Volume Two—Chapter Seventeen.Becoming Humbled.The secret of the peculiarly-scented water was explained: it was a stain, prepared for the purpose, and face, neck, hands, arms were no longer those of Helen Perowne—whose complexion was acknowledged even by her detractors to be perfect—for as she again gazed within the limits of that little badly-reflecting glass, it was to see that her countenance now was as swarthy as that of the darkest of the Malays by whom she was attended.It was a great shock; but there was a trouble even worse to come.The two Malay girls burst into fits of laughter as they saw her horror, their eyes glittering with malicious pleasure; and catching Helen’s arms in their hands, they laid them side by side with their own, to show her that they were as nearly as could be of about the same hue.Then they mockingly pointed to her face, and to their own, holding the glass before her again and again, while from the smattering she knew of the language, Helen made out that they were telling her how beautiful she looked now, and that she ought to be grateful for that which they had done.By degrees, though, the anguish she was suffering seemed to be realised, and to wake an echo in their coarser minds, and they began to soften towards her, speaking tenderly, and patting her hands and cheeks, and at last going so far as to kiss her, as they whispered what were evidently meant to be words of comfort.“You foolish thing,” cried the elder of the two; “what is there so dreadful in it all? He loves you, and you will be his chief wife. It is we who ought to weep, not you.”“Yes,” cried the other, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that only about one word in ten was comprehended by the prisoner; “we are jealous of you, for you take away his love from us. The Rajah has talked about you for a long time, saying how lovely you were, only that you were so fair.”“I hate you,” cried the first; “but I will not be cruel, for you are in trouble. You have been brought away from your father. I remember so well how I was ready to beat my head against the trees, and to drown myself in the river, when they brought me from my home. But Murad was very angry when I wept, and after a time I learned how to bear my sorrow, and I wept no more.”“I wept, too,” said the other, “for I loved a handsome young fisherman, and when they dragged me away from my home I fought, and bit, and tore people, and Murad said I was to be krissed and thrown into the river. Then I thought about the crocodiles, and I felt that it would be too dreadful, and I left off crying, and so will you. There, try and bear it, for it is of no avail to weep. Murad is prince, and what he will have he has.”Hardly one word in ten, but the recurrence of the name “Murad” and “love” were sufficient to make her suspicions certainties; and as she fully realised the extent of her trouble, she shuddered, and sat with her hands tightly clasped, gazing into vacancy, and asking herself what madness had been hers that she should have allowed her folly to bring her to so sad a pass.She was soon after left to herself, and leaving the matting divan upon which she had been seated, she paced the room, frantically trying door and windows in turn, but only to find all fast. Again and again she found her follies recurring to her mind, and she blamed herself bitterly for her coquetry, and the thoughtless love of admiration which had tempted her to attract the Rajah’s notice.So terribly agitating were her thoughts now, that in her excitement her hands shook, her legs trembled beneath her weight, and her busy imagination coursed on so swiftly that she saw herself the injured, helpless wife of the insulted Malay, the occupant of a zenana, and the slave of the man whom she had maddened by her weakness and folly.It was terrible; and so black did the future outlook become to her excited imagination, that the only gleam of hope through the darkness was represented by a shuddering belief that it would be better now to die.Carried off as she had been, unknown to any but the Rajah’s followers, and now hidden away in this place, that seemed to be far in the depths of the jungle, there seemed no chance of her whereabouts being discovered; while were it known to any European who should see her, upon what would he gaze but one who was in his eyes an ordinary Malay woman!This, then, was the goal to which her ambition had carried her. It was for this that she had laughed at the protestations of her many admirers, the humblest of whom she would gladly have accepted now sooner than become the wife, or rather slave, of this petty, half-savage Rajah.“Poor Hilton!” she thought sadly to herself, as she stood by the window, gazing out at the great green leaves of the jungle. Would he suffer much at her loss? or, feeling too indignant on account of her late treatment, be too angry to care?Then she began thinking of Chumbley, and wished that he, with his strong arm, were by her side to protect her in this hour of need; and it was a bitter humiliation to her to feel that this man, towards whom she had always felt a kind of good-humoured contempt, should be one to whom she was ready to cling in the time of adversity.Then the calm, pensive features of Arthur Rosebury seemed to rise before her like an upbraiding spectre, and she, for the first time, seemed to see her cruelty in trifling with the best feelings of a man who was gentle, tender, and true of heart as a woman; she knew now how she must have wounded him, and yet he had borne it all in a patient, uncomplaining way, bearing with her follies, displaying no jealousy, but condoning everything, and seeming only too happy if she paid him with a smile.There was something very nearly akin to pity and regret in her thoughts at this time; and like some punished child, there came to her mind weak, repentant vows of amendment and simple promises never to do so again.Lastly, the face of Neil Harley seemed to rise before her, not pitying or pleading like the rest, but with a quiet smile of triumph that made her think upon his words, and what is more, set her longing for him to be by her side to help and protect her.She passed her hands across her eyes angrily, and seemed to disclaim the wish, but directly after came the recollection of her state, and she uttered a weary cry of misery. She had despised him before—he would despise her now; and if he could see her as she had seen herself in that mirror, he would turn from her in disgust.She pondered again, as she grew calmer, upon his words to her, uttered as they had been in his quiet, bantering way—that he would wait his time till she was weary of trifling with others, when she would turn to him and gladly become his wife.Never until now had Helen felt how true these words might prove, for as she rested her burning forehead against the bamboo trellis of her window, asking the outer air to cool her fevered face—that face that he would never look upon again with the eyes of love—his calm, grave manner of dealing with others seemed so representative of power and readiness to help, that her heart went out to him as to her natural protector, and in a low, passionate voice, she murmured:“Neil—Neil—come to me before it is too late!”Then came once more as it were a wave of despair to sweep over her and overwhelm her in misery and despair.“It is too late—too late,” she moaned. “I might have been happy and at peace, but it is too late—too late.”As she stood there wringing her hands, she found herself thinking more and more of Neil Harley, and she saw now what she had been too indifferent to appreciate before; that beneath his calm, half-mocking mien there was a depth of affection that she now began to realise to its fullest extent.And yet he had borne with her follies patiently, merely laughing at acts that she knew now must have given him great pain, doubtless feeling that some day she would sorrow for what she had done, and seek by her affection to recompense him for all that had gone before.Her heart told her, now that she did turn to him—that she was feeling the strength of his love in the echo it met with in her own heart. She had not known that it was there—this love for him—but it surely was; and now her punishment was to be a terrible one—that of one torn by regret for the love that might have been hers, but which she had cast away.For it was too late now—too late, and those words seemed to be ever repeating themselves in her ears.She had never cared for either of those who had been her slaves in turn. Their attentions and service had been pleasant, and they had been in favour for the time; but she soon wearied of them, and but for the fact that Captain Hilton was cast in a firmer mould than either of the others, the days of his love-slavery would have been shorter far. Would he come and try to save her? her heart asked—would Neil Harley come?She asked this again and again, but each time, with crushing violence, the answer seemed to come that if they did, it would be too late—too late.It was wonderful how, in the few hours she was left alone, her thoughts seemed now to centre upon the Resident. She remembered her father, and thought of how he would be troubled at her absence; and she recalled Hilton, Chumbley, the Reverend Arthur Rosebury, but only as subsidiary portraits in her mental picture. Neil Harley’s was the principal figure, and his face seemed to smile now encouragement to her as she mentally appealed to him for help, looking to him as the one whose duty it was to afford her protection, and save her from the perils which hemmed her in.“It will he—it is—a bitter lesson to me,” she thought, as she grew more calm. “He will find out where I am—he will never rest until he does; and when he sees me will he cast me off? No,” she cried, hysterically; “he will have pity on me—have pity—for, oh, Heaven help me! I need it now sorely.”These thoughts brought calmness to the prisoner, and uttering a sigh of relief, she left the window, and threw herself wearily upon the soft mats spread for her use—neither chair nor table being in the apartment—and there she reclined, wondering how long a time would elapse before Neil Harley could come to her help; for minute by minute her belief strengthened that, well supported by her friends, he would soon be there.Helen’s increasing calmness gave her a return of appetite, and she gained strength for trials to come by partaking heartily of the food placed before her; and, as the evening advanced into night, she lay down and rested, giving her companions no trouble by fresh attempts to escape.The bright morning sunshine gave her fresh hope and a sense of cheerfulness which she assumed with beating heart was due to the fact that Neil Harley was drawing nearer, and in this elated spirit she partook of breakfast, the two Malay girls laughing merrily and pausing to place some sweet-scented flowers in her tresses. Then she had to submit while they made some alteration in the way in which they had bound up her hair, showing their teeth more than seemed necessary, and drawing her attention to the fact that they were not only dyed, but filed in a particular way.They were very attentive, bringing her flowers and fruit in large quantities. Then they brought brighter and gayer sarongs, asking her if she would change, telling her that her darkened face was becoming, pointing to her teeth at the same time, and tapping their own.She was puzzled for the time, but the explanation was not long in coming.In the course of the morning, while she sat listening to the babble of the two attendants, but with her ears strained to catch every external sound, she suddenly heard voices outside talking earnestly, and her heart gave a hopeful throb as she turned her head, her fond imagination suggesting, at once, the thought that the excitement outside was due to the knowledge of strangers being at hand.Helen’s hope died out like the flickering flame of an exhausted lamp, as the thick woven curtain hanging over the door was held aside, and a tall, muscular, repulsive-looking Malay woman entered with three others, whom, by their rich dresses, Helen supposed to be the Rajah’s wives.They looked at her once or twice, and then stood talking together in their own tongue. Then they left the room quickly, and returned to speak eagerly, glancing the while at where Helen sat watchfully scanning them, till the tall, repulsive woman, having apparently received her instructions, they all approached the soft matting couch.It was a strange experience for an English lady, and Helen’s heart beat fast as she asked herself what all this meant.“It is some native form of marriage-service,” she thought, to which she was about to be compelled to submit. She had heard of marriage by proxy, and this might be one; for in her state of alarm she was ready to accept any idea, preposterous though it might seem.“I will not submit!” she said to herself, and setting her teeth fast, she prepared to resist them as long as she had life. This she felt was the meaning of her being attired in the Malay fashion; and gazing from one to the other in an excited way, she drew herself up and awaited the attack, if attack there was to be.The tall Malay woman came up to her slowly, till she stood smiling beside the couch, while the others seemed to carelessly group themselves together, as if what was to occur was not of the slightest consequence; but Helen saw they were watching her with eager interest all the same.A fresh regret assailed the prisoner now, and that was her want of knowledge of the Malay tongue, as she sat wondering what was the meaning of the conversation that had taken place.The tall woman spoke to her then slowly, and trying to make her comprehend, but it was some moments before Helen understood her demand.“Let me look at your teeth.”Helen shrank back, but the woman’s hand was upon her lips, and she forced one aside, laying bare the pure white ivory, and then snatched her hand away with a contemptuous ejaculation full of disgust.“Bad! bad!” she cried in Malay; and then all laughed, as Helen rose up and drew away from them, her eyes flashing with indignation.“I will make them well,” said the woman, taking a little woven grass bag from her sarong, and drawing therefrom a small brass phial and a steel implement, whose use Helen did not then comprehend.The woman spoke to her then in an imperative tone, stepped forward, and, taking her arm, tried to force her into a sitting posture; but with a cry of anger Helen thrust her back and ran to the door, dragging aside the curtain, and trying to pass through.The effort was vain, and uttering some sharp angry commands, the woman advanced to her once more, speaking rapidly in her own tongue, and before Helen could avoid her rapid action, she found herself pinioned by the wrists.What followed was, as Helen afterwards recalled it, one frantic struggle against superior power. She remembered crying loudly for help, being held back upon the matting, and suffering intense pain, as her tormentors held her lips apart, some of them scolding virulently, others laughing and ridiculing her; and then a feeling of exhaustion came on, and nature could do no more than beneficently bring upon her complete ignorance of the indignity to which she, an English lady, was forced to submit, by steeping her senses in a profound swoon, leaving her at the mercy of Murad’s slaves.
The secret of the peculiarly-scented water was explained: it was a stain, prepared for the purpose, and face, neck, hands, arms were no longer those of Helen Perowne—whose complexion was acknowledged even by her detractors to be perfect—for as she again gazed within the limits of that little badly-reflecting glass, it was to see that her countenance now was as swarthy as that of the darkest of the Malays by whom she was attended.
It was a great shock; but there was a trouble even worse to come.
The two Malay girls burst into fits of laughter as they saw her horror, their eyes glittering with malicious pleasure; and catching Helen’s arms in their hands, they laid them side by side with their own, to show her that they were as nearly as could be of about the same hue.
Then they mockingly pointed to her face, and to their own, holding the glass before her again and again, while from the smattering she knew of the language, Helen made out that they were telling her how beautiful she looked now, and that she ought to be grateful for that which they had done.
By degrees, though, the anguish she was suffering seemed to be realised, and to wake an echo in their coarser minds, and they began to soften towards her, speaking tenderly, and patting her hands and cheeks, and at last going so far as to kiss her, as they whispered what were evidently meant to be words of comfort.
“You foolish thing,” cried the elder of the two; “what is there so dreadful in it all? He loves you, and you will be his chief wife. It is we who ought to weep, not you.”
“Yes,” cried the other, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that only about one word in ten was comprehended by the prisoner; “we are jealous of you, for you take away his love from us. The Rajah has talked about you for a long time, saying how lovely you were, only that you were so fair.”
“I hate you,” cried the first; “but I will not be cruel, for you are in trouble. You have been brought away from your father. I remember so well how I was ready to beat my head against the trees, and to drown myself in the river, when they brought me from my home. But Murad was very angry when I wept, and after a time I learned how to bear my sorrow, and I wept no more.”
“I wept, too,” said the other, “for I loved a handsome young fisherman, and when they dragged me away from my home I fought, and bit, and tore people, and Murad said I was to be krissed and thrown into the river. Then I thought about the crocodiles, and I felt that it would be too dreadful, and I left off crying, and so will you. There, try and bear it, for it is of no avail to weep. Murad is prince, and what he will have he has.”
Hardly one word in ten, but the recurrence of the name “Murad” and “love” were sufficient to make her suspicions certainties; and as she fully realised the extent of her trouble, she shuddered, and sat with her hands tightly clasped, gazing into vacancy, and asking herself what madness had been hers that she should have allowed her folly to bring her to so sad a pass.
She was soon after left to herself, and leaving the matting divan upon which she had been seated, she paced the room, frantically trying door and windows in turn, but only to find all fast. Again and again she found her follies recurring to her mind, and she blamed herself bitterly for her coquetry, and the thoughtless love of admiration which had tempted her to attract the Rajah’s notice.
So terribly agitating were her thoughts now, that in her excitement her hands shook, her legs trembled beneath her weight, and her busy imagination coursed on so swiftly that she saw herself the injured, helpless wife of the insulted Malay, the occupant of a zenana, and the slave of the man whom she had maddened by her weakness and folly.
It was terrible; and so black did the future outlook become to her excited imagination, that the only gleam of hope through the darkness was represented by a shuddering belief that it would be better now to die.
Carried off as she had been, unknown to any but the Rajah’s followers, and now hidden away in this place, that seemed to be far in the depths of the jungle, there seemed no chance of her whereabouts being discovered; while were it known to any European who should see her, upon what would he gaze but one who was in his eyes an ordinary Malay woman!
This, then, was the goal to which her ambition had carried her. It was for this that she had laughed at the protestations of her many admirers, the humblest of whom she would gladly have accepted now sooner than become the wife, or rather slave, of this petty, half-savage Rajah.
“Poor Hilton!” she thought sadly to herself, as she stood by the window, gazing out at the great green leaves of the jungle. Would he suffer much at her loss? or, feeling too indignant on account of her late treatment, be too angry to care?
Then she began thinking of Chumbley, and wished that he, with his strong arm, were by her side to protect her in this hour of need; and it was a bitter humiliation to her to feel that this man, towards whom she had always felt a kind of good-humoured contempt, should be one to whom she was ready to cling in the time of adversity.
Then the calm, pensive features of Arthur Rosebury seemed to rise before her like an upbraiding spectre, and she, for the first time, seemed to see her cruelty in trifling with the best feelings of a man who was gentle, tender, and true of heart as a woman; she knew now how she must have wounded him, and yet he had borne it all in a patient, uncomplaining way, bearing with her follies, displaying no jealousy, but condoning everything, and seeming only too happy if she paid him with a smile.
There was something very nearly akin to pity and regret in her thoughts at this time; and like some punished child, there came to her mind weak, repentant vows of amendment and simple promises never to do so again.
Lastly, the face of Neil Harley seemed to rise before her, not pitying or pleading like the rest, but with a quiet smile of triumph that made her think upon his words, and what is more, set her longing for him to be by her side to help and protect her.
She passed her hands across her eyes angrily, and seemed to disclaim the wish, but directly after came the recollection of her state, and she uttered a weary cry of misery. She had despised him before—he would despise her now; and if he could see her as she had seen herself in that mirror, he would turn from her in disgust.
She pondered again, as she grew calmer, upon his words to her, uttered as they had been in his quiet, bantering way—that he would wait his time till she was weary of trifling with others, when she would turn to him and gladly become his wife.
Never until now had Helen felt how true these words might prove, for as she rested her burning forehead against the bamboo trellis of her window, asking the outer air to cool her fevered face—that face that he would never look upon again with the eyes of love—his calm, grave manner of dealing with others seemed so representative of power and readiness to help, that her heart went out to him as to her natural protector, and in a low, passionate voice, she murmured:
“Neil—Neil—come to me before it is too late!”
Then came once more as it were a wave of despair to sweep over her and overwhelm her in misery and despair.
“It is too late—too late,” she moaned. “I might have been happy and at peace, but it is too late—too late.”
As she stood there wringing her hands, she found herself thinking more and more of Neil Harley, and she saw now what she had been too indifferent to appreciate before; that beneath his calm, half-mocking mien there was a depth of affection that she now began to realise to its fullest extent.
And yet he had borne with her follies patiently, merely laughing at acts that she knew now must have given him great pain, doubtless feeling that some day she would sorrow for what she had done, and seek by her affection to recompense him for all that had gone before.
Her heart told her, now that she did turn to him—that she was feeling the strength of his love in the echo it met with in her own heart. She had not known that it was there—this love for him—but it surely was; and now her punishment was to be a terrible one—that of one torn by regret for the love that might have been hers, but which she had cast away.
For it was too late now—too late, and those words seemed to be ever repeating themselves in her ears.
She had never cared for either of those who had been her slaves in turn. Their attentions and service had been pleasant, and they had been in favour for the time; but she soon wearied of them, and but for the fact that Captain Hilton was cast in a firmer mould than either of the others, the days of his love-slavery would have been shorter far. Would he come and try to save her? her heart asked—would Neil Harley come?
She asked this again and again, but each time, with crushing violence, the answer seemed to come that if they did, it would be too late—too late.
It was wonderful how, in the few hours she was left alone, her thoughts seemed now to centre upon the Resident. She remembered her father, and thought of how he would be troubled at her absence; and she recalled Hilton, Chumbley, the Reverend Arthur Rosebury, but only as subsidiary portraits in her mental picture. Neil Harley’s was the principal figure, and his face seemed to smile now encouragement to her as she mentally appealed to him for help, looking to him as the one whose duty it was to afford her protection, and save her from the perils which hemmed her in.
“It will he—it is—a bitter lesson to me,” she thought, as she grew more calm. “He will find out where I am—he will never rest until he does; and when he sees me will he cast me off? No,” she cried, hysterically; “he will have pity on me—have pity—for, oh, Heaven help me! I need it now sorely.”
These thoughts brought calmness to the prisoner, and uttering a sigh of relief, she left the window, and threw herself wearily upon the soft mats spread for her use—neither chair nor table being in the apartment—and there she reclined, wondering how long a time would elapse before Neil Harley could come to her help; for minute by minute her belief strengthened that, well supported by her friends, he would soon be there.
Helen’s increasing calmness gave her a return of appetite, and she gained strength for trials to come by partaking heartily of the food placed before her; and, as the evening advanced into night, she lay down and rested, giving her companions no trouble by fresh attempts to escape.
The bright morning sunshine gave her fresh hope and a sense of cheerfulness which she assumed with beating heart was due to the fact that Neil Harley was drawing nearer, and in this elated spirit she partook of breakfast, the two Malay girls laughing merrily and pausing to place some sweet-scented flowers in her tresses. Then she had to submit while they made some alteration in the way in which they had bound up her hair, showing their teeth more than seemed necessary, and drawing her attention to the fact that they were not only dyed, but filed in a particular way.
They were very attentive, bringing her flowers and fruit in large quantities. Then they brought brighter and gayer sarongs, asking her if she would change, telling her that her darkened face was becoming, pointing to her teeth at the same time, and tapping their own.
She was puzzled for the time, but the explanation was not long in coming.
In the course of the morning, while she sat listening to the babble of the two attendants, but with her ears strained to catch every external sound, she suddenly heard voices outside talking earnestly, and her heart gave a hopeful throb as she turned her head, her fond imagination suggesting, at once, the thought that the excitement outside was due to the knowledge of strangers being at hand.
Helen’s hope died out like the flickering flame of an exhausted lamp, as the thick woven curtain hanging over the door was held aside, and a tall, muscular, repulsive-looking Malay woman entered with three others, whom, by their rich dresses, Helen supposed to be the Rajah’s wives.
They looked at her once or twice, and then stood talking together in their own tongue. Then they left the room quickly, and returned to speak eagerly, glancing the while at where Helen sat watchfully scanning them, till the tall, repulsive woman, having apparently received her instructions, they all approached the soft matting couch.
It was a strange experience for an English lady, and Helen’s heart beat fast as she asked herself what all this meant.
“It is some native form of marriage-service,” she thought, to which she was about to be compelled to submit. She had heard of marriage by proxy, and this might be one; for in her state of alarm she was ready to accept any idea, preposterous though it might seem.
“I will not submit!” she said to herself, and setting her teeth fast, she prepared to resist them as long as she had life. This she felt was the meaning of her being attired in the Malay fashion; and gazing from one to the other in an excited way, she drew herself up and awaited the attack, if attack there was to be.
The tall Malay woman came up to her slowly, till she stood smiling beside the couch, while the others seemed to carelessly group themselves together, as if what was to occur was not of the slightest consequence; but Helen saw they were watching her with eager interest all the same.
A fresh regret assailed the prisoner now, and that was her want of knowledge of the Malay tongue, as she sat wondering what was the meaning of the conversation that had taken place.
The tall woman spoke to her then slowly, and trying to make her comprehend, but it was some moments before Helen understood her demand.
“Let me look at your teeth.”
Helen shrank back, but the woman’s hand was upon her lips, and she forced one aside, laying bare the pure white ivory, and then snatched her hand away with a contemptuous ejaculation full of disgust.
“Bad! bad!” she cried in Malay; and then all laughed, as Helen rose up and drew away from them, her eyes flashing with indignation.
“I will make them well,” said the woman, taking a little woven grass bag from her sarong, and drawing therefrom a small brass phial and a steel implement, whose use Helen did not then comprehend.
The woman spoke to her then in an imperative tone, stepped forward, and, taking her arm, tried to force her into a sitting posture; but with a cry of anger Helen thrust her back and ran to the door, dragging aside the curtain, and trying to pass through.
The effort was vain, and uttering some sharp angry commands, the woman advanced to her once more, speaking rapidly in her own tongue, and before Helen could avoid her rapid action, she found herself pinioned by the wrists.
What followed was, as Helen afterwards recalled it, one frantic struggle against superior power. She remembered crying loudly for help, being held back upon the matting, and suffering intense pain, as her tormentors held her lips apart, some of them scolding virulently, others laughing and ridiculing her; and then a feeling of exhaustion came on, and nature could do no more than beneficently bring upon her complete ignorance of the indignity to which she, an English lady, was forced to submit, by steeping her senses in a profound swoon, leaving her at the mercy of Murad’s slaves.
Volume Two—Chapter Eighteen.Doctor Bolter Makes Plans.“I don’t think I can do any good if I stay here,” said Doctor Bolter to himself. “I’ve done everything I could think of, and I am ready to own that it is very terrible; but a month has gone by now, and a doctor who is so used to facing death and seeing people die does not—cannot feel it as others do.“That is, of course, when a man—his brother-in-law—is dead; but I don’t even know that poor Arthur Rosebury is dead, and as we say, while there’s life there’s hope.“Humph! How stupid of me! I don’t know that there is life, so how can there be hope?”Doctor Bolter was on his way back home after a professional round amongst his patients. His eyes were fixed upon the ground, and every now and then, as he walked slowly on in the heat, he paused to examine some fly or ant that crossed his path, or settled upon the bamboo railings of a garden.“Good morning, doctor,” said a pleasant voice, that made him start from the contemplation of a spider to a far more agreeable sight—that of the face of Grey Stuart, who looked up at him in a weary, appealing way.“Ah, my little rosebud,” he said, smiling. “Tut! I had forgotten. Why Grey, my child, you don’t look well. Hah! this won’t do,” he continued, letting his fingers slip from her hand to her wrist. “Bit feverish, my dear. Grey, my child, you’re fretting about Helen Perowne.”“It is so terrible, this suspense, doctor,” she said, pleadingly.“Yes, my dear, it is very terrible; but keep that sunshade up; the sun is very powerful this morning.”Grey raised her creamy-white sunshade that she had allowed to hang by her side, and as the doctor finished counting the throbs of her pulse, he drew her hand through his arm, patted it into position and then walked slowly on by her side.“Nature says, my dear, that we must not fret and worry ourselves, because if we do we shall be ill.”“Oh, yes, doctor,” sighed Grey, with a pitiful look in her soft eyes, “but this passing away of day after day is dreadful. What are we to do?”“Wait, my dear, wait.”“Wait!” cried Grey, whose eyes flashed for a moment. “Oh, if I were a man, I think I would find some means of discovering what has become of our friends.”“Well, my little maiden, you are not a man, and are not likely to be,” said the doctor, smiling; “but no doubt your advice may be good, though your action might be weak. Now, then, tell me—what would you do if you were a man?”“I would send out parties to search,” cried Grey, indignantly. “Who knows where our poor friends may be!”“Ah, who knows, my dear inconsiderate little friend?” said the doctor, quietly. “Now, don’t you know that for nearly a month past Harley has had, not parties, but single men—natives—out in search of information about our friends?”“No,” said Grey, “I did not know that.”“No, you did not know that, my dear, but he has, and without the slightest success, although he has promised a heavy reward for any valuable information.”“It is very good of Mr Harley, and I beg his pardon,” sighed Grey.“And I take upon myself to say that the pardon is granted,” said the doctor. “And now, my dear, I suppose you think that this is not enough, but that we—I mean Harley—ought to send out soldiers?”“Yes, I have thought so,” said Grey, hesitatingly.“Hah! yes, I suppose so; but it has never occurred to you, my dear, I daresay, that in this jungle-covered country, where the rivers are the only roads, the passage of soldiers, with the stores they require, is a terribly difficult affair.”“I fear it would be,” said Grey; “but the case is so urgent, doctor.”“Terribly urgent, my dear; but like some of the urgent cases with which I have to deal, I have to do all I can, and then leave the rest to nature. Let us hope, my dear, that nature will work a cure for us here, and that one of these days they will all turn up again alive and well.”“Oh, doctor, do you think so?” cried Grey, who was ready to cling to the slightest straw of promise.“I don’t say that I think so,” he replied, “I say I hope so.”Grey sighed.“There, there, there, I forbid it,” said the doctor, with assumed anger. “We cannot have you fretting yourself ill, my dear, for we want your help. My little wife could not get on at all without you to cheer and comfort her; and I believe if it were not for you poor Perowne would go distraught. Then there’s your father, who looks upon you as the one object of his life; and lastly, there’s your doctor.”“You, dear Doctor Bolter,” said Grey, smiling in his face.“Yes; that is the person I mean, my dear. Do you want to disgrace him?”“Disgrace you, doctor?” said Grey, wonderingly.“Yes, by turning weak and delicate and ill after all I have done to keep you sound and well. No, Grey Stuart, my dear; there are some people in this busy world of ours who must never break down, never want rest, and never be ill in any shape; those people are doctors like me—and clever, useful little women like you. Depend upon it, my dear, if you were to turn poorly there would be a regular outcry upon the station, and everyone would be finding out your value.”“But they used to do without me, doctor,” said Grey, smiling.“Exactly, my dear; but now that they have become used to the luxury of your presence they will not do without it again. No, my dear; you must not turn ill. Ergo, as Shakspere’s clown says, you must not fret. Let’s hope, my dear, that all will come right yet.”“I will try and hope, doctor,” said Grey, quietly, “and I will not fret.”“That’s right, little woman. Depend upon it, two such dashing fellows as Chumbley and friend Hilton will not drop out of sight like stones thrown down a well. They’ll turn up again some day. Good-bye. Take care of my little wifie: she’s the only one I’ve got, you know,” he added, laughingly. “Going to see her now?”“Yes, doctor.”“When is she going to leave Perowne?”“He is not fit to leave at present,” said Grey, shaking her head.“Then I suppose we must stay,” said the doctor, parting from Grey with quite a parent’s solicitude; and then he stood watching her as she went beneath the shady trees.“That little lassie is fretting about one of those chaps,” said the doctor; “I’ll be bound she is. She wouldn’t turn pale and red, and grow thin and weak, because Helen Perowne has disappeared. I wonder whether it’s big Chumbley. Well, we shall see. Now about my projects.”He walked slowly homeward and entered the snug cottage-like place, which was the very pattern of primness, and day by day grew more like to the place where he had first set eyes upon his wife.“Seems precious dull without the little woman,” he muttered; “but I suppose I mustn’t grumble as she’s away to do good to others.”He thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down the room.“Dear, dear me,” he said, impatiently; “a man, especially a doctor, can’t go on bemoaning people for ever. Where would science be if he did? Of course I’m very sorry about poor old Arthur, though after all perhaps he’ll turn up all right, with his vasculum full of new orchids. Here’s time galloping away, weeks and months and years, and I never get a bit nearer to the solution of my problem. Here am I, as I may say, right upon the very spot, and yet I do nothing whatever to prove that this is the place to which King Solomon sent to find his gold, and apes, and peacocks.”Dr Bolter took off his sun-hat, and rubbed his bald head in a peculiarly vicious way, and then went on debating the question so as to work himself up to the carrying out of the project which he had in view.“Here’s the case,” he said. “My wife’s out; there’s nobody ill, for I’ve polished off all that needs doing this morning, so when could there be a better chance? I’ll go, that I will.”But there came up, as if to oppose him, the recollection of the morning after Mr Perowne’s party, and he was obliged to ask himself how could he go now?“I don’t care,” he cried, angrily. “I have done all I could, and thought of all I could, and I can do no more. Here’s my wife out nearly always now, so that she would not miss me, so I ought to go. I might discover that this is the real site of Solomon’s gold mines, and if so—Phew, what a paper to read at the Royal Geographical!“I’ll go! My mind’s made up. I’ll go, that I will,” he exclaimed; “and somehow I seem to fancy that this time I shall make my great discovery. Hah! yes; what a discovery! And that paper read before the Royal Society—a paper on the discovery of the Ancient Ophir, by Dr Bolter, F.R.S. Why, my name—our name I should say, for Mary’s sake—would be handed down to posterity.”Here the doctor gave his head another rub, as if to get rid of a tiresome fly.“I don’t know about posterity,” he muttered. “It wouldn’t matter to me, as I’ve no youngsters. Still it would be a fine discovery to make. But—”Here he had another vicious rub.“Suppose in the meantime Helen Perowne and the rest of the party come back!”
“I don’t think I can do any good if I stay here,” said Doctor Bolter to himself. “I’ve done everything I could think of, and I am ready to own that it is very terrible; but a month has gone by now, and a doctor who is so used to facing death and seeing people die does not—cannot feel it as others do.
“That is, of course, when a man—his brother-in-law—is dead; but I don’t even know that poor Arthur Rosebury is dead, and as we say, while there’s life there’s hope.
“Humph! How stupid of me! I don’t know that there is life, so how can there be hope?”
Doctor Bolter was on his way back home after a professional round amongst his patients. His eyes were fixed upon the ground, and every now and then, as he walked slowly on in the heat, he paused to examine some fly or ant that crossed his path, or settled upon the bamboo railings of a garden.
“Good morning, doctor,” said a pleasant voice, that made him start from the contemplation of a spider to a far more agreeable sight—that of the face of Grey Stuart, who looked up at him in a weary, appealing way.
“Ah, my little rosebud,” he said, smiling. “Tut! I had forgotten. Why Grey, my child, you don’t look well. Hah! this won’t do,” he continued, letting his fingers slip from her hand to her wrist. “Bit feverish, my dear. Grey, my child, you’re fretting about Helen Perowne.”
“It is so terrible, this suspense, doctor,” she said, pleadingly.
“Yes, my dear, it is very terrible; but keep that sunshade up; the sun is very powerful this morning.”
Grey raised her creamy-white sunshade that she had allowed to hang by her side, and as the doctor finished counting the throbs of her pulse, he drew her hand through his arm, patted it into position and then walked slowly on by her side.
“Nature says, my dear, that we must not fret and worry ourselves, because if we do we shall be ill.”
“Oh, yes, doctor,” sighed Grey, with a pitiful look in her soft eyes, “but this passing away of day after day is dreadful. What are we to do?”
“Wait, my dear, wait.”
“Wait!” cried Grey, whose eyes flashed for a moment. “Oh, if I were a man, I think I would find some means of discovering what has become of our friends.”
“Well, my little maiden, you are not a man, and are not likely to be,” said the doctor, smiling; “but no doubt your advice may be good, though your action might be weak. Now, then, tell me—what would you do if you were a man?”
“I would send out parties to search,” cried Grey, indignantly. “Who knows where our poor friends may be!”
“Ah, who knows, my dear inconsiderate little friend?” said the doctor, quietly. “Now, don’t you know that for nearly a month past Harley has had, not parties, but single men—natives—out in search of information about our friends?”
“No,” said Grey, “I did not know that.”
“No, you did not know that, my dear, but he has, and without the slightest success, although he has promised a heavy reward for any valuable information.”
“It is very good of Mr Harley, and I beg his pardon,” sighed Grey.
“And I take upon myself to say that the pardon is granted,” said the doctor. “And now, my dear, I suppose you think that this is not enough, but that we—I mean Harley—ought to send out soldiers?”
“Yes, I have thought so,” said Grey, hesitatingly.
“Hah! yes, I suppose so; but it has never occurred to you, my dear, I daresay, that in this jungle-covered country, where the rivers are the only roads, the passage of soldiers, with the stores they require, is a terribly difficult affair.”
“I fear it would be,” said Grey; “but the case is so urgent, doctor.”
“Terribly urgent, my dear; but like some of the urgent cases with which I have to deal, I have to do all I can, and then leave the rest to nature. Let us hope, my dear, that nature will work a cure for us here, and that one of these days they will all turn up again alive and well.”
“Oh, doctor, do you think so?” cried Grey, who was ready to cling to the slightest straw of promise.
“I don’t say that I think so,” he replied, “I say I hope so.”
Grey sighed.
“There, there, there, I forbid it,” said the doctor, with assumed anger. “We cannot have you fretting yourself ill, my dear, for we want your help. My little wife could not get on at all without you to cheer and comfort her; and I believe if it were not for you poor Perowne would go distraught. Then there’s your father, who looks upon you as the one object of his life; and lastly, there’s your doctor.”
“You, dear Doctor Bolter,” said Grey, smiling in his face.
“Yes; that is the person I mean, my dear. Do you want to disgrace him?”
“Disgrace you, doctor?” said Grey, wonderingly.
“Yes, by turning weak and delicate and ill after all I have done to keep you sound and well. No, Grey Stuart, my dear; there are some people in this busy world of ours who must never break down, never want rest, and never be ill in any shape; those people are doctors like me—and clever, useful little women like you. Depend upon it, my dear, if you were to turn poorly there would be a regular outcry upon the station, and everyone would be finding out your value.”
“But they used to do without me, doctor,” said Grey, smiling.
“Exactly, my dear; but now that they have become used to the luxury of your presence they will not do without it again. No, my dear; you must not turn ill. Ergo, as Shakspere’s clown says, you must not fret. Let’s hope, my dear, that all will come right yet.”
“I will try and hope, doctor,” said Grey, quietly, “and I will not fret.”
“That’s right, little woman. Depend upon it, two such dashing fellows as Chumbley and friend Hilton will not drop out of sight like stones thrown down a well. They’ll turn up again some day. Good-bye. Take care of my little wifie: she’s the only one I’ve got, you know,” he added, laughingly. “Going to see her now?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“When is she going to leave Perowne?”
“He is not fit to leave at present,” said Grey, shaking her head.
“Then I suppose we must stay,” said the doctor, parting from Grey with quite a parent’s solicitude; and then he stood watching her as she went beneath the shady trees.
“That little lassie is fretting about one of those chaps,” said the doctor; “I’ll be bound she is. She wouldn’t turn pale and red, and grow thin and weak, because Helen Perowne has disappeared. I wonder whether it’s big Chumbley. Well, we shall see. Now about my projects.”
He walked slowly homeward and entered the snug cottage-like place, which was the very pattern of primness, and day by day grew more like to the place where he had first set eyes upon his wife.
“Seems precious dull without the little woman,” he muttered; “but I suppose I mustn’t grumble as she’s away to do good to others.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down the room.
“Dear, dear me,” he said, impatiently; “a man, especially a doctor, can’t go on bemoaning people for ever. Where would science be if he did? Of course I’m very sorry about poor old Arthur, though after all perhaps he’ll turn up all right, with his vasculum full of new orchids. Here’s time galloping away, weeks and months and years, and I never get a bit nearer to the solution of my problem. Here am I, as I may say, right upon the very spot, and yet I do nothing whatever to prove that this is the place to which King Solomon sent to find his gold, and apes, and peacocks.”
Dr Bolter took off his sun-hat, and rubbed his bald head in a peculiarly vicious way, and then went on debating the question so as to work himself up to the carrying out of the project which he had in view.
“Here’s the case,” he said. “My wife’s out; there’s nobody ill, for I’ve polished off all that needs doing this morning, so when could there be a better chance? I’ll go, that I will.”
But there came up, as if to oppose him, the recollection of the morning after Mr Perowne’s party, and he was obliged to ask himself how could he go now?
“I don’t care,” he cried, angrily. “I have done all I could, and thought of all I could, and I can do no more. Here’s my wife out nearly always now, so that she would not miss me, so I ought to go. I might discover that this is the real site of Solomon’s gold mines, and if so—Phew, what a paper to read at the Royal Geographical!
“I’ll go! My mind’s made up. I’ll go, that I will,” he exclaimed; “and somehow I seem to fancy that this time I shall make my great discovery. Hah! yes; what a discovery! And that paper read before the Royal Society—a paper on the discovery of the Ancient Ophir, by Dr Bolter, F.R.S. Why, my name—our name I should say, for Mary’s sake—would be handed down to posterity.”
Here the doctor gave his head another rub, as if to get rid of a tiresome fly.
“I don’t know about posterity,” he muttered. “It wouldn’t matter to me, as I’ve no youngsters. Still it would be a fine discovery to make. But—”
Here he had another vicious rub.
“Suppose in the meantime Helen Perowne and the rest of the party come back!”
Volume Two—Chapter Nineteen.Dr Bolter Takes a Holiday.That question of the possibility of Helen Perowne coming back interfered a good deal with Doctor Bolter’s project—one which he had been longing to put in force for months and months—a project which his journey to England and his marriage had set aside, though it was never forgotten.“Suppose Helen comes back?” he asked himself often.“Well, I ought to be here,” he said; “but if she were to return in my absence she couldn’t help being pleased, for I might have discovered the gold mines. But ought I to tell Mary where I am going?”“No,” he said, decidedly; “she would object. She might agree to my going upon a collecting expedition; but she would say as she said before, that the Ophir question was a myth.”Somehow the more Dr Bolter tried to make up his mind to go, the more undecided he grew. He wanted to make an expedition into the interior very badly, but the hidden influence of that very decided little woman his wife was there still, making him feel guilty and like a child who tries to conceal some fault; and somehow, the more he tried to shake off the sensation, the worse he felt.—“There, it’s no use,” he cried at last, angrily. “No sooner does a man marry than farewell to independence. They say a man and his wife become one flesh, and really I think it’s a fact, for the man is completely absorbed and it’s all wife. The man becomes nobody at all.”The doctor went into his own room, half museum, half surgery, and in a listless, pettish way he began to pull out drawer after drawer of specimens, some of which required examination badly, for the ants were beginning an attack, and this necessitated the introduction of a pungent acid which these busy little insects did not like.“I might find gold in abundance,” said the doctor, as he busied himself over his specimens. “I might make such discoveries as would cause my name to be famous for ever, and here am I tied as it were by one unfortunate step to my wife’s apron. Hah! I was a great idiot to sacrifice my liberty.“Not I,” he added, sharply. “Not I. She is a bit of a tyrant with me, and she’s as jealous as Othello, but she is an uncommonly nice little woman, and bless her, she thinks I’m about the cleverest fellow under the sun.“Well, there’s not much to grumble at there,” he said, decidedly, as he smiled and settled his chin in his collar. “I don’t see that I need mind her being a bit jealous of me. It shows how fond she is, and she must be very proud of me if she thinks like that.”This idea gave the little doctor so much satisfaction that for the moment he determined to go up to Perowne’s and ask his wife for leave of absence for a few days.“N-no! It wouldn’t do,” he muttered, shaking his head dolefully. “She would not let me go. I shall have to make a bold dash for it if I do mean to have a run, and face the consequences afterwards.“Look here, you know,” he cried gazing round at his specimens; “it’s about pitiful, that’s what it is, and I might just as well give up collecting altogether. Such an invitation from the Inche Maida as I had, to make her place my home, and start from there upon my investigations, only that stupid jealous idea on the part of my wife stopped it! Bah! It is intolerable.”He thrust in a drawer in a most vicious manner; but Doctor Bolter’s annoyance with his wife came and went like an April shower. On re-opening the drawer he proceeded to arrange the specimens that his petulant fit had disturbed.“I shall have to give it up,” he said, sadly. “So I may as well make the best of it, and—Hooray!”Doctor Bolter slapped one of his legs vigorously, as if he were killing a fly, and a sunshiny look of pleasure spread all over his face.“To be sure! The very idea! I’ll carry it out too—just a little—so as to be quite square with her; and who knows but what I might pick up some news of them after all. Why didn’t I think of this before?“Let me see,” he continued, thoughtfully, “how shall I manage it? What shall I do? I know. I’ll run right up the river—ten miles or so beyond the Inche Maida’s—and then strike into one of the supplementary streams, and make straight for the mountains.“That will be capital!” he cried, rubbing his hands. “Who knows but what I may hit upon some one or other of the old gold-workings; find ancient implements—proofs perhaps that Solomon’s ships sailed up this very river. The idea is grand, sir, and I’ll be off at once!”The idea was so “grand, sir,” that in that hot climate it put the little doctor in a profuse perspiration, and he walked up and down the room, handkerchief in hand, dabbing his face and head.“Yes,” he cried eagerly, “I may find out something about Helen Perowne and our other friends. I’ve got a good excuse for going now, and go I will!”He stood thinking for a few minutes; and then, adjusting his puggree so as to give plenty of shelter to the back of his head, he walked down to the river-side, and one of the Malay boatmen paddled him in his sampan across to the Residency island, where he stepped out and walked up to Mr Harley’s official room, to find that gentleman looking older and more careworn than was his wont.“Well, doctor, what news?” he said, anxiously. “Anything wrong?”“No; nothing fresh.”“No fever or cholera to add to one’s trouble, eh?”“Nothing at all,” was the reply. “No, sir, I can present you with a clean bill of health.”“Then why have you come? Not for nothing, doctor,” said the Resident sharply.“Here, I say,” cried the little doctor, “don’t be so horribly inhospitable when a man comes to see you?”“Inhospitable? Nonsense! You have not come across here to find hospitality. Now, doctor, speak out. What is it? Do you know anything?”“Plainly, no. But the fact is,” said the visitor, clearing his throat, “I am not busy now; Mrs Bolter is a good deal away from home, so I thought this would be a favourable opportunity for taking a boat and a man or two, and going up the river to explore a few of the side streams so as to try and find Helen Perowne.”“Rubbish!” said the Resident, sharply.“Eh?” ejaculated the doctor, who was taken aback by the Resident’s quick, unceremonious way of speaking.“I said Rubbish, Bolter, and I now say Humbug, man! Do you think I do not know better than that?”“My dear Harley!” exclaimed the little doctor, indignantly.“Look here, Bolter, you want an excuse for one of your gold hunts—your Ophir explorations. Why don’t you go, then, without all this childish excuse? You are your own master.”The doctor was so taken aback by his friend’s onslaught that he shook his head vigorously.“Well, suppose we say Now that Mrs Bolter is away?” said the Resident, smiling.“Hadn’t we better drop that line of argument?” said the doctor, uneasily. “Really, Harley, you know, it’s too bad—’pon my honour it is. It isn’t gentlemanly!”“My dear Bolter,” began the Resident.“There are private matters!” cried the doctor, fuming, “upon which no man ought to touch, and my domestic relations are of that kind!”“I should not have spoken,” said the Resident, “only you—a man who can do as he likes about going out collecting—came to me with such a weak piece of sham by way of excuse for your actions, Doctor, I blush for you!”“Well, come, I will be honest with you; I am going out collecting and exploring.”“Of course you are. I knew.”“Stop a moment,” exclaimed the doctor, “let me finish. I should not go, only the idea occurred to me that I might perhaps get upon the track of that poor girl! If I do, I shall follow it to the end.”The Resident said something in a hasty, indistinct tone, and the doctor stared at him, quite startled by his manner.“Why, Harley!” he exclaimed, “one would think that you were hard touched in that direction!”“Touched!” cried the Resident, recovering his equanimity, and putting on his official mask. “Why man, of what stuff do you suppose I am made? Am I not answerable to Government as well as to my own conscience for the welfare of all who are here; and do you suppose that I can bear this terrible visitation, even after this length of time, with equanimity?”“No, no, of course not—of course not,” cried the doctor, hastily.“Well, there, go, and good speed to you. I sincerely hope that you may discover something. Would you like Sergeant Harris with you?”“No, no, certainly not! I believe in going quietly and almost alone. Look here, Harley, you would trust me entirely if you were unwell. Now suppose you do the same over this matter.”The Resident nodded.“Now, to tap this subject once again—repetition though it may seem—tell me, after due thought, what is your opinion now? Do you still suspect Murad?”“I cannot say,” replied the Resident. “I did suspect him, but he has been so earnest in his offers of help, and his men have joined so thoroughly with ours in searching the river and scouring the jungle-paths, that there are times when I cannot believe him guilty.”“Have you heard any more from your fresh allies?”“Nothing,” replied the Resident. “They confess themselves at fault; while Murad has been here this morning to tell me that he was put upon a new scent yesterday, but that it turned out to be a false one. This man puzzles me, clever as I thought myself, for I have not found out yet whether or no he has been throwing dust in my eyes. Probably I never shall.”“I am afraid he is deep,” said the doctor, thoughtfully.“Very deep or very shallow,” said the Resident. “Some day, perhaps, we shall know. You are going up the river, then? When do you start?”“As soon as I have had a little chat upon the subject with you know. I will not be very long away, Harley, and you will take care of my people like the rest—I mean have an eye on home.”“Go, and good luck go with you,” said the Resident warmly. “Trust me, Bolter, I will do my best.”“You don’t think, then, I ought to stay?”“No; we have done all we can. Who knows but what you may hit upon some clue in your wanderings.”“Ah! who knows!” said the doctor. “More wonderful things have happened, eh?”“Chance sometimes solves problems that hard work has not mastered, Bolter,” said the Resident, smiling. “There, good-bye!”“Good-bye,” said the doctor, shaking hands heartily; and leaving Neil Harley’s room, he began to wipe his face.“I’m afraid I’ve been acting like a terrible humbug,” he muttered, “for I have not the remotest hope of finding Helen Perowne. I wish I were not such a moral coward over such things as this. Poor old Harley! he’s terribly cut up about matters, and I must seem strangely unfeeling. What a girl that was!“Tut—tut—tut!” he exclaimed. “Why do I speak of her as gone? What a girl she is! Well, so far so good. Harley makes no objection to my going away. Now let us see what the general will say.”Doctor Bolter felt that he had his most terrible task to perform in getting leave of his wife, and he returned home with a peculiar sensation of dread.“It is very strange,” he said; “but I am getting nervous I think. I never feel it at any other time but when I am going to make some proposal to Mrs Bolter.”To his great discomposure he found the lady within. This might have been looked upon as an advantage but he was not, he said, quite prepared; and he sat listening to her accounts of Mr Perowne’s state, and Grey Stuart’s kindly help. She suddenly turned upon him:“Henry,” she exclaimed, “You were not thinking, of what I said.”“I—I beg your pardon, my dear,” he replied. “Of what were you thinking, then?” The doctor hesitated a moment, and then he felt that the time had come for speaking.“I was thinking, my dear, that no better opportunity is likely to offer for one of my expeditions.”Mrs Bolter looked at him rather wistfully for a few moments, and then said, with a sigh: “Perhaps not, Henry. You had better go.”“Do you mean it, Mary?” he said, eagerly. “If you think the station can be left in safety, perhaps you had better go,” she said, quietly. “I will have Grey Stuart to stay with me. I will not stand in your way, Henry, if you wish to leave.”“It almost seems too bad,” he said, “but I should really like to go for a day or two, Mary. Harley says he can spare me, and no better chance is likely to come than now.”“Then by all means go,” said Mrs Doctor, “only pray take care, and remember, Henry,” she whispered affectionately, “I am alone now.”Vowing that those last words would make him come home far more quickly than he had intended, the doctor prepared the few necessaries he always took upon such occasions, and was about to start, when there was a fresh impediment in the person of Mrs Barlow, who came in, looking the picture of woe, and ready to shake hands effusively, and to kiss Mrs Bolter against her will.“Going out, doctor?” she said.“Yes, ma’am, for some days.”“But you will come to my house first? there is an injured man there. He came and begged me to fetch you to him, for he could not come himself.”“A Malay?”“Yes; a native. And he begged so hard that I was compelled to come.”“Just as I was going out, too,” muttered the doctor, pettishly; but he never refused a call to duty, and hurrying out, he left the widow with his wife, while he went down to the well-appointed little house sleeping in the sunshine close to the river.As he drew near he saw, at a little distance, a scuffle going on amongst a party of Malays, one of whom seemed for a moment to be struggling against five or six others; but no outcry was made, and deeming it to be some rough play upon the part of the fishermen, he paid little heed to what followed, merely noting that the men hustled their companion into a boat and paddled away.The next minute he was at Mrs Barlow’s house, where a swarthy-looking Malay presented himself and told his symptoms, which were of so simple a character that the doctor was able to prescribe, and then hurry back to send the medicine required.This last was received by the sick man from the doctor’s messenger; and no sooner was he gone than it was observable that the invalid rose from the mat upon which he had lain. He laughingly stole off to the river-side, where he entered a sampan, and paddled away after his companions, one of whom had left him to personate the only messenger who had been able to reach the station, though only then to fail in eluding the keenness of those who watched every house, and who kept their eyes upon the doctor, when half an hour later, totally regardless of the heat of the sun, he embarked in a boat and was paddled up the river by a couple of men, the companions of former excursions, old friends, whom he knew he could trust.There were several boats lying lazily upon the water, with sleepy-looking Malays in each, and as the doctor’s swift little vessel pushed off, eyes that had looked sleepy before opened widely and watched his departure.“Shall we follow?” said one man, in a low voice.“No; he goes to shoot birds. Let him be.”The sun poured down his rays like silver flames through the leaves of the cocoa-palms; and while the doctor’s boat grew smaller and smaller till it turned a bend in the stream, the occupants of the sampans lying so idly about the landing-stage exchanged glances from time to time, but seemed asleep whenever the owner of a white face drew near.
That question of the possibility of Helen Perowne coming back interfered a good deal with Doctor Bolter’s project—one which he had been longing to put in force for months and months—a project which his journey to England and his marriage had set aside, though it was never forgotten.
“Suppose Helen comes back?” he asked himself often.
“Well, I ought to be here,” he said; “but if she were to return in my absence she couldn’t help being pleased, for I might have discovered the gold mines. But ought I to tell Mary where I am going?”
“No,” he said, decidedly; “she would object. She might agree to my going upon a collecting expedition; but she would say as she said before, that the Ophir question was a myth.”
Somehow the more Dr Bolter tried to make up his mind to go, the more undecided he grew. He wanted to make an expedition into the interior very badly, but the hidden influence of that very decided little woman his wife was there still, making him feel guilty and like a child who tries to conceal some fault; and somehow, the more he tried to shake off the sensation, the worse he felt.—“There, it’s no use,” he cried at last, angrily. “No sooner does a man marry than farewell to independence. They say a man and his wife become one flesh, and really I think it’s a fact, for the man is completely absorbed and it’s all wife. The man becomes nobody at all.”
The doctor went into his own room, half museum, half surgery, and in a listless, pettish way he began to pull out drawer after drawer of specimens, some of which required examination badly, for the ants were beginning an attack, and this necessitated the introduction of a pungent acid which these busy little insects did not like.
“I might find gold in abundance,” said the doctor, as he busied himself over his specimens. “I might make such discoveries as would cause my name to be famous for ever, and here am I tied as it were by one unfortunate step to my wife’s apron. Hah! I was a great idiot to sacrifice my liberty.
“Not I,” he added, sharply. “Not I. She is a bit of a tyrant with me, and she’s as jealous as Othello, but she is an uncommonly nice little woman, and bless her, she thinks I’m about the cleverest fellow under the sun.
“Well, there’s not much to grumble at there,” he said, decidedly, as he smiled and settled his chin in his collar. “I don’t see that I need mind her being a bit jealous of me. It shows how fond she is, and she must be very proud of me if she thinks like that.”
This idea gave the little doctor so much satisfaction that for the moment he determined to go up to Perowne’s and ask his wife for leave of absence for a few days.
“N-no! It wouldn’t do,” he muttered, shaking his head dolefully. “She would not let me go. I shall have to make a bold dash for it if I do mean to have a run, and face the consequences afterwards.
“Look here, you know,” he cried gazing round at his specimens; “it’s about pitiful, that’s what it is, and I might just as well give up collecting altogether. Such an invitation from the Inche Maida as I had, to make her place my home, and start from there upon my investigations, only that stupid jealous idea on the part of my wife stopped it! Bah! It is intolerable.”
He thrust in a drawer in a most vicious manner; but Doctor Bolter’s annoyance with his wife came and went like an April shower. On re-opening the drawer he proceeded to arrange the specimens that his petulant fit had disturbed.
“I shall have to give it up,” he said, sadly. “So I may as well make the best of it, and—Hooray!”
Doctor Bolter slapped one of his legs vigorously, as if he were killing a fly, and a sunshiny look of pleasure spread all over his face.
“To be sure! The very idea! I’ll carry it out too—just a little—so as to be quite square with her; and who knows but what I might pick up some news of them after all. Why didn’t I think of this before?
“Let me see,” he continued, thoughtfully, “how shall I manage it? What shall I do? I know. I’ll run right up the river—ten miles or so beyond the Inche Maida’s—and then strike into one of the supplementary streams, and make straight for the mountains.
“That will be capital!” he cried, rubbing his hands. “Who knows but what I may hit upon some one or other of the old gold-workings; find ancient implements—proofs perhaps that Solomon’s ships sailed up this very river. The idea is grand, sir, and I’ll be off at once!”
The idea was so “grand, sir,” that in that hot climate it put the little doctor in a profuse perspiration, and he walked up and down the room, handkerchief in hand, dabbing his face and head.
“Yes,” he cried eagerly, “I may find out something about Helen Perowne and our other friends. I’ve got a good excuse for going now, and go I will!”
He stood thinking for a few minutes; and then, adjusting his puggree so as to give plenty of shelter to the back of his head, he walked down to the river-side, and one of the Malay boatmen paddled him in his sampan across to the Residency island, where he stepped out and walked up to Mr Harley’s official room, to find that gentleman looking older and more careworn than was his wont.
“Well, doctor, what news?” he said, anxiously. “Anything wrong?”
“No; nothing fresh.”
“No fever or cholera to add to one’s trouble, eh?”
“Nothing at all,” was the reply. “No, sir, I can present you with a clean bill of health.”
“Then why have you come? Not for nothing, doctor,” said the Resident sharply.
“Here, I say,” cried the little doctor, “don’t be so horribly inhospitable when a man comes to see you?”
“Inhospitable? Nonsense! You have not come across here to find hospitality. Now, doctor, speak out. What is it? Do you know anything?”
“Plainly, no. But the fact is,” said the visitor, clearing his throat, “I am not busy now; Mrs Bolter is a good deal away from home, so I thought this would be a favourable opportunity for taking a boat and a man or two, and going up the river to explore a few of the side streams so as to try and find Helen Perowne.”
“Rubbish!” said the Resident, sharply.
“Eh?” ejaculated the doctor, who was taken aback by the Resident’s quick, unceremonious way of speaking.
“I said Rubbish, Bolter, and I now say Humbug, man! Do you think I do not know better than that?”
“My dear Harley!” exclaimed the little doctor, indignantly.
“Look here, Bolter, you want an excuse for one of your gold hunts—your Ophir explorations. Why don’t you go, then, without all this childish excuse? You are your own master.”
The doctor was so taken aback by his friend’s onslaught that he shook his head vigorously.
“Well, suppose we say Now that Mrs Bolter is away?” said the Resident, smiling.
“Hadn’t we better drop that line of argument?” said the doctor, uneasily. “Really, Harley, you know, it’s too bad—’pon my honour it is. It isn’t gentlemanly!”
“My dear Bolter,” began the Resident.
“There are private matters!” cried the doctor, fuming, “upon which no man ought to touch, and my domestic relations are of that kind!”
“I should not have spoken,” said the Resident, “only you—a man who can do as he likes about going out collecting—came to me with such a weak piece of sham by way of excuse for your actions, Doctor, I blush for you!”
“Well, come, I will be honest with you; I am going out collecting and exploring.”
“Of course you are. I knew.”
“Stop a moment,” exclaimed the doctor, “let me finish. I should not go, only the idea occurred to me that I might perhaps get upon the track of that poor girl! If I do, I shall follow it to the end.”
The Resident said something in a hasty, indistinct tone, and the doctor stared at him, quite startled by his manner.
“Why, Harley!” he exclaimed, “one would think that you were hard touched in that direction!”
“Touched!” cried the Resident, recovering his equanimity, and putting on his official mask. “Why man, of what stuff do you suppose I am made? Am I not answerable to Government as well as to my own conscience for the welfare of all who are here; and do you suppose that I can bear this terrible visitation, even after this length of time, with equanimity?”
“No, no, of course not—of course not,” cried the doctor, hastily.
“Well, there, go, and good speed to you. I sincerely hope that you may discover something. Would you like Sergeant Harris with you?”
“No, no, certainly not! I believe in going quietly and almost alone. Look here, Harley, you would trust me entirely if you were unwell. Now suppose you do the same over this matter.”
The Resident nodded.
“Now, to tap this subject once again—repetition though it may seem—tell me, after due thought, what is your opinion now? Do you still suspect Murad?”
“I cannot say,” replied the Resident. “I did suspect him, but he has been so earnest in his offers of help, and his men have joined so thoroughly with ours in searching the river and scouring the jungle-paths, that there are times when I cannot believe him guilty.”
“Have you heard any more from your fresh allies?”
“Nothing,” replied the Resident. “They confess themselves at fault; while Murad has been here this morning to tell me that he was put upon a new scent yesterday, but that it turned out to be a false one. This man puzzles me, clever as I thought myself, for I have not found out yet whether or no he has been throwing dust in my eyes. Probably I never shall.”
“I am afraid he is deep,” said the doctor, thoughtfully.
“Very deep or very shallow,” said the Resident. “Some day, perhaps, we shall know. You are going up the river, then? When do you start?”
“As soon as I have had a little chat upon the subject with you know. I will not be very long away, Harley, and you will take care of my people like the rest—I mean have an eye on home.”
“Go, and good luck go with you,” said the Resident warmly. “Trust me, Bolter, I will do my best.”
“You don’t think, then, I ought to stay?”
“No; we have done all we can. Who knows but what you may hit upon some clue in your wanderings.”
“Ah! who knows!” said the doctor. “More wonderful things have happened, eh?”
“Chance sometimes solves problems that hard work has not mastered, Bolter,” said the Resident, smiling. “There, good-bye!”
“Good-bye,” said the doctor, shaking hands heartily; and leaving Neil Harley’s room, he began to wipe his face.
“I’m afraid I’ve been acting like a terrible humbug,” he muttered, “for I have not the remotest hope of finding Helen Perowne. I wish I were not such a moral coward over such things as this. Poor old Harley! he’s terribly cut up about matters, and I must seem strangely unfeeling. What a girl that was!
“Tut—tut—tut!” he exclaimed. “Why do I speak of her as gone? What a girl she is! Well, so far so good. Harley makes no objection to my going away. Now let us see what the general will say.”
Doctor Bolter felt that he had his most terrible task to perform in getting leave of his wife, and he returned home with a peculiar sensation of dread.
“It is very strange,” he said; “but I am getting nervous I think. I never feel it at any other time but when I am going to make some proposal to Mrs Bolter.”
To his great discomposure he found the lady within. This might have been looked upon as an advantage but he was not, he said, quite prepared; and he sat listening to her accounts of Mr Perowne’s state, and Grey Stuart’s kindly help. She suddenly turned upon him:
“Henry,” she exclaimed, “You were not thinking, of what I said.”
“I—I beg your pardon, my dear,” he replied. “Of what were you thinking, then?” The doctor hesitated a moment, and then he felt that the time had come for speaking.
“I was thinking, my dear, that no better opportunity is likely to offer for one of my expeditions.”
Mrs Bolter looked at him rather wistfully for a few moments, and then said, with a sigh: “Perhaps not, Henry. You had better go.”
“Do you mean it, Mary?” he said, eagerly. “If you think the station can be left in safety, perhaps you had better go,” she said, quietly. “I will have Grey Stuart to stay with me. I will not stand in your way, Henry, if you wish to leave.”
“It almost seems too bad,” he said, “but I should really like to go for a day or two, Mary. Harley says he can spare me, and no better chance is likely to come than now.”
“Then by all means go,” said Mrs Doctor, “only pray take care, and remember, Henry,” she whispered affectionately, “I am alone now.”
Vowing that those last words would make him come home far more quickly than he had intended, the doctor prepared the few necessaries he always took upon such occasions, and was about to start, when there was a fresh impediment in the person of Mrs Barlow, who came in, looking the picture of woe, and ready to shake hands effusively, and to kiss Mrs Bolter against her will.
“Going out, doctor?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, for some days.”
“But you will come to my house first? there is an injured man there. He came and begged me to fetch you to him, for he could not come himself.”
“A Malay?”
“Yes; a native. And he begged so hard that I was compelled to come.”
“Just as I was going out, too,” muttered the doctor, pettishly; but he never refused a call to duty, and hurrying out, he left the widow with his wife, while he went down to the well-appointed little house sleeping in the sunshine close to the river.
As he drew near he saw, at a little distance, a scuffle going on amongst a party of Malays, one of whom seemed for a moment to be struggling against five or six others; but no outcry was made, and deeming it to be some rough play upon the part of the fishermen, he paid little heed to what followed, merely noting that the men hustled their companion into a boat and paddled away.
The next minute he was at Mrs Barlow’s house, where a swarthy-looking Malay presented himself and told his symptoms, which were of so simple a character that the doctor was able to prescribe, and then hurry back to send the medicine required.
This last was received by the sick man from the doctor’s messenger; and no sooner was he gone than it was observable that the invalid rose from the mat upon which he had lain. He laughingly stole off to the river-side, where he entered a sampan, and paddled away after his companions, one of whom had left him to personate the only messenger who had been able to reach the station, though only then to fail in eluding the keenness of those who watched every house, and who kept their eyes upon the doctor, when half an hour later, totally regardless of the heat of the sun, he embarked in a boat and was paddled up the river by a couple of men, the companions of former excursions, old friends, whom he knew he could trust.
There were several boats lying lazily upon the water, with sleepy-looking Malays in each, and as the doctor’s swift little vessel pushed off, eyes that had looked sleepy before opened widely and watched his departure.
“Shall we follow?” said one man, in a low voice.
“No; he goes to shoot birds. Let him be.”
The sun poured down his rays like silver flames through the leaves of the cocoa-palms; and while the doctor’s boat grew smaller and smaller till it turned a bend in the stream, the occupants of the sampans lying so idly about the landing-stage exchanged glances from time to time, but seemed asleep whenever the owner of a white face drew near.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty.Murad’s Slave.It was with a feeling that something dreadful had happened that Helen opened her eyes and stared wildly about her. How long she had been insensible she could not tell, but her impression was that very few minutes had elapsed since she was struggling with her assailants.She had been roughly used she knew, for her arms felt wrenched and bruised, her head throbbed painfully, there was an acute smarting about her lips, and a peculiar acrid, pungent, bitter taste in her mouth, while when she placed her hand to her lips she withdrew it stained with blood.She shuddered and looked round at the Malay women, some of whom were standing, some squatted about on the bamboo floor, watching her with a gratified smile in their faces, and one and all evidently without the slightest sympathy for her state.“What—what have you done?” she panted, with anger now taking the place of fear. “You shall be punished—bitterly punished for this!”For answer there was a merry laugh, and the women chatted to each other; but one of the girls who had been Helen’s attendant rose and left the room, to return in a few minutes with a large braes basin of clear cold water and a cotton cloth.Helen tried hard to check her sobs, and gladly availed herself of the opportunity to bathe her eyes, finding as she did so that one of her lips smarted and bled quite profusely; there was a wretched sensation too about the lower part of her face, and her teeth ached violently.“They shall be bitterly punished for this!” she cried, furiously. “What have they done?”Then, like a flash, as she saw the girl who held the basin smile mockingly, she knew what had taken place, and with a piteous cry she placed her hands to her mouth, to find that her surmise was correct; the second girl laughing heartily, and fetching the hand-glass to hold upon a level with the prisoner’s face.The cold wet dew gathered upon Helen’s brow as she gazed at the strange countenance before her. It was not that which she knew so well, and upon whose handsome features she had been wont to gaze with half-closed eyes and with a smile of satisfaction at its beauty; for there before her was the face of a noble-looking Malay woman, between whose swollen lips she could see the filed and blackened teeth considered so great a perfection to her toilet; and with a piteous cry Helen covered her eyes with her hands, shrank back upon her couch, and sobbed forth:“What would he think of me now?” Humbled as she was by the treatment she had received, and agitated by her position, Helen Perowne had enough of the old nature left to suffer terribly upon every question relating to her personal appearance. It was a dreadful shock to find that she had been completely transformed, as it were, into a woman of the country—one of those upon whom she had been accustomed to look with such disdain; but the shock was surpassed by the sensation of misery to find that her self-worshipped beauty was gone, as it were, for ever. Her greatest enemy could not have inflicted upon her a more cruel pang; and one constantly-recurring question kept repeating itself:“What would he say to me now?”—he; and it was not of Captain Hilton, her father, or any of her rejected lovers that she thought, but always of the Resident. What would Neil Harley think of her if he could see her distorted features? He could not recognise her, of that she felt sure, and in her agony of mind a complete change took place in her feelings. But an hour ago she had watched window and door, listened to every sound, however slight, and interpreted it to mean the coming of help—of Neil Harley and her father to fetch her away. But how could she wish for them to come now? Why should she be taken away? Instead of Helen Perowne, the beauty of the station, they would find, and would not recognise, a swarthy native woman, whose aspect would repel them, and they would be ready to doubt her word should she assert who she was.She was ready to pray now that no help might come—even that she might die.The women stole softly away, whispering to each other that she would soon come round; and as the suffering girl crouched there in her abasement her anguish did not grow less poignant, and she found herself, in spite of the repugnance she felt at the idea of being seen, somehow looking once more to Neil Harley for help. She recalled how she had laughed at his pretensions, even to treating them with indignity, and turning upon him a resentful stare; how, too, tried to pique him by laughing and flirting directly with some favoured lover. But what had followed? He had only smilingly told her that he was in nowise jealous, and that she would come to him with open arms at last.She recalled, as she sat thinking there, how she had turned from him with a haughty feeling of annoyance; while now that she was so cruelly abased he seemed to be her only hope, the one to whose strong arm she was forced to look for aid; and with a bitter wail of misery, as she thought of him once more, in spite of her efforts to drive away the fancy, she kept on asking herself those ever-recurring questions, what would he think of her—what would he say?“I am too cruelly punished,” she moaned to herself, and for the next hour or so she was completely prostrated both in body and mind. For her position was one that must have daunted the stoutest-hearted woman. She could not hope that, now she had been so degraded, if seen, any Englishman would recognise her and so give notice of her whereabouts; while the insolent Rajah might arrive at any moment to triumph over the downfall of the proud beauty of the station.But somehow, in spite of her peril, her thoughts wandered from the Rajah, and kept centring themselves upon that question of what Neil Harley would think and say, if ever he should look again upon her terribly-disfigured face.By degrees her sobs grew less painful, and she lay back with her face still hidden in her hands, thinking of the harsh file that had been used to her beautiful teeth, and the powerful stain that had been applied, and wondering why she had not foreseen, after the dyeing of her face, that a further attempt would be made to liken her to the native women. She realised, too, now how strong was the Malay nature in cunning, for their proceedings would more effectually secure her from being found than concealment in the deepest recesses of the jungle. In fact, though she kept her eyes closed, ever staring, as it were, straight out of the darkness, was the swarthy distorted countenance she had seen in the glass, with its filed and blackened teeth; and as this was burned into her brain, she felt that so long as speech was denied her she might be kept even in the native town close to her friends, none of whom would recognise in her the Helen Perowne they sought.She knew that it was a cunningly-devised and clever plan for destroying her identity, and by it she felt, as she shuddered, she had become as it were one of the Rajah’s slaves—one of the wretched, hopeless women branded as his like so many cattle, and in her anguish the hot blinding tears gathered once more as she realised the degradation of her position, and her spirits sank lower and lower as she once more lay back and wept.At length, after how long a time she could not tell, she was aroused by one of her Malay attendants who seemed to be somewhat moved by her distress. This, the gentler of the two, brought a little vessel of perfumed water, and bending over the sobbing prisoner, she gently removed her hands, and after a little resistance succeeded in bathing her burning eyes and stinging lips, talking to her soothingly the while in Malay, a good portion of which Helen, whose senses were sharpened by her position, contrived to understand.“Why do you cry, dear?” said the girl tenderly. “I ought not to like you, but you are so handsome, and in such trouble, that I feel sorry. But why do you cry? You cannot tell how you are improved. You were dreadful before with your English look—your sickly pale face, your white teeth and poor thin lips. Now you are lovely and our people would worship you with your soft brown skin and shining dark teeth. The filing has made your poor thin lips grow large and fresh as they should be. Look; they are nearly as big and full as mine. He will love you more and more now, and though I laughed when I saw you first, and thought you a poor weak white thing, now I begin to feel afraid and jealous and to hate you for coming here.”As Helen caught the meaning of these words, fully realising what was meant, and heard her companion speak of someone who would be gratified by her changed appearance, a shiver of dread ran through her, and she lay back staring wildly at the speaker.“Jealousy—hate me,” thought Helen. “Yes; she talked of hating me.”A ray of hope shot through the darkness here.“She cannot like to have me here, and she would be glad to see me gone. What am I,” she cried, mentally, “to crouch here in this pitiful way, weeping and bewailing my misfortunes, asking myself what those who love me will think and say? Have I been such a wretched handsome doll all my life, that now I am cast upon myself for protection my actions are those of a child?”A change was coming over Helen Perowne, forced by the terrible position in which she was placed, and roused now in spirit, she thought more and more deeply of all this, till it seemed to her that the Malay girl had struck the keynote of her future action, and that after feeling her way cautiously she had but to appeal to this attendant for her aid, and she would win her goodwill in an attempt to escape.The day wore on, and in spite of herself the weariness produced by exhaustion brought on a sensation of drowsiness that Helen could not overcome. One minute she had determined that she would not yield to sleep, the next she was starting with a cry of fear from a deep slumber which had surprised her almost as she thought.The Malay girl smiled, laid her cool hand upon her forehead, and kissed her very tenderly—so tenderly that, with a sob, proud disdainful Helen Perowne caught the brown hand in hers, and laid it upon her throbbing breast.Again the drowsy sensation began to master her, and she started up with a face distorted, fleeing as she believed from some terrible danger. The girl spoke a few soothing words, and gazed so kindly in the prisoner’s eyes, that Helen sank back once more, yielding to the powerful influence that came upon her, and almost the next moment she was sleeping deeply, quite exhausted by what she had suffered.The Malay girl bent over her for a few minutes, and then softly withdrew her hand from between Helen’s, to follow her companion to the window, where she was sitting droning over some native ditty about meeting her love beneath the moonbeams among the waving rice, and then they sat chatting and laughing together in a low tone. Now they discussed Helen’s features, then her want of courage, and lastly, in a dull indifferent way, they began to wonder whether their lord would be satisfied with what they had done, and when he was likely to come.
It was with a feeling that something dreadful had happened that Helen opened her eyes and stared wildly about her. How long she had been insensible she could not tell, but her impression was that very few minutes had elapsed since she was struggling with her assailants.
She had been roughly used she knew, for her arms felt wrenched and bruised, her head throbbed painfully, there was an acute smarting about her lips, and a peculiar acrid, pungent, bitter taste in her mouth, while when she placed her hand to her lips she withdrew it stained with blood.
She shuddered and looked round at the Malay women, some of whom were standing, some squatted about on the bamboo floor, watching her with a gratified smile in their faces, and one and all evidently without the slightest sympathy for her state.
“What—what have you done?” she panted, with anger now taking the place of fear. “You shall be punished—bitterly punished for this!”
For answer there was a merry laugh, and the women chatted to each other; but one of the girls who had been Helen’s attendant rose and left the room, to return in a few minutes with a large braes basin of clear cold water and a cotton cloth.
Helen tried hard to check her sobs, and gladly availed herself of the opportunity to bathe her eyes, finding as she did so that one of her lips smarted and bled quite profusely; there was a wretched sensation too about the lower part of her face, and her teeth ached violently.
“They shall be bitterly punished for this!” she cried, furiously. “What have they done?”
Then, like a flash, as she saw the girl who held the basin smile mockingly, she knew what had taken place, and with a piteous cry she placed her hands to her mouth, to find that her surmise was correct; the second girl laughing heartily, and fetching the hand-glass to hold upon a level with the prisoner’s face.
The cold wet dew gathered upon Helen’s brow as she gazed at the strange countenance before her. It was not that which she knew so well, and upon whose handsome features she had been wont to gaze with half-closed eyes and with a smile of satisfaction at its beauty; for there before her was the face of a noble-looking Malay woman, between whose swollen lips she could see the filed and blackened teeth considered so great a perfection to her toilet; and with a piteous cry Helen covered her eyes with her hands, shrank back upon her couch, and sobbed forth:
“What would he think of me now?” Humbled as she was by the treatment she had received, and agitated by her position, Helen Perowne had enough of the old nature left to suffer terribly upon every question relating to her personal appearance. It was a dreadful shock to find that she had been completely transformed, as it were, into a woman of the country—one of those upon whom she had been accustomed to look with such disdain; but the shock was surpassed by the sensation of misery to find that her self-worshipped beauty was gone, as it were, for ever. Her greatest enemy could not have inflicted upon her a more cruel pang; and one constantly-recurring question kept repeating itself:
“What would he say to me now?”—he; and it was not of Captain Hilton, her father, or any of her rejected lovers that she thought, but always of the Resident. What would Neil Harley think of her if he could see her distorted features? He could not recognise her, of that she felt sure, and in her agony of mind a complete change took place in her feelings. But an hour ago she had watched window and door, listened to every sound, however slight, and interpreted it to mean the coming of help—of Neil Harley and her father to fetch her away. But how could she wish for them to come now? Why should she be taken away? Instead of Helen Perowne, the beauty of the station, they would find, and would not recognise, a swarthy native woman, whose aspect would repel them, and they would be ready to doubt her word should she assert who she was.
She was ready to pray now that no help might come—even that she might die.
The women stole softly away, whispering to each other that she would soon come round; and as the suffering girl crouched there in her abasement her anguish did not grow less poignant, and she found herself, in spite of the repugnance she felt at the idea of being seen, somehow looking once more to Neil Harley for help. She recalled how she had laughed at his pretensions, even to treating them with indignity, and turning upon him a resentful stare; how, too, tried to pique him by laughing and flirting directly with some favoured lover. But what had followed? He had only smilingly told her that he was in nowise jealous, and that she would come to him with open arms at last.
She recalled, as she sat thinking there, how she had turned from him with a haughty feeling of annoyance; while now that she was so cruelly abased he seemed to be her only hope, the one to whose strong arm she was forced to look for aid; and with a bitter wail of misery, as she thought of him once more, in spite of her efforts to drive away the fancy, she kept on asking herself those ever-recurring questions, what would he think of her—what would he say?
“I am too cruelly punished,” she moaned to herself, and for the next hour or so she was completely prostrated both in body and mind. For her position was one that must have daunted the stoutest-hearted woman. She could not hope that, now she had been so degraded, if seen, any Englishman would recognise her and so give notice of her whereabouts; while the insolent Rajah might arrive at any moment to triumph over the downfall of the proud beauty of the station.
But somehow, in spite of her peril, her thoughts wandered from the Rajah, and kept centring themselves upon that question of what Neil Harley would think and say, if ever he should look again upon her terribly-disfigured face.
By degrees her sobs grew less painful, and she lay back with her face still hidden in her hands, thinking of the harsh file that had been used to her beautiful teeth, and the powerful stain that had been applied, and wondering why she had not foreseen, after the dyeing of her face, that a further attempt would be made to liken her to the native women. She realised, too, now how strong was the Malay nature in cunning, for their proceedings would more effectually secure her from being found than concealment in the deepest recesses of the jungle. In fact, though she kept her eyes closed, ever staring, as it were, straight out of the darkness, was the swarthy distorted countenance she had seen in the glass, with its filed and blackened teeth; and as this was burned into her brain, she felt that so long as speech was denied her she might be kept even in the native town close to her friends, none of whom would recognise in her the Helen Perowne they sought.
She knew that it was a cunningly-devised and clever plan for destroying her identity, and by it she felt, as she shuddered, she had become as it were one of the Rajah’s slaves—one of the wretched, hopeless women branded as his like so many cattle, and in her anguish the hot blinding tears gathered once more as she realised the degradation of her position, and her spirits sank lower and lower as she once more lay back and wept.
At length, after how long a time she could not tell, she was aroused by one of her Malay attendants who seemed to be somewhat moved by her distress. This, the gentler of the two, brought a little vessel of perfumed water, and bending over the sobbing prisoner, she gently removed her hands, and after a little resistance succeeded in bathing her burning eyes and stinging lips, talking to her soothingly the while in Malay, a good portion of which Helen, whose senses were sharpened by her position, contrived to understand.
“Why do you cry, dear?” said the girl tenderly. “I ought not to like you, but you are so handsome, and in such trouble, that I feel sorry. But why do you cry? You cannot tell how you are improved. You were dreadful before with your English look—your sickly pale face, your white teeth and poor thin lips. Now you are lovely and our people would worship you with your soft brown skin and shining dark teeth. The filing has made your poor thin lips grow large and fresh as they should be. Look; they are nearly as big and full as mine. He will love you more and more now, and though I laughed when I saw you first, and thought you a poor weak white thing, now I begin to feel afraid and jealous and to hate you for coming here.”
As Helen caught the meaning of these words, fully realising what was meant, and heard her companion speak of someone who would be gratified by her changed appearance, a shiver of dread ran through her, and she lay back staring wildly at the speaker.
“Jealousy—hate me,” thought Helen. “Yes; she talked of hating me.”
A ray of hope shot through the darkness here.
“She cannot like to have me here, and she would be glad to see me gone. What am I,” she cried, mentally, “to crouch here in this pitiful way, weeping and bewailing my misfortunes, asking myself what those who love me will think and say? Have I been such a wretched handsome doll all my life, that now I am cast upon myself for protection my actions are those of a child?”
A change was coming over Helen Perowne, forced by the terrible position in which she was placed, and roused now in spirit, she thought more and more deeply of all this, till it seemed to her that the Malay girl had struck the keynote of her future action, and that after feeling her way cautiously she had but to appeal to this attendant for her aid, and she would win her goodwill in an attempt to escape.
The day wore on, and in spite of herself the weariness produced by exhaustion brought on a sensation of drowsiness that Helen could not overcome. One minute she had determined that she would not yield to sleep, the next she was starting with a cry of fear from a deep slumber which had surprised her almost as she thought.
The Malay girl smiled, laid her cool hand upon her forehead, and kissed her very tenderly—so tenderly that, with a sob, proud disdainful Helen Perowne caught the brown hand in hers, and laid it upon her throbbing breast.
Again the drowsy sensation began to master her, and she started up with a face distorted, fleeing as she believed from some terrible danger. The girl spoke a few soothing words, and gazed so kindly in the prisoner’s eyes, that Helen sank back once more, yielding to the powerful influence that came upon her, and almost the next moment she was sleeping deeply, quite exhausted by what she had suffered.
The Malay girl bent over her for a few minutes, and then softly withdrew her hand from between Helen’s, to follow her companion to the window, where she was sitting droning over some native ditty about meeting her love beneath the moonbeams among the waving rice, and then they sat chatting and laughing together in a low tone. Now they discussed Helen’s features, then her want of courage, and lastly, in a dull indifferent way, they began to wonder whether their lord would be satisfied with what they had done, and when he was likely to come.