, with a chuckle. “That’s the sort of thing to keep the natives in awe, a great gun like that.”
The coming of the powerful war-steamer with reinforcements, and a tender in the shape of a swift despatch-boat, did act as a repressing power, and silenced for good any latent ideas of rising against the English; and in obedience to the despatch received by the Resident, Murad and a couple of his officers were at once placed on board under a strong guard; and, within an hour of the arrival of the steamer and the despatch-boat, he was on his way to Singapore to take his trial.
There was no attempt at resistance, the prisoners meeting their fate in a stolid, indifferent way, while after a short consultation at the Residency, the crew of the Sultan’s boat were brought out from the fort and questioned.
To a man they denied all knowledge of the whereabouts of the chaplain; and when offered their liberty on condition of his being found, they calmly accepted their position, and expressed their readiness to go back to prison.
Harley was the president of the little court; and at last he addressed them, and offered them their liberty on another condition.
“Murad will never return here,” he said, “and you are clear of all allegiance to him. I am empowered to offer you your freedom if you will all swear henceforth to serve the English Government.”
They all brightened up at once, and expressed themselves ready to obey.
“Then you are free,” said the Resident; “you can return to your homes.”
The men stared. They could not believe in such clemency; but no sooner had they realised the fact, than their stolid, sulky look was exchanged for one of extravagant joy, and their delight after having resigned themselves to death knew no bounds.
“Now,” exclaimed the Resident, “tell me at once—where is the chaplain?”
Only one man spoke:
“We do not know, my lord.”
“Is—is he dead?”
“Why should he be dead, my lord?” said the man. “Why should Murad kill him? No; he had reasons, and we know that he had him taken away with the lady—that is all.”
“But where did he imprison him?”
“Allah and our lord the Sultan only know,” said the man, impressively. “Murad was wise. When he made plans it was in his own mind, and he told them to none but the slaves who were to do his bidding. Let us free, and we may perhaps find the Christian priest. If we do, we will bring him back.”
There was nothing more to be done, and the station was relieved of the presence of a danger that seemed imminent so long as Murad was there.
The time glided on, and still there was no news of the chaplain. The Inche Maida’s home had been visited again and again, but she either did not know or would confess nothing, preserving a studied dignity, and seeming to be neither friend nor enemy now; while, this being the case, the chaplain’s absence began to be accepted as a necessity, and there were days when Mrs Barlow was the only one who mourned his loss.
“It’s mind—mind—mind,” said the doctor, as he came out of Helen’s room, over and over again; and the questioner he addressed was Neil Harley. “It’s mind, sir, mind; and until that is at rest, I see no chance of her recovery. Medicine? Bah! it’s throwing good drugs away.”
The constant attention went on, and as almost hourly the Resident or one of the officers came to inquire, there seemed to be times when Doctor Bolter did not know whether Helen or her father would be the first to pass away. He was constantly going to and fro; and after many days of suffering, when Sindang had pretty well sunk into its normal state of quietude, and Helen’s fever began to subside, it left her so weak that the doctor threw up his hands almost in despair.
“It lies with you two now, more than with me,” he said to Grey and Mrs Bolter; and with tears in their eyes, they were compelled to own their helplessness as well.
It was on one of the hottest and most breathless days of the tropic summer, that, with her eyes red, and weary with long watching, Grey Stuart sat in her old school-companion’s chamber, thinking of the changes that had taken place since that morning when Helen and she were summoned to the Miss Twettenhams’ room regarding the levity displayed, as the ladies called it, towards Helen’s first admirer.
Fair Helen then—now she looked more like a native woman than ever, with her piteous great eyes gazing wildly at her friend, as if asking her for help.
But that she had wept till the fount of her tears seemed dry, Grey could have thrown herself sobbing at Helen’s side; now she could only take her wasted hand and try to whisper some few comforting words.
“Has Mr Rosebury been found?” she exclaimed, suddenly; and on being answered in the negative, as she had been fifty times before, she wrung her hands and sobbed wildly.
“My fault—my cruel fault!” she cried, in a weak, high-pitched voice; “you will all curse me when I am dead.”
“My child—my dear child,” sobbed Mrs Bolter; and then, unable to contain herself, she hurried from the room, and Grey strove to calm the excited girl. She had tended her constantly, telling herself that it was a duty; but the task had been a bitter one, for ever, in the hours of Helen’s delirium, she had listened to her wild words as she spoke constantly of him and his love, reproaching him for not coming to save her from Murad, and neglecting her when she was praying for him to come.
Grey felt a pang at every word; and as Helen spoke in this way, she recalled the tender scenes she had witnessed, and the young officer’s infatuation with her beauty.
And now on this particular day her trial seemed to be harder than ever, for suddenly Helen turned her weary head towards her, and clasping her hands with spasmodic energy, she whispered:
“Grey, I have been cruel and hard to you, I know. I stood between you and your love—but you forgive me now?”
“Oh, yes, yes, that is all past and gone!” cried Grey, excitedly.
“Yes, yes, that is all past and gone, and now you will do this for me. I think I am going—I cannot live long like this—tell him, then, quickly—tell him I must see him—tell him that he must come.”
Grey’s heart sank within her, and she rose slowly from her seat, and loosed the two thin hands she had held. It was like signing her own death-warrant to send this message, for if Captain Hilton did not know of her wanderings, and this, Helen’s last wish, he—who was, perhaps, forgetting more and more his love—would hardly dwell upon it again. To do this was to revive it, for she told herself that Hilton would be too generous not to respond.
But Grey Stuart was a heroine—one of those women ready at any sacrifice of self to do a duty; and she turned to go just as Mrs Bolter entered the room.
“What is it—what does she want?” whispered the little lady eagerly.
“Helen wishes to see—” began Grey, in a choking voice.
“Yes, yes, I must—I will see him, to humble myself before I die!” moaned Helen.
“Will you—send at once,” panted Grey, with her hand pressed upon her side, for she could hardly speak the words—“send for Captain Hilton to come?”
She forced the words from her lips, and then sank back in her chair with a blank feeling of misery upon her, to gather force to enable her to flee from a house where she told herself that she could no longer stay.
It was but momentary this sensation, and then she uttered a sob, and the tears began silently to flow, for she heard Helen say, in a quick, harsh, peevish voice:
“No, no, you mistake me! I want Mr Harley quick, or—too late!”