Volume Two—Chapter Two.

Volume Two—Chapter Two.Missing.The hum of a mosquito was about the only sound to be heard in the Residency house, as, clad in silken pyjamas, Mr Harley lay sleeping easily upon his light bamboo bedstead, dimly seen through the thin gauzy curtains by the light of a well-subdued lamp.The bedroom was furnished in the lightest and coolest way, with matting floor and sides, while jalousie shutters admitted the cool night air.The Resident had been smoking, partly in obedience to a bad bachelor habit, partly to keep at bay that Macbeth of insects that haunts all eastern rooms, and tries so diligently to murder the sleep of the inoffensive and just.The faint pungent odour of a good cigar still pervaded the room, and the extinct end was yet between Neil Harley’s white teeth, as he lay there dreaming about Helen Perowne, seeing her admired and followed by all the single men at the station, while he was the only one who made no sign.He sighed in his sleep, and then uttered a low moan, as if in spite of his placid face and show of indifference he suffered deeply on Helen’s account; but a calm smile, well resembling indifference, rested upon his features, and seemed to say that, come what might, he was patiently waiting his time.Then came a change, for the calmness seemed to be swept away by a gust of passion, and the strong man’s hands clenched, his brow grew rugged, and as if suffering from some acute agony, the white teeth of the sleeper closed tightly with a sharp click, and a portion of the bitten-through cigar rolled from his lips on to the floor.Then all was very still. The heat seemed to grow more intense, and the faint ripple of the river, as it glided by the island, could be distinctly heard. Now and then from the distant jungle some wild, uneasy cry rose upon the still air, riding as it were across the river like a warning to tell the slumbering Europeans that the savagery of the primeval forest lay close beside their civilisation; while the wakeful might have pondered on the fact that their safety rested solely upon the Britishprestige, and that a spark might ignite a train that would result in a terrible conflagration sufficient to sweep them all away.Some such thoughts crossed the sleeping brain of Neil Harley that night, and his sleep grew more and more troubled as he thought how love-blinded he had been, and the risks they had run from Helen’s treatment of the young Rajah.The trouble had passed away now, but such another affair might result in ruin to them all; and yet he had allowed her to go on and trifle, looking on with assumed indifference, though his heart was stung the while.Neil Harley’s sleep again grew restful and calm; for in a pleasant dream he fancied that Helen, more beautiful than ever, had bidden him to her side, telling him that all her weak and wilful coquetry was but to try him. That she had loved him from the first, for he was the only man who had really touched her heart; and that, though she had fought against the restraint he had placed upon her, and told herself that she hated him and the way in which he had mocked at her trifling, she was his—his alone—that she resigned herself to his keeping—his keeping—that of the only man who could ever sway her heart.The night grew hotter still, and the faint breath that was wafted between the open laths that covered the window seemed to have passed from the mouth of some furnace. A harsh roar came from the jungle, and then a loud plash or two echoed over the surface of the stream, as some great reptile plunged in from the muddy bank.Then all was very still once more for a time, till suddenly the faint plash-plash of oars was heard, seeming now to be coming nearer, now to be fading away, drowned by the shrill insect hum. Again it sounded nearer, and all doubt of its proceeding from a boat bound for the Residency island was ended by the loud challenge of the sentry at the landing-place.Then came voices in reply, and once more the hum of the mosquitoes was all that could be heard: now low and deep, now shrill and angry.The faint lapping of the river and the plash of oars had died away, and the silence and heat were painful enough to draw a low sigh from the sleeper, just as the bedroom door was softly opened, and a dark figure glided in, crept over the matting floor without making a sound, and bent over the bed.For the moment it seemed as though he was there upon some errand of ill; and one who watched would have been ready to raise an alarm, the insecurity of the station life being sufficient to warrant such a supposition; but the idea of the dark figure being bent on an evil errand was at once destroyed, for after waiting for a moment, he cried, softly:“Master—master!”The Resident started lip with the sudden awakening of a man accustomed to suspect peril at every turn, and his hand darted beneath his pillow even as he raised himself, to be withdrawn grasping the butt of a loaded revolver.“Ah, you Ling,” he said, with a sigh of relief, as he lowered his hand. “What is it? Someone ill?”“Mr Perowne has come across in his boat, sir.”“Mr Perowne? at this time! what does he want?”“To see you, sir.”“Tell him I’ll be there directly.” The Chinese servant glided away as silently as he had come, and the Resident hastily dashed some water in his face to clear away the sleepy feeling.“I hope nothing serious!” he muttered. “Has Helen been taken ill?”A pang shot through him at the thought, and the reckless behaviour of the night, that had stung him again and again during the course of the evening, was forgiven.“Poor child!” he muttered. “I believe she loves me, and bird-like, is fluttering and timorously striving to escape from the string that holds her.” He glanced at his watch as it hung upon a stand. “Two o’clock. I have not been in bed above an hour. What can be wrong?”The next minute he was in the dining-room, where he found Mr Perowne agitatedly walking up and down; but as soon as the Resident entered he advanced and caught him fiercely by the arm. “Harley, do you know anything of this?” he cried.“Of this? Of what?”“Helen! Where is she?”“Helen? In bed and asleep I hope. What do you mean?”“I missed her somewhere about eleven. I have not seen her since.”The Resident looked curiously at Mr Perowne, whose flushed face and excited manner seemed to suggest that he had been playing the host too freely during the evening, and to his own deterioration in balance.“Tired, and gone to bed. A bit peevish with weariness,” suggested the Resident, who drove back a curious sense of uneasiness that troubled him.“No,” said Mr Perowne, hoarsely; “she has not gone to bed, and the house and the gardens have been searched again and again. Do you know anything of this?”“I? Absurd! I left in good time. I bade her good-night when she was talking to the chaplain; he was trying to persuade her to let him cover her shoulders with the shawl he carried.”The Resident ceased speaking to dwell for a moment upon the luminous look he had seen Helen bestow upon the chaplain—a look meant, he told himself, to annoy him, while he knew that it would give poor Rosebury food for sweet reflection during weeks to come.“It is very strange,” said Mr Perowne excitedly; and his haggard gaze was directed about the place, as if he half expected to find that Helen was there. “Where did you see her last, do you say?”“Talking to Rosebury, and before then she was with Hilton. I fancy they were having words. Well, perhaps I ought hardly to say that; but Hilton was certainly remonstrating angrily.”“When was that?”“Half-past ten or eleven; I cannot say for certain.”“Let us go and see Hilton,” said Mr Perowne; “but stay. Am I to believe you, Harley?”“As you please, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, with dignity. “Why should you doubt my word?”“I do not doubt it!” cried Mr Perowne, catching his hand. “Pity me, Harley. I seem cold and strange; but I love that girl, and she is gone.”He gasped painfully as he spoke, but smiled sadly directly after as the Resident warmly grasped his hand.“One minute,” said the Resident; and hastily adding something to his clothing, he joined his visitor again, and the two sallied forth into the still, hot night, to make their way to the little fort, which was stronghold and barracks in one.Here they were challenged by another sentry, for, peaceful times as they were, the military arrangements were always kept upon the sternest war footing.“We want to see Captain Hilton,” said Mr Harley, in his quick, commanding way.“Captain’s ashore, sir. He went to Mr Perowne’s party.”“Yes, yes,” said that gentleman; “we know: but he has come back.”“No, sir; not while I’ve been on guard—three hours, sir.”“Call the sergeant,” said Mr Harley, sharply.He needed no calling, for, hearing voices, he had come out to see who came so late.“Where is Captain Hilton?”“I thought he was stopping to sleep at Mr Perowne’s, sir,” said the sergeant, saluting. “Hasn’t been back. Beg pardon, sir; didn’t see it was Mr Perowne.”“But he left my house hours ago,” said that gentleman.“Gone to stay at Dr Bolter’s, perhaps, sir,” suggested the sergeant.“Are you sure he did not return while your back was turned?” said Mr Harley.“Quite sure, sir. Still, he might, sir; it’s no use to be too sure. Like to go to his quarters, sir?”“Yes, we’ll go in,” said the Resident, quickly; and following the sergeant, after exchanging glances, the two gentlemen entered Hilton’s room.The bed had not been pressed, and everything was in order, just as the regimental servant had placed it after his master had dressed to attend the eveningfête.“Mr Chumbley hasn’t come back neither,” said the sergeant.“Not come back!” said the Resident, wondering. “This is strange. I don’t know, though. They have gone to smoke a cigar with someone, and then decided to stay all night.”Mr Perowne shook his head, and the Resident felt that his explanation was not good, and both were silent as they walked back towards the entrance of the fort.“What does this mean?” said Mr Perowne, at last.“Can’t say yet,” replied the Resident, sharply. “Sergeant, have a look round, and make sure that Captain Hilton and Mr Chumbley have not come back.”“Yes, sir, I’ll look round,” said the sergeant; “but they couldn’t have landed without the sentries knowing.”“Go and see,” said the Resident, sternly; and the sergeant saluted and walked away.“They must be staying somewhere,” said the Resident, who suffered from the desire to keep back the question that so agitated his breast. “Depend upon it, they have gone to the doctor’s to smoke a cigar.”He felt as he spoke that this was impossible; for he was sure that the hours kept at the doctor’s were too regular for such a relapse.“And my daughter?” said Mr Perowne, in a cold, stern voice.“I’ll have the men out to search if it is necessary,” said the Resident, eagerly; “but before we proceed to such an extreme measure, had we not better make more inquiries? Yours is a large house and grounds. She may be back by now.”Neil Harley felt a strange choking sensation as he spoke, and he knew that his words were weak; but he clung to the hope that there was some mistake, and that Helen was by now safely at home.“She may,” said Mr Perowne, bitterly. “But it seems to me that there is some trick here. I gave you the credit of it at first.”“Am I a man so wanting in respect for Helen that I should insult her and you?”“I—I can’t help it, Harley!” groaned the father. “There seems to be no end to my troubles!”The Resident looked at him sharply, for that evening he had seemed all life and gaiety.“Yes, you may look!” groaned the unhappy man; “but everything goes wrong with me. There is, I am sure, some planned affair here; and I believe that Hilton is at the bottom of it.”“Do not be so ready to condemn, Perowne,” said the Resident, quickly. “I feel sure that Hilton would be guilty of no rash, foolish escapade like this. It is absurd! Good heavens, man! do you think that Helen would degrade herself by eloping? I will not believe it!”“I wish I could feel you were right,” groaned the unhappy father.“Why Chumbley is away too. It is like saying that he is implicated.”“He is Hilton’s chosen companion,” said Mr Perowne, sadly.“Tut, man; we shall have to look farther afield than that.”“Then why are they not here to speak for themselves?” cried Mr Perowne, in a querulous, excited way. “Hilton has been constantly hanging about my place a great deal more than Helen liked, and she showed it to-night by completely turning her back upon him.”“But surely you do not think that Hilton—” began the Resident.“I do not think anything,” said Mr Perowne, angrily. “But here is the fact before us: my daughter is missing, and Captain Hilton has not returned to his quarters.”“Neither has Chumbley,” said the Resident, uneasily.“Neither has Chumbley,” assented Mr Perowne.“A man who, beneath his languid indifference, is the soul of honour,” said the Resident; and he led the way to the boat by which Mr Perowne had come across.The men were lying in the bottom asleep; but they roused up directly as the two gentlemen entered and were rowed to the landing-stage at the foot of Mr Perowne’s garden, where the swift stream was lapping the stones placed to keep it from washing the lawn away.As they were rowed across Neil Harley found himself looking thoughtfully down into the water time after time, and a curious shuddering sensation came upon him, one which he strove hard to cast off.He could not, he would not believe it possible, he told himself; but in spite of his efforts, and the mastery he generally had over self, the thought would come.They found the servants ready with the answer that nothing had been seen of their young mistress, though they had continued searching ever since their master had gone away.“Shall we look round ourselves?” said Mr Perowne.“No, if you say the house has been searched.”“I have been in every room myself.”“Then let us go on to the doctor’s. We may find Hilton and Chumbley there, and they perhaps can throw some light upon the matter.”Mr Perowne bowed, and they hurried off to the doctor’s pretty bungalow, a short distance away.“They are not here, unless they are stopping to sleep.”“How do you know?”“There is no light.”All the same the Resident tapped sharply at the door, and his summons was followed by a thump on the floor, as if someone had leaped out of bed.The next moment a window was thrown open, and the doctor’s voice was heard.“Now then: who’s ill?”“Don’t be alarmed, doctor,” said the Resident.“Oh, it’s you, Harley. Had too much supper?”“No, no. Tell me quickly. Did Hilton and Chumbley come home with you?”“No; they went away ever so long before.”“Did you see them go?”“No. Can’t say I did.”“They have not been back to their quarters.”“Stopped to have a cigar somewhere.”“Perhaps so; but tell me, when did you see Hilton last?”“I don’t know. Oh, yes, I do. He went down towards the river, with a cigar in his mouth.”“When did you see my daughter?” said Mr Perowne.“Oh! are you there, Perowne? Well, I don’t know. Not for an hour before we came away.”“An hour and a half,” said Mrs Bolter’s voice. “We didn’t see her when we came away.”“Did she go away with anyone, Mrs Bolter?” exclaimed Perowne, eagerly.“No; I saw her walk towards the house by herself. I’ll get up and dress directly. Perhaps I can do some good. The poor girl has been overcome by the heat, Bolter, and fainted away somewhere in the grounds. We’ll both dress and come on directly, Mr Perowne. Have the shrubberies searched again. Henry, go and rouse up Arthur; he may be useful.”“Yes, call him,” said the Resident; “he was seen with her last, and may know where she went.”

The hum of a mosquito was about the only sound to be heard in the Residency house, as, clad in silken pyjamas, Mr Harley lay sleeping easily upon his light bamboo bedstead, dimly seen through the thin gauzy curtains by the light of a well-subdued lamp.

The bedroom was furnished in the lightest and coolest way, with matting floor and sides, while jalousie shutters admitted the cool night air.

The Resident had been smoking, partly in obedience to a bad bachelor habit, partly to keep at bay that Macbeth of insects that haunts all eastern rooms, and tries so diligently to murder the sleep of the inoffensive and just.

The faint pungent odour of a good cigar still pervaded the room, and the extinct end was yet between Neil Harley’s white teeth, as he lay there dreaming about Helen Perowne, seeing her admired and followed by all the single men at the station, while he was the only one who made no sign.

He sighed in his sleep, and then uttered a low moan, as if in spite of his placid face and show of indifference he suffered deeply on Helen’s account; but a calm smile, well resembling indifference, rested upon his features, and seemed to say that, come what might, he was patiently waiting his time.

Then came a change, for the calmness seemed to be swept away by a gust of passion, and the strong man’s hands clenched, his brow grew rugged, and as if suffering from some acute agony, the white teeth of the sleeper closed tightly with a sharp click, and a portion of the bitten-through cigar rolled from his lips on to the floor.

Then all was very still. The heat seemed to grow more intense, and the faint ripple of the river, as it glided by the island, could be distinctly heard. Now and then from the distant jungle some wild, uneasy cry rose upon the still air, riding as it were across the river like a warning to tell the slumbering Europeans that the savagery of the primeval forest lay close beside their civilisation; while the wakeful might have pondered on the fact that their safety rested solely upon the Britishprestige, and that a spark might ignite a train that would result in a terrible conflagration sufficient to sweep them all away.

Some such thoughts crossed the sleeping brain of Neil Harley that night, and his sleep grew more and more troubled as he thought how love-blinded he had been, and the risks they had run from Helen’s treatment of the young Rajah.

The trouble had passed away now, but such another affair might result in ruin to them all; and yet he had allowed her to go on and trifle, looking on with assumed indifference, though his heart was stung the while.

Neil Harley’s sleep again grew restful and calm; for in a pleasant dream he fancied that Helen, more beautiful than ever, had bidden him to her side, telling him that all her weak and wilful coquetry was but to try him. That she had loved him from the first, for he was the only man who had really touched her heart; and that, though she had fought against the restraint he had placed upon her, and told herself that she hated him and the way in which he had mocked at her trifling, she was his—his alone—that she resigned herself to his keeping—his keeping—that of the only man who could ever sway her heart.

The night grew hotter still, and the faint breath that was wafted between the open laths that covered the window seemed to have passed from the mouth of some furnace. A harsh roar came from the jungle, and then a loud plash or two echoed over the surface of the stream, as some great reptile plunged in from the muddy bank.

Then all was very still once more for a time, till suddenly the faint plash-plash of oars was heard, seeming now to be coming nearer, now to be fading away, drowned by the shrill insect hum. Again it sounded nearer, and all doubt of its proceeding from a boat bound for the Residency island was ended by the loud challenge of the sentry at the landing-place.

Then came voices in reply, and once more the hum of the mosquitoes was all that could be heard: now low and deep, now shrill and angry.

The faint lapping of the river and the plash of oars had died away, and the silence and heat were painful enough to draw a low sigh from the sleeper, just as the bedroom door was softly opened, and a dark figure glided in, crept over the matting floor without making a sound, and bent over the bed.

For the moment it seemed as though he was there upon some errand of ill; and one who watched would have been ready to raise an alarm, the insecurity of the station life being sufficient to warrant such a supposition; but the idea of the dark figure being bent on an evil errand was at once destroyed, for after waiting for a moment, he cried, softly:

“Master—master!”

The Resident started lip with the sudden awakening of a man accustomed to suspect peril at every turn, and his hand darted beneath his pillow even as he raised himself, to be withdrawn grasping the butt of a loaded revolver.

“Ah, you Ling,” he said, with a sigh of relief, as he lowered his hand. “What is it? Someone ill?”

“Mr Perowne has come across in his boat, sir.”

“Mr Perowne? at this time! what does he want?”

“To see you, sir.”

“Tell him I’ll be there directly.” The Chinese servant glided away as silently as he had come, and the Resident hastily dashed some water in his face to clear away the sleepy feeling.

“I hope nothing serious!” he muttered. “Has Helen been taken ill?”

A pang shot through him at the thought, and the reckless behaviour of the night, that had stung him again and again during the course of the evening, was forgiven.

“Poor child!” he muttered. “I believe she loves me, and bird-like, is fluttering and timorously striving to escape from the string that holds her.” He glanced at his watch as it hung upon a stand. “Two o’clock. I have not been in bed above an hour. What can be wrong?”

The next minute he was in the dining-room, where he found Mr Perowne agitatedly walking up and down; but as soon as the Resident entered he advanced and caught him fiercely by the arm. “Harley, do you know anything of this?” he cried.

“Of this? Of what?”

“Helen! Where is she?”

“Helen? In bed and asleep I hope. What do you mean?”

“I missed her somewhere about eleven. I have not seen her since.”

The Resident looked curiously at Mr Perowne, whose flushed face and excited manner seemed to suggest that he had been playing the host too freely during the evening, and to his own deterioration in balance.

“Tired, and gone to bed. A bit peevish with weariness,” suggested the Resident, who drove back a curious sense of uneasiness that troubled him.

“No,” said Mr Perowne, hoarsely; “she has not gone to bed, and the house and the gardens have been searched again and again. Do you know anything of this?”

“I? Absurd! I left in good time. I bade her good-night when she was talking to the chaplain; he was trying to persuade her to let him cover her shoulders with the shawl he carried.”

The Resident ceased speaking to dwell for a moment upon the luminous look he had seen Helen bestow upon the chaplain—a look meant, he told himself, to annoy him, while he knew that it would give poor Rosebury food for sweet reflection during weeks to come.

“It is very strange,” said Mr Perowne excitedly; and his haggard gaze was directed about the place, as if he half expected to find that Helen was there. “Where did you see her last, do you say?”

“Talking to Rosebury, and before then she was with Hilton. I fancy they were having words. Well, perhaps I ought hardly to say that; but Hilton was certainly remonstrating angrily.”

“When was that?”

“Half-past ten or eleven; I cannot say for certain.”

“Let us go and see Hilton,” said Mr Perowne; “but stay. Am I to believe you, Harley?”

“As you please, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, with dignity. “Why should you doubt my word?”

“I do not doubt it!” cried Mr Perowne, catching his hand. “Pity me, Harley. I seem cold and strange; but I love that girl, and she is gone.”

He gasped painfully as he spoke, but smiled sadly directly after as the Resident warmly grasped his hand.

“One minute,” said the Resident; and hastily adding something to his clothing, he joined his visitor again, and the two sallied forth into the still, hot night, to make their way to the little fort, which was stronghold and barracks in one.

Here they were challenged by another sentry, for, peaceful times as they were, the military arrangements were always kept upon the sternest war footing.

“We want to see Captain Hilton,” said Mr Harley, in his quick, commanding way.

“Captain’s ashore, sir. He went to Mr Perowne’s party.”

“Yes, yes,” said that gentleman; “we know: but he has come back.”

“No, sir; not while I’ve been on guard—three hours, sir.”

“Call the sergeant,” said Mr Harley, sharply.

He needed no calling, for, hearing voices, he had come out to see who came so late.

“Where is Captain Hilton?”

“I thought he was stopping to sleep at Mr Perowne’s, sir,” said the sergeant, saluting. “Hasn’t been back. Beg pardon, sir; didn’t see it was Mr Perowne.”

“But he left my house hours ago,” said that gentleman.

“Gone to stay at Dr Bolter’s, perhaps, sir,” suggested the sergeant.

“Are you sure he did not return while your back was turned?” said Mr Harley.

“Quite sure, sir. Still, he might, sir; it’s no use to be too sure. Like to go to his quarters, sir?”

“Yes, we’ll go in,” said the Resident, quickly; and following the sergeant, after exchanging glances, the two gentlemen entered Hilton’s room.

The bed had not been pressed, and everything was in order, just as the regimental servant had placed it after his master had dressed to attend the eveningfête.

“Mr Chumbley hasn’t come back neither,” said the sergeant.

“Not come back!” said the Resident, wondering. “This is strange. I don’t know, though. They have gone to smoke a cigar with someone, and then decided to stay all night.”

Mr Perowne shook his head, and the Resident felt that his explanation was not good, and both were silent as they walked back towards the entrance of the fort.

“What does this mean?” said Mr Perowne, at last.

“Can’t say yet,” replied the Resident, sharply. “Sergeant, have a look round, and make sure that Captain Hilton and Mr Chumbley have not come back.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll look round,” said the sergeant; “but they couldn’t have landed without the sentries knowing.”

“Go and see,” said the Resident, sternly; and the sergeant saluted and walked away.

“They must be staying somewhere,” said the Resident, who suffered from the desire to keep back the question that so agitated his breast. “Depend upon it, they have gone to the doctor’s to smoke a cigar.”

He felt as he spoke that this was impossible; for he was sure that the hours kept at the doctor’s were too regular for such a relapse.

“And my daughter?” said Mr Perowne, in a cold, stern voice.

“I’ll have the men out to search if it is necessary,” said the Resident, eagerly; “but before we proceed to such an extreme measure, had we not better make more inquiries? Yours is a large house and grounds. She may be back by now.”

Neil Harley felt a strange choking sensation as he spoke, and he knew that his words were weak; but he clung to the hope that there was some mistake, and that Helen was by now safely at home.

“She may,” said Mr Perowne, bitterly. “But it seems to me that there is some trick here. I gave you the credit of it at first.”

“Am I a man so wanting in respect for Helen that I should insult her and you?”

“I—I can’t help it, Harley!” groaned the father. “There seems to be no end to my troubles!”

The Resident looked at him sharply, for that evening he had seemed all life and gaiety.

“Yes, you may look!” groaned the unhappy man; “but everything goes wrong with me. There is, I am sure, some planned affair here; and I believe that Hilton is at the bottom of it.”

“Do not be so ready to condemn, Perowne,” said the Resident, quickly. “I feel sure that Hilton would be guilty of no rash, foolish escapade like this. It is absurd! Good heavens, man! do you think that Helen would degrade herself by eloping? I will not believe it!”

“I wish I could feel you were right,” groaned the unhappy father.

“Why Chumbley is away too. It is like saying that he is implicated.”

“He is Hilton’s chosen companion,” said Mr Perowne, sadly.

“Tut, man; we shall have to look farther afield than that.”

“Then why are they not here to speak for themselves?” cried Mr Perowne, in a querulous, excited way. “Hilton has been constantly hanging about my place a great deal more than Helen liked, and she showed it to-night by completely turning her back upon him.”

“But surely you do not think that Hilton—” began the Resident.

“I do not think anything,” said Mr Perowne, angrily. “But here is the fact before us: my daughter is missing, and Captain Hilton has not returned to his quarters.”

“Neither has Chumbley,” said the Resident, uneasily.

“Neither has Chumbley,” assented Mr Perowne.

“A man who, beneath his languid indifference, is the soul of honour,” said the Resident; and he led the way to the boat by which Mr Perowne had come across.

The men were lying in the bottom asleep; but they roused up directly as the two gentlemen entered and were rowed to the landing-stage at the foot of Mr Perowne’s garden, where the swift stream was lapping the stones placed to keep it from washing the lawn away.

As they were rowed across Neil Harley found himself looking thoughtfully down into the water time after time, and a curious shuddering sensation came upon him, one which he strove hard to cast off.

He could not, he would not believe it possible, he told himself; but in spite of his efforts, and the mastery he generally had over self, the thought would come.

They found the servants ready with the answer that nothing had been seen of their young mistress, though they had continued searching ever since their master had gone away.

“Shall we look round ourselves?” said Mr Perowne.

“No, if you say the house has been searched.”

“I have been in every room myself.”

“Then let us go on to the doctor’s. We may find Hilton and Chumbley there, and they perhaps can throw some light upon the matter.”

Mr Perowne bowed, and they hurried off to the doctor’s pretty bungalow, a short distance away.

“They are not here, unless they are stopping to sleep.”

“How do you know?”

“There is no light.”

All the same the Resident tapped sharply at the door, and his summons was followed by a thump on the floor, as if someone had leaped out of bed.

The next moment a window was thrown open, and the doctor’s voice was heard.

“Now then: who’s ill?”

“Don’t be alarmed, doctor,” said the Resident.

“Oh, it’s you, Harley. Had too much supper?”

“No, no. Tell me quickly. Did Hilton and Chumbley come home with you?”

“No; they went away ever so long before.”

“Did you see them go?”

“No. Can’t say I did.”

“They have not been back to their quarters.”

“Stopped to have a cigar somewhere.”

“Perhaps so; but tell me, when did you see Hilton last?”

“I don’t know. Oh, yes, I do. He went down towards the river, with a cigar in his mouth.”

“When did you see my daughter?” said Mr Perowne.

“Oh! are you there, Perowne? Well, I don’t know. Not for an hour before we came away.”

“An hour and a half,” said Mrs Bolter’s voice. “We didn’t see her when we came away.”

“Did she go away with anyone, Mrs Bolter?” exclaimed Perowne, eagerly.

“No; I saw her walk towards the house by herself. I’ll get up and dress directly. Perhaps I can do some good. The poor girl has been overcome by the heat, Bolter, and fainted away somewhere in the grounds. We’ll both dress and come on directly, Mr Perowne. Have the shrubberies searched again. Henry, go and rouse up Arthur; he may be useful.”

“Yes, call him,” said the Resident; “he was seen with her last, and may know where she went.”

Volume Two—Chapter Three.In the Middle of the Night.All Mrs Bolter’s dislike to Helen vanished now that there was trouble on the way; and dressing hastily, she ran across the little bamboo landing to knock at her brother’s door, but without receiving any answer, and knocking again sharply, she ran back to her own room to continue dressing.She threw open the window to admit a few breaths of fresher air, and in the silence of the night she could hear the receding steps of their late visitors. Then turning sharply she found Dr Bolter yawning fearfully.“Don’t be so unfeeling, Henry!” she cried; “who knows what may have happened?”“Unfeeling be hanged!” he said, tetchily. “I only yawned.”“And very rudely, Henry. You did not place your hand before your mouth.”“A yawn, Mrs Bolter,” he said didactically, “is the natural effort made for ridding the system—”“Of the effects of too much smoking and drinking,” said Mrs Doctor, quickly. “There, do make haste and dress, and then call Arthur again. He does not seem to be moving. How soundly he sleeps. He did not hear us when we came home or he would have spoken.”“Oh, dear!” yawned the doctor. “I was just in my beauty sleep, and this calling me up is the heigh—hey—ho—ha—hum! Oh! dear me! I beg your pardon, my dear.”“Are you nearly ready, Henry?” said the lady, who would not notice the last most portentous yawn.“Where the—”“Henry!”“I mean where are my studs? Oh! all right.”“Go and see if Arthur is awake, and tell him to get up directly.”The doctor went slowly and sleepily out of the door, fumbling with his studs the while; and without pausing to knock, walked straight into his brother-in-law’s room.“Here, Arthur, old man, rouse up!” he cried. “We’re going on to—hullo! Here, Mary, he hasn’t been to bed!” he shouted.“Not been to bed!” cried the little lady. “Why, Arthur, you foolish—”“He isn’t here, my dear,” said the doctor.“But—but he was here when we came back, was he not?” said Mrs Bolter.“I don’t know; I only knocked at his door. I was too sleepy to speak, my dear.”“Oh! Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Bolter, excitedly, “something must have happened, or dear Arthur would not have stopped away like this.”“I—I hope not,” said the doctor. “There, be calm, my dear; we know nothing yet.”“Yes—yes, I will be calm,” said the little lady, fighting hard to master her excitement; “but, Henry, if we have brought my poor brother over here to be the victim of some terrible accident, I shall never forgive myself.”“Oh, stuff—stuff!” cried the doctor, as they looked round the room to find that the bed had not been touched. “Don’t jump at conclusions. What did Harley say?”“That Arthur was seen last with Helen Perowne—in the garden, I suppose.”“What? Our Arthur was seen with her last? She missing—he missing—why, by jingo, Mary, that handsome puss has run away with him!”The doctor burst into a hearty, chuckling laugh.“Is this a time for jesting, Henry?” said Mrs Bolter, angrily.“Not at all, my dear,” replied the doctor, “only it looks as if Arthur had made up his mind to do something startling.”“Arthur—something startling! What do you mean?”“That he seems to have bolted with Helen Perowne!”“Henry!”“Well, my dear, they were seen together last, and they are now missing. What is one to say?”“If you cannot say words of greater wisdom than that, Henry, pray be silent.”“All right, my dear—come along.”But if the doctor was disposed to be silent, so was not his lady, who began to find out cause after cause for her brother’s absence.“Someone is ill, I’m sure, Henry, and Arthur has been summoned to the bedside.”“Nonsense! If anyone were ill,” said the doctor, testily, “I should be sent for; and there is no one ill now, though we shall have half a dozen poorly to-morrow after that supper of Perowne’s.”“Then some terrible accident has happened,” said Mrs Bolter. “Arthur would never have stopped away like this without some special reason.”“Well, we shall see,” said the doctor.“Henry,” said the lady, suddenly; and she came to a full stop.“Yes, my dear.”“Do you think it likely that Helen Perowne—poor foolish girl—would do such a thing?”“What, as to run off with Arthur?” chuckled the little doctor.“For shame, Henry! I say do you think she is likely to have walked down to the river-side because it is cool and slipped in? There is not the slightest protection.”“No, my dear, I do not think anything of the sort,” replied the doctor, angrily. “She is a deal more likely to be courting some coxcomb or another in a shady walk, and they have forgotten all about the time.”“Absurd!” exclaimed Mrs Bolter. “Absurd, eh? Why, that’s what she is always thinking about. How many fellows has she been flirting with since we knew her?”“I am waiting for you, Dr Bolter,” said the lady, austerely, “and I must say that I think your words are very unfeeling indeed.”“I’ll bleed her if she has fainted!” said the doctor, grimly. “I should like to bleed that girl, old-fashioned as the notion is! If I don’t, I’ll give her such a dosing as she shan’t forget in a hurry—calling a fellow up like this!”They hurried out into the star-lit night, with everything seeming hushed and strange. The trees whispered low from time to time; then came a sullen splash from the river, as if some huge creature had just plunged in. Once or twice came a peculiar, weird-sounding cry from the jungle—one which made Mrs Doctor forget her annoyance with her husband and creep close to his side. Just then they heard hurried footsteps. “Did you bring your pistols with you, dear?” whispered Mrs Bolter.“No,” he said, sharply; “I’ve got a rhubarb draught, a bottle of chlorodyne, the sal-volatile, and a lancet. That will be enough. Think I meant to shoot the girl?”“Don’t be absurd, dear! Take care, there is someone coming.”“Another call for me!” grumbled the doctor, sleepily. “That’s the effect of giving parties in a hot climate. Hullo!”“Yes, doctor,” said a familiar voice.“Oh! it’s you two. Well have you found her all right?”“We’ve been to Stuart’s,” said the Resident, sharply.“Well, what news?”“They have not seen or heard of either of them,” replied the Resident.“Do you know that my—”“Oh, hush!” whispered Mrs Doctor, excitedly, “you had better not—”“Why, they must know it, my dear,” he whispered back. “It is of no use to hide anything.”“I did not understand you, doctor,” said the Resident.“I say that my brother-in-law, Rosebury, has not been home.”“The chaplain!” cried Mr Harley, and he stopped short upon the path.“Hasn’t been home,” continued the doctor. “They’ve all gone in somewhere. Who else is away?”“Hilton and Chumbley.”“Oh, it’s all right. They’re somewhere; but it’s very foolish of them to frighten some people and rouse others up like this,” said the doctor.“I hope we shall find a pleasant solution of what is at present a mystery,” said the Resident. “Mrs Bolter, it is very kind of you to come,” he added, warmly.“Yes; I thank you too,” said Perowne, in a dreamy, absent way. “It is very strange; but where is Miss Stuart?”“Stuart said she was asleep,” said the Resident.“Oh, to be sure. Yes; I remember,” said Mr Perowne.“We took her safely home,” said Mrs Bolter, quickly.They had not far to go to the gates of the merchant’s grounds, but it seemed to all to be a long and dreary walk past the various dark houses of the European and native merchants, not one of which gave any token of the life within.The gates were open, and they walked over the gritting gravel to where the door stood, like the windows of the bungalow, still open, and a lamp or two were yet burning in the grounds, one of which paper lanterns, as they approached, caught fire, and blazed up for a moment and then hung, a few shreds of tinder, from a verdant arch.It was a mere trifle, but it seemed like a presage of some trouble to the house, seen as it was by those who approached, three of the party being in that unreal, uncomfortable state suffered by all who are roused from their sleep to hear that there is “something wrong.”The servants looked soared as they entered, and announced that they had been looking, as they expressed it, “everywhere” without success.Lanterns were lit and a thorough exploration of the grounds followed, the only result being that a glove was found—plainly enough one that had been dropped by someone walking near the river.That was all, and the night passed with the searchers awaking everyone they knew in turn, but to obtain not the slightest information; and daybreak found the father looking older and greyer by ten years as he stood in his office facing the Resident, the doctor, and Mrs Bolter, and asking what they should do next.“We must have a thorough daylight search,” said Mr Harley. “Then the boatmen must all be examined. It hardly appears probable, but Hilton and Chumbley may have proposed a water trip. It seems to us now, cool and thoughtful, a mad proposal, but still it is possible.”“Yes, and Helen would not go without my brother to take care of her,” said Mrs Bolter, triumphantly, for she had been longing for some explanation of her brother’s absence, and this was the first that offered.“Oh, no, Mary,” said the doctor, crushing her hopes as he shook his head.“No, Mrs Bolter,” said the Resident, slowly; and he seemed to be speaking and thinking deeply the while. “I am sure Miss Perowne could not be guilty of so imprudent an act.”“No,” said her father, speaking now more boldly and without reserve. “You are right, Harley. Helen loves admiration, but she would not have compromised herself in such a way, neither would Mr Rosebury have given such an act his countenance.”The Resident raised his head as if to speak, and then remained silent.“What are you thinking, Harley,” said the doctor.“Yes, pray speak out,” cried Mrs Bolter. “I am sure we are all only too anxious to find some comfort.”“I was thinking of what could have happened to them, for depend upon it they are all together.”“Yes,” said Mr Perowne; “but you were thinking more than that.”“I must think,” said the Resident. “I cannot say anything definite now.”“Then I know what it is,” cried Mrs Bolter.“Will you kindly speak out, madam?” said the old merchant, harshly.“I should be sorry to accuse falsely,” said Mrs Bolter, excitedly; “but I was warned of this, and I can’t help thinking that someone else is at the bottom of this night’s work.”“And who’s that?” said the doctor, quickly.Mrs Bolter was silent.“Rajah Murad, you mean,” said the doctor, quickly; “and he has been waiting his time.”“And now strikes at us like a serpent in the dark!” cried Mr Perowne, angrily. “It is the Malay character all over. Heaven help me! My poor girl!”

All Mrs Bolter’s dislike to Helen vanished now that there was trouble on the way; and dressing hastily, she ran across the little bamboo landing to knock at her brother’s door, but without receiving any answer, and knocking again sharply, she ran back to her own room to continue dressing.

She threw open the window to admit a few breaths of fresher air, and in the silence of the night she could hear the receding steps of their late visitors. Then turning sharply she found Dr Bolter yawning fearfully.

“Don’t be so unfeeling, Henry!” she cried; “who knows what may have happened?”

“Unfeeling be hanged!” he said, tetchily. “I only yawned.”

“And very rudely, Henry. You did not place your hand before your mouth.”

“A yawn, Mrs Bolter,” he said didactically, “is the natural effort made for ridding the system—”

“Of the effects of too much smoking and drinking,” said Mrs Doctor, quickly. “There, do make haste and dress, and then call Arthur again. He does not seem to be moving. How soundly he sleeps. He did not hear us when we came home or he would have spoken.”

“Oh, dear!” yawned the doctor. “I was just in my beauty sleep, and this calling me up is the heigh—hey—ho—ha—hum! Oh! dear me! I beg your pardon, my dear.”

“Are you nearly ready, Henry?” said the lady, who would not notice the last most portentous yawn.

“Where the—”

“Henry!”

“I mean where are my studs? Oh! all right.”

“Go and see if Arthur is awake, and tell him to get up directly.”

The doctor went slowly and sleepily out of the door, fumbling with his studs the while; and without pausing to knock, walked straight into his brother-in-law’s room.

“Here, Arthur, old man, rouse up!” he cried. “We’re going on to—hullo! Here, Mary, he hasn’t been to bed!” he shouted.

“Not been to bed!” cried the little lady. “Why, Arthur, you foolish—”

“He isn’t here, my dear,” said the doctor.

“But—but he was here when we came back, was he not?” said Mrs Bolter.

“I don’t know; I only knocked at his door. I was too sleepy to speak, my dear.”

“Oh! Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Bolter, excitedly, “something must have happened, or dear Arthur would not have stopped away like this.”

“I—I hope not,” said the doctor. “There, be calm, my dear; we know nothing yet.”

“Yes—yes, I will be calm,” said the little lady, fighting hard to master her excitement; “but, Henry, if we have brought my poor brother over here to be the victim of some terrible accident, I shall never forgive myself.”

“Oh, stuff—stuff!” cried the doctor, as they looked round the room to find that the bed had not been touched. “Don’t jump at conclusions. What did Harley say?”

“That Arthur was seen last with Helen Perowne—in the garden, I suppose.”

“What? Our Arthur was seen with her last? She missing—he missing—why, by jingo, Mary, that handsome puss has run away with him!”

The doctor burst into a hearty, chuckling laugh.

“Is this a time for jesting, Henry?” said Mrs Bolter, angrily.

“Not at all, my dear,” replied the doctor, “only it looks as if Arthur had made up his mind to do something startling.”

“Arthur—something startling! What do you mean?”

“That he seems to have bolted with Helen Perowne!”

“Henry!”

“Well, my dear, they were seen together last, and they are now missing. What is one to say?”

“If you cannot say words of greater wisdom than that, Henry, pray be silent.”

“All right, my dear—come along.”

But if the doctor was disposed to be silent, so was not his lady, who began to find out cause after cause for her brother’s absence.

“Someone is ill, I’m sure, Henry, and Arthur has been summoned to the bedside.”

“Nonsense! If anyone were ill,” said the doctor, testily, “I should be sent for; and there is no one ill now, though we shall have half a dozen poorly to-morrow after that supper of Perowne’s.”

“Then some terrible accident has happened,” said Mrs Bolter. “Arthur would never have stopped away like this without some special reason.”

“Well, we shall see,” said the doctor.

“Henry,” said the lady, suddenly; and she came to a full stop.

“Yes, my dear.”

“Do you think it likely that Helen Perowne—poor foolish girl—would do such a thing?”

“What, as to run off with Arthur?” chuckled the little doctor.

“For shame, Henry! I say do you think she is likely to have walked down to the river-side because it is cool and slipped in? There is not the slightest protection.”

“No, my dear, I do not think anything of the sort,” replied the doctor, angrily. “She is a deal more likely to be courting some coxcomb or another in a shady walk, and they have forgotten all about the time.”

“Absurd!” exclaimed Mrs Bolter. “Absurd, eh? Why, that’s what she is always thinking about. How many fellows has she been flirting with since we knew her?”

“I am waiting for you, Dr Bolter,” said the lady, austerely, “and I must say that I think your words are very unfeeling indeed.”

“I’ll bleed her if she has fainted!” said the doctor, grimly. “I should like to bleed that girl, old-fashioned as the notion is! If I don’t, I’ll give her such a dosing as she shan’t forget in a hurry—calling a fellow up like this!”

They hurried out into the star-lit night, with everything seeming hushed and strange. The trees whispered low from time to time; then came a sullen splash from the river, as if some huge creature had just plunged in. Once or twice came a peculiar, weird-sounding cry from the jungle—one which made Mrs Doctor forget her annoyance with her husband and creep close to his side. Just then they heard hurried footsteps. “Did you bring your pistols with you, dear?” whispered Mrs Bolter.

“No,” he said, sharply; “I’ve got a rhubarb draught, a bottle of chlorodyne, the sal-volatile, and a lancet. That will be enough. Think I meant to shoot the girl?”

“Don’t be absurd, dear! Take care, there is someone coming.”

“Another call for me!” grumbled the doctor, sleepily. “That’s the effect of giving parties in a hot climate. Hullo!”

“Yes, doctor,” said a familiar voice.

“Oh! it’s you two. Well have you found her all right?”

“We’ve been to Stuart’s,” said the Resident, sharply.

“Well, what news?”

“They have not seen or heard of either of them,” replied the Resident.

“Do you know that my—”

“Oh, hush!” whispered Mrs Doctor, excitedly, “you had better not—”

“Why, they must know it, my dear,” he whispered back. “It is of no use to hide anything.”

“I did not understand you, doctor,” said the Resident.

“I say that my brother-in-law, Rosebury, has not been home.”

“The chaplain!” cried Mr Harley, and he stopped short upon the path.

“Hasn’t been home,” continued the doctor. “They’ve all gone in somewhere. Who else is away?”

“Hilton and Chumbley.”

“Oh, it’s all right. They’re somewhere; but it’s very foolish of them to frighten some people and rouse others up like this,” said the doctor.

“I hope we shall find a pleasant solution of what is at present a mystery,” said the Resident. “Mrs Bolter, it is very kind of you to come,” he added, warmly.

“Yes; I thank you too,” said Perowne, in a dreamy, absent way. “It is very strange; but where is Miss Stuart?”

“Stuart said she was asleep,” said the Resident.

“Oh, to be sure. Yes; I remember,” said Mr Perowne.

“We took her safely home,” said Mrs Bolter, quickly.

They had not far to go to the gates of the merchant’s grounds, but it seemed to all to be a long and dreary walk past the various dark houses of the European and native merchants, not one of which gave any token of the life within.

The gates were open, and they walked over the gritting gravel to where the door stood, like the windows of the bungalow, still open, and a lamp or two were yet burning in the grounds, one of which paper lanterns, as they approached, caught fire, and blazed up for a moment and then hung, a few shreds of tinder, from a verdant arch.

It was a mere trifle, but it seemed like a presage of some trouble to the house, seen as it was by those who approached, three of the party being in that unreal, uncomfortable state suffered by all who are roused from their sleep to hear that there is “something wrong.”

The servants looked soared as they entered, and announced that they had been looking, as they expressed it, “everywhere” without success.

Lanterns were lit and a thorough exploration of the grounds followed, the only result being that a glove was found—plainly enough one that had been dropped by someone walking near the river.

That was all, and the night passed with the searchers awaking everyone they knew in turn, but to obtain not the slightest information; and daybreak found the father looking older and greyer by ten years as he stood in his office facing the Resident, the doctor, and Mrs Bolter, and asking what they should do next.

“We must have a thorough daylight search,” said Mr Harley. “Then the boatmen must all be examined. It hardly appears probable, but Hilton and Chumbley may have proposed a water trip. It seems to us now, cool and thoughtful, a mad proposal, but still it is possible.”

“Yes, and Helen would not go without my brother to take care of her,” said Mrs Bolter, triumphantly, for she had been longing for some explanation of her brother’s absence, and this was the first that offered.

“Oh, no, Mary,” said the doctor, crushing her hopes as he shook his head.

“No, Mrs Bolter,” said the Resident, slowly; and he seemed to be speaking and thinking deeply the while. “I am sure Miss Perowne could not be guilty of so imprudent an act.”

“No,” said her father, speaking now more boldly and without reserve. “You are right, Harley. Helen loves admiration, but she would not have compromised herself in such a way, neither would Mr Rosebury have given such an act his countenance.”

The Resident raised his head as if to speak, and then remained silent.

“What are you thinking, Harley,” said the doctor.

“Yes, pray speak out,” cried Mrs Bolter. “I am sure we are all only too anxious to find some comfort.”

“I was thinking of what could have happened to them, for depend upon it they are all together.”

“Yes,” said Mr Perowne; “but you were thinking more than that.”

“I must think,” said the Resident. “I cannot say anything definite now.”

“Then I know what it is,” cried Mrs Bolter.

“Will you kindly speak out, madam?” said the old merchant, harshly.

“I should be sorry to accuse falsely,” said Mrs Bolter, excitedly; “but I was warned of this, and I can’t help thinking that someone else is at the bottom of this night’s work.”

“And who’s that?” said the doctor, quickly.

Mrs Bolter was silent.

“Rajah Murad, you mean,” said the doctor, quickly; “and he has been waiting his time.”

“And now strikes at us like a serpent in the dark!” cried Mr Perowne, angrily. “It is the Malay character all over. Heaven help me! My poor girl!”

Volume Two—Chapter Four.Mrs Barlow.Mr Perowne’s house was literally besieged the next morning, for the news of the disappearance ran through the little community like wildfire. British and native communities were equally excited; and after snatching an hour’s rest at the imperative command of his wife, the doctor was hastily swallowing some breakfast previous to going back to Mr Perowne’s, but could hardly get on for interruptions.“I am not alarmed, Henry,” said the little lady, in a quiet, decided way; “and I insist upon your being properly fortified before unduly exerting yourself. I could not bear for you to be ill.”The words were said very quietly, but in such a tone that Dr Bolter set down his cup, and rising, left his place, and tenderly embraced the earnest little woman he had made his wife.“I will take all the care I can, my dear Mary,” he said.“I know you will, Henry,” said the little lady, whose lip quivered slightly as she spoke; “but now go and finish your breakfast, and then start. Don’t be uneasy about me, dear, but go and do what you think best under the circumstances.”“I will, my love—I will,” said Dr Bolter, with his mouth full of toast.“It all sounds very alarming, dear, but I cannot help thinking that it will be explained in a very simple manner.”“I hope so.”“You see there are four of them; and as Arthur is one, I think we may feel assured.”“Well, my dear these are business times,” said the doctor, “and we must speak in business ways. Arthur is the best old fellow in the world; but I am sorry to say that he is a terrible old woman.”“Henry!” said the lady, reproachfully.“Well, my dear, he is. Now, would you have much confidence in him if it were a case of emergency?”“I—I think I would sooner trust to you, Henry,” said the little lady, softly; “but do make haste and get a good breakfast. If you want me, send a message, and I will come directly.”“All right,” said the doctor, rising once more. “Now I’m off.”“But one moment, Henry,” said the little lady, whose feelings now got the upper hand. “Tell me, dear—do you think anything dreadful has happened?”“What do you call dreadful, my dear?” said the doctor, cheerily.“That the crocodiles—”She did not finish, but looked imploringly at her lord.“Bah!—stuff!—nonsense! No, Mary, I don’t.”“Then that this dreadful Rajah has carried them off?”“If it had only been Madam Helen, I should have felt suspicious; but what could he want with Hilton and Chumbley, or with our Arthur?”“To marry them,” suggested Mrs Bolter.“Stuff! my dear, not he. If Murad had carried her off, he would not have bothered about a parson.”“But Arthur was waiting about her all the evening.”“So he was, my dear.”“And he may have killed Hilton and poor Mr Chumbley, while they were defending her.”“Yes, he might, certainly,” said the doctor, drily; “but how the—”“Henry!”“I only meant dickens. I say how the dickens he was going to carry her off when he was at the party all the time I can’t see.”“But was he?”“To the very last. Oh! it will all settle itself into nothing, unless Arthur has taken Helen off into the jungle and married her himself, with Hilton and Chumbley for witnesses.”“Is this a time for joking, Henry?” said the little lady, reproachfully.“Really, my dear, it would be no joke if Arthur had his own way.”“I’m afraid,” sighed little Mrs Bolter, “that Helen Perowne had a good deal to with my brother accepting the chaplaincy.”“I’m sure she had,” chuckled the doctor.“If I had thought so I would never have consented to come,” said the lady with asperity.“Wouldn’t you, Mary? Wouldn’t you?” said the little doctor, taking her in his arms; and the lady withdrew her words just as a step was heard outside.“Here’s another stoppage,” cried the doctor, impatiently. “Why, it’s Mrs Barlow. What does she want?”Mrs Barlow was a widow lady of about forty, the relict of a well-to-do merchant of the station, who, after her widowhood, preferred to stay and keep her brother’s house to going back to England; at any rate, as she expressed it, for a few years.She was one of the set who visited at Mr Perowne’s, and had also been at the trip up the river to the Inche Maida’s home; but being a decidedly neutral-tinted lady, in spite of her black attire, she was so little prominent that mention of her has not been necessary until now.“Stop a minute;” she exclaimed, excitedly, as she arrested the doctor on his step.“Not ill, are you, Mrs Barlow?” queried the doctor.“Not bodily, doctor,” she began, “but—”“My wife is inside, my dear madam,” cried the doctor, “and I must be off.”“Stop!” exclaimed Mrs Barlow, authoritatively; and she took the little doctor’s arm, and led him back into the breakfast-room. “You are his brother, Dr Bolter. Mrs Bolter, you are his sister, ma’am. I can speak freely to you both.”“Of course, madam, of course,” said the doctor; and then to himself, “Has the woman been takingverystrong tea?”“I have only just learned the terrible news, Dr Bolter—Mrs Bolter,” cried the lady, “and I came on to you.”“Very kind of you I am sure, ma’am.”“What do you think, doctor? You have some idea.”“Not the least at present, ma’am. I was just off to see.”“That is good of you; but tell me first,” cried the widow, half hysterically. “You do not—you cannot think—that that dreadful woman—”“What, the Inche Maida, ma’am?”“No, no! I mean Helen Perowne—has deluded him into following her away to some other settlement.”“Whom, ma’am, Hilton or Chumbley?”“Oh, dear me, no, doctor; I mean dear Mr Rosebury.”“Oh, you mean dear Mr Rosebury, do you?” said the doctor.“Yes, Dr Bolter; oh, yes. Tell me; do you think that dreadful girl has deluded him away?”“No, ma’am, I don’t,” cried the doctor, stoutly. “Hang it all, no! I’d give her the credit of a good deal, but not of that. Hang it, no.”“Thank you, doctor,” said the lady hysterically. “Of course I should have forgiven it, and set it all down to her; but you do me good, doctor, by assuring me that my surmise is impossible. What do you think then?”“That it’s all a mystery for us to find out, and I was going to hunt it up when you stopped me, ma’am.”“Excuse me, Mrs Barlow,” said little Mrs Bolter, who had been fidgeting about, and waiting for an opportunity to speak, “but will you kindly explain what you mean by your very particular allusions to my brother?”“Must I?” said the lady, with a martyred look.“If you please, ma’am,” said Mrs Bolter, sternly; and the little lady looked as if she were ready to apply the moral thumbscrews and the rack itself to the visitor if she did not make a clean breast.“Do you not know?” whispered Mrs Barlow, with a pathetic look, and a timidly bashful casting down of the eyes.“No, ma’am, I do not,” said little Mrs Bolter, haughtily.“I thought you must have known,” sighed the lady. “But under these circumstances, when he may be in terrible peril, perhaps crying aloud, ‘Rosina, come to my aid,’ why should I shrink from this avowal? I amnotashamed to own it. Ah, Dr Bolter—oh, Mrs Bolter—I have loved him from his first sermon, when he looked down at me and seemed to address me with that soft, impressive voice which thrilled the very fibres of my heart, and now he is gone—he is gone! What does it mean! What shall we do?”“Mary, you’d better administer a little sal-volatile, my dear,” said the doctor. “You know the strength; I’m off.”The doctor backed out of the room, leaving Mrs Barlow sobbing on the sofa, and hurried off in the direction of the Residency, talking to himself on the way.“This is something fresh!” he muttered; “and it isn’t leap-year either. Rum creatures women! I wonder what Mary is saying to her now! Here, paddle me across,” he said to one of the natives who was cleaning out his sampan ready for any passengers who might want to be put across to the island.As he neared the landing-stage, he found Mr Harley anxiously busy despatching boat after boat up and down stream, each boat being paddled by a couple of friendly natives, and containing a noncommissioned officer and private selected for their intelligence.“Ah! that’s right, Harley!” said the doctor, rubbing his hands after a friendly salute, and the information given and taken that there was not the slightest news of the missing people. “But don’t you think we ought to take some steps ashore?”“Wait a moment; let me ease my mind by getting these fellows off,” said the Resident hoarsely; and he gave the men the strictest injunctions to carefully search the banks of the river, and also to closely question every Malay they met as to whether anything of the missing party had been seen. Eight boats had been sent off upon this mission, the men accepting the task readily enough, irrespective of the promise of reward; and hardly had the last been despatched, when the Resident proposed that they should go across to Mr Perowne’s.“It is only fair to consult him as to our next proceedings,” said the Resident, gloomily; and almost in silence they were paddled across to the mainland, and went up to the scene of last night’s festivities, where everything looked dismal and in confusion. Half-burnt lanterns hung amidst the trees, tables and chairs were piled up anyhow in the grounds, and the lawn was strewn with thedébrisof the feast yet uncleared away, the attention of the servants having been so much occupied with their search.The two new-comers found Mr Perowne quite prostrate with this terrible anxiety, and Mr Stuart trying, with his daughter, to administer some little consolation in the way of hope.“Cheer up, mon!” the old Scot was saying. “I daresay she’ll turn up all right yet.”Mr Perowne looked at him so reproachfully that the old Scot paused and then turned uneasily away.“Poor wretch!” he muttered; “he has trouble eneuch—enough I mean.”“Ah! Harley, what news?” cried Mr Perowne.“None as yet,” was the reply.“Have you sent out boats?”“Yes, eight; and let us hope that they will discover something.”“But you do not think they will?”The Resident was silent.“Harley here thinks that the Rajah is at the bottom of it all,” said the doctor.“Impossible!” cried the unhappy father. “He was here when she was missed, or I might have suspected him. I fear it is something worse than even that.”“I cannot help my suspicions,” said the Resident, quietly. “Perhaps I wrong him.”“I think ye do, Harley,” said the old Scot. “I saw him here long after Miss Helen must have been gone. I’m thinking she and the young officers have taken a boat and gone down the river for a wee bit of game, seeing the night was fine.”“Oh! papa,” cried Grey, “I am sure Helen would not have been so imprudent.”“I’m sure it’s very kind of ye to think so well o’ your schoolfellow, but I’m no’ so sure. Trust me, the Rajah had no hand in the matter.”“He has plenty of servants who would work his will,” said the Resident, thoughtfully; “but this charge of mine must not go forth to Murad’s ears. If I am wronging an innocent man, we shall have made a fresh enemy; and Heaven knows we have enough without that!”“You may be right,” said the doctor, “but I have my doubts.”“He’s wrong,” said old Stuart. “He’s not the man with the spirit in him to do so stirring a thing.”“And he would never take off those two young fellows and my brother-in-law.”“I begin to think he has,” said Perowne, snatching at the solution once more, after holding the opinion and casting it off a dozen times. “He has never forgiven her for her refusal. Are we to sit still under his insult, Harley? You have plenty of men under your command.”“True,” said the Resident; “but should I be justified in calling them out and making a descent on Murad’s town upon the barest suspicion?”Suggestion after suggestion was offered, as the reason of the Resident’s remark was fully realised; but as time went on the little knot of English people more fully than ever realised how helpless they were in the midst of the Malays, whose good offices they were compelled to enlist.

Mr Perowne’s house was literally besieged the next morning, for the news of the disappearance ran through the little community like wildfire. British and native communities were equally excited; and after snatching an hour’s rest at the imperative command of his wife, the doctor was hastily swallowing some breakfast previous to going back to Mr Perowne’s, but could hardly get on for interruptions.

“I am not alarmed, Henry,” said the little lady, in a quiet, decided way; “and I insist upon your being properly fortified before unduly exerting yourself. I could not bear for you to be ill.”

The words were said very quietly, but in such a tone that Dr Bolter set down his cup, and rising, left his place, and tenderly embraced the earnest little woman he had made his wife.

“I will take all the care I can, my dear Mary,” he said.

“I know you will, Henry,” said the little lady, whose lip quivered slightly as she spoke; “but now go and finish your breakfast, and then start. Don’t be uneasy about me, dear, but go and do what you think best under the circumstances.”

“I will, my love—I will,” said Dr Bolter, with his mouth full of toast.

“It all sounds very alarming, dear, but I cannot help thinking that it will be explained in a very simple manner.”

“I hope so.”

“You see there are four of them; and as Arthur is one, I think we may feel assured.”

“Well, my dear these are business times,” said the doctor, “and we must speak in business ways. Arthur is the best old fellow in the world; but I am sorry to say that he is a terrible old woman.”

“Henry!” said the lady, reproachfully.

“Well, my dear, he is. Now, would you have much confidence in him if it were a case of emergency?”

“I—I think I would sooner trust to you, Henry,” said the little lady, softly; “but do make haste and get a good breakfast. If you want me, send a message, and I will come directly.”

“All right,” said the doctor, rising once more. “Now I’m off.”

“But one moment, Henry,” said the little lady, whose feelings now got the upper hand. “Tell me, dear—do you think anything dreadful has happened?”

“What do you call dreadful, my dear?” said the doctor, cheerily.

“That the crocodiles—”

She did not finish, but looked imploringly at her lord.

“Bah!—stuff!—nonsense! No, Mary, I don’t.”

“Then that this dreadful Rajah has carried them off?”

“If it had only been Madam Helen, I should have felt suspicious; but what could he want with Hilton and Chumbley, or with our Arthur?”

“To marry them,” suggested Mrs Bolter.

“Stuff! my dear, not he. If Murad had carried her off, he would not have bothered about a parson.”

“But Arthur was waiting about her all the evening.”

“So he was, my dear.”

“And he may have killed Hilton and poor Mr Chumbley, while they were defending her.”

“Yes, he might, certainly,” said the doctor, drily; “but how the—”

“Henry!”

“I only meant dickens. I say how the dickens he was going to carry her off when he was at the party all the time I can’t see.”

“But was he?”

“To the very last. Oh! it will all settle itself into nothing, unless Arthur has taken Helen off into the jungle and married her himself, with Hilton and Chumbley for witnesses.”

“Is this a time for joking, Henry?” said the little lady, reproachfully.

“Really, my dear, it would be no joke if Arthur had his own way.”

“I’m afraid,” sighed little Mrs Bolter, “that Helen Perowne had a good deal to with my brother accepting the chaplaincy.”

“I’m sure she had,” chuckled the doctor.

“If I had thought so I would never have consented to come,” said the lady with asperity.

“Wouldn’t you, Mary? Wouldn’t you?” said the little doctor, taking her in his arms; and the lady withdrew her words just as a step was heard outside.

“Here’s another stoppage,” cried the doctor, impatiently. “Why, it’s Mrs Barlow. What does she want?”

Mrs Barlow was a widow lady of about forty, the relict of a well-to-do merchant of the station, who, after her widowhood, preferred to stay and keep her brother’s house to going back to England; at any rate, as she expressed it, for a few years.

She was one of the set who visited at Mr Perowne’s, and had also been at the trip up the river to the Inche Maida’s home; but being a decidedly neutral-tinted lady, in spite of her black attire, she was so little prominent that mention of her has not been necessary until now.

“Stop a minute;” she exclaimed, excitedly, as she arrested the doctor on his step.

“Not ill, are you, Mrs Barlow?” queried the doctor.

“Not bodily, doctor,” she began, “but—”

“My wife is inside, my dear madam,” cried the doctor, “and I must be off.”

“Stop!” exclaimed Mrs Barlow, authoritatively; and she took the little doctor’s arm, and led him back into the breakfast-room. “You are his brother, Dr Bolter. Mrs Bolter, you are his sister, ma’am. I can speak freely to you both.”

“Of course, madam, of course,” said the doctor; and then to himself, “Has the woman been takingverystrong tea?”

“I have only just learned the terrible news, Dr Bolter—Mrs Bolter,” cried the lady, “and I came on to you.”

“Very kind of you I am sure, ma’am.”

“What do you think, doctor? You have some idea.”

“Not the least at present, ma’am. I was just off to see.”

“That is good of you; but tell me first,” cried the widow, half hysterically. “You do not—you cannot think—that that dreadful woman—”

“What, the Inche Maida, ma’am?”

“No, no! I mean Helen Perowne—has deluded him into following her away to some other settlement.”

“Whom, ma’am, Hilton or Chumbley?”

“Oh, dear me, no, doctor; I mean dear Mr Rosebury.”

“Oh, you mean dear Mr Rosebury, do you?” said the doctor.

“Yes, Dr Bolter; oh, yes. Tell me; do you think that dreadful girl has deluded him away?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” cried the doctor, stoutly. “Hang it all, no! I’d give her the credit of a good deal, but not of that. Hang it, no.”

“Thank you, doctor,” said the lady hysterically. “Of course I should have forgiven it, and set it all down to her; but you do me good, doctor, by assuring me that my surmise is impossible. What do you think then?”

“That it’s all a mystery for us to find out, and I was going to hunt it up when you stopped me, ma’am.”

“Excuse me, Mrs Barlow,” said little Mrs Bolter, who had been fidgeting about, and waiting for an opportunity to speak, “but will you kindly explain what you mean by your very particular allusions to my brother?”

“Must I?” said the lady, with a martyred look.

“If you please, ma’am,” said Mrs Bolter, sternly; and the little lady looked as if she were ready to apply the moral thumbscrews and the rack itself to the visitor if she did not make a clean breast.

“Do you not know?” whispered Mrs Barlow, with a pathetic look, and a timidly bashful casting down of the eyes.

“No, ma’am, I do not,” said little Mrs Bolter, haughtily.

“I thought you must have known,” sighed the lady. “But under these circumstances, when he may be in terrible peril, perhaps crying aloud, ‘Rosina, come to my aid,’ why should I shrink from this avowal? I amnotashamed to own it. Ah, Dr Bolter—oh, Mrs Bolter—I have loved him from his first sermon, when he looked down at me and seemed to address me with that soft, impressive voice which thrilled the very fibres of my heart, and now he is gone—he is gone! What does it mean! What shall we do?”

“Mary, you’d better administer a little sal-volatile, my dear,” said the doctor. “You know the strength; I’m off.”

The doctor backed out of the room, leaving Mrs Barlow sobbing on the sofa, and hurried off in the direction of the Residency, talking to himself on the way.

“This is something fresh!” he muttered; “and it isn’t leap-year either. Rum creatures women! I wonder what Mary is saying to her now! Here, paddle me across,” he said to one of the natives who was cleaning out his sampan ready for any passengers who might want to be put across to the island.

As he neared the landing-stage, he found Mr Harley anxiously busy despatching boat after boat up and down stream, each boat being paddled by a couple of friendly natives, and containing a noncommissioned officer and private selected for their intelligence.

“Ah! that’s right, Harley!” said the doctor, rubbing his hands after a friendly salute, and the information given and taken that there was not the slightest news of the missing people. “But don’t you think we ought to take some steps ashore?”

“Wait a moment; let me ease my mind by getting these fellows off,” said the Resident hoarsely; and he gave the men the strictest injunctions to carefully search the banks of the river, and also to closely question every Malay they met as to whether anything of the missing party had been seen. Eight boats had been sent off upon this mission, the men accepting the task readily enough, irrespective of the promise of reward; and hardly had the last been despatched, when the Resident proposed that they should go across to Mr Perowne’s.

“It is only fair to consult him as to our next proceedings,” said the Resident, gloomily; and almost in silence they were paddled across to the mainland, and went up to the scene of last night’s festivities, where everything looked dismal and in confusion. Half-burnt lanterns hung amidst the trees, tables and chairs were piled up anyhow in the grounds, and the lawn was strewn with thedébrisof the feast yet uncleared away, the attention of the servants having been so much occupied with their search.

The two new-comers found Mr Perowne quite prostrate with this terrible anxiety, and Mr Stuart trying, with his daughter, to administer some little consolation in the way of hope.

“Cheer up, mon!” the old Scot was saying. “I daresay she’ll turn up all right yet.”

Mr Perowne looked at him so reproachfully that the old Scot paused and then turned uneasily away.

“Poor wretch!” he muttered; “he has trouble eneuch—enough I mean.”

“Ah! Harley, what news?” cried Mr Perowne.

“None as yet,” was the reply.

“Have you sent out boats?”

“Yes, eight; and let us hope that they will discover something.”

“But you do not think they will?”

The Resident was silent.

“Harley here thinks that the Rajah is at the bottom of it all,” said the doctor.

“Impossible!” cried the unhappy father. “He was here when she was missed, or I might have suspected him. I fear it is something worse than even that.”

“I cannot help my suspicions,” said the Resident, quietly. “Perhaps I wrong him.”

“I think ye do, Harley,” said the old Scot. “I saw him here long after Miss Helen must have been gone. I’m thinking she and the young officers have taken a boat and gone down the river for a wee bit of game, seeing the night was fine.”

“Oh! papa,” cried Grey, “I am sure Helen would not have been so imprudent.”

“I’m sure it’s very kind of ye to think so well o’ your schoolfellow, but I’m no’ so sure. Trust me, the Rajah had no hand in the matter.”

“He has plenty of servants who would work his will,” said the Resident, thoughtfully; “but this charge of mine must not go forth to Murad’s ears. If I am wronging an innocent man, we shall have made a fresh enemy; and Heaven knows we have enough without that!”

“You may be right,” said the doctor, “but I have my doubts.”

“He’s wrong,” said old Stuart. “He’s not the man with the spirit in him to do so stirring a thing.”

“And he would never take off those two young fellows and my brother-in-law.”

“I begin to think he has,” said Perowne, snatching at the solution once more, after holding the opinion and casting it off a dozen times. “He has never forgiven her for her refusal. Are we to sit still under his insult, Harley? You have plenty of men under your command.”

“True,” said the Resident; “but should I be justified in calling them out and making a descent on Murad’s town upon the barest suspicion?”

Suggestion after suggestion was offered, as the reason of the Resident’s remark was fully realised; but as time went on the little knot of English people more fully than ever realised how helpless they were in the midst of the Malays, whose good offices they were compelled to enlist.

Volume Two—Chapter Five.A New Phase.The meeting was soon after strengthened by the arrival of Mrs Bolter and the principal ladies of the little community, when before long it became evident that Helen Perowne’s behaviour had made the ladies of one mind.Their sole idea was that which found vent at last from the lips of Mrs Bolter, who, after a good deal of pressing as to her belief, gave it:“I am very sorry to express my feelings upon the subject,” she said, “and perhaps I am prejudiced; but I cannot help thinking that Miss Perowne has eloped with Captain Hilton, and Lieutenant Chumbley has gone with them to save appearances.”“That doesn’t account for Rosebury’s disappearance, my dear,” said the doctor, rather tartly, for he was annoyed at his wife’s decided tone.“I am sorry to say that Miss Perowne,” continued the lady, “had gained a great deal of influence over my brother, and I daresay he would have acquiesced in anything she wished him to do.”“I am quite sure you are wronging Helen, and Mr Rosebury as well!” cried Grey Stuart, suddenly. “Mrs Bolter, these words of yours are cruel in the extreme!”“Maybe, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, tightening her lips.“And I am sure,” cried Grey, “that Captain Hilton would never have taken such a step; while Lieutenant Chumbley would have been the first to call it madness!”“And who made you their champion, miss?” cried old Stuart, sharply.“I only said what I thought was right, papa,” said Grey, with no little dignity. “I could not stand by and hear Helen accused of so great a lapse of duty without a word in her defence.”“And I am sure, from her father to the humblest here,” said the Resident, taking Grey’s hand and kissing it, “we all honour you for your sentiments, Miss Stuart. And now, Mrs Bolter,” he continued, turning to the doctor’s wife, “as we have heard your belief, let me ask you, as a sensible woman, whether you think such an assertion can be true.”“I don’t see why you should take up the cudgels so fiercely on Miss Perowne’s behalf, Mr Harley,” said the little lady, quietly.“That is beside the question,” he retorted, “and I ask you again, do you think this true?”“I told you beforehand, Mr Harley,” replied the lady, “that I was no doubt very much prejudiced, and I believe I am; but I am at least frank and plain, and repeat, that after due consideration it does wear that aspect to me.”“Speak out, Mrs Bolter, please,” said the father. “I will have no reservations.”“It is a time, Mr Perowne, when I feel bound to speak out, and without reservation. I grieve to say that Miss Perowne’s whole conduct has been such as to lead any thoughtful woman to believe that what I say is true.”There was a murmur of assent here from the ladies present.“You are in the minority, Miss Stuart,” said the Resident, gravely, as he turned to Grey, who, pale of face and red-eyed, was now and again casting reproachful glances at the severe-looking little lady, “and I thank you for what you have said.”“I’m beginning to think myself that the wife is right,” said Dr Bolter. “She tells me she has been making inquiries amongst the Malay women—many of whom we know from their coming up to our house for help. They are very friendly towards us; and if there was anything in the Murad theory they would have known, and let it out. You are wrong, my dear. I’m afraid you are wrong.”Grey raised her eyes to the doctor’s with quite a fierce look, and she turned red and pale by turns ere she answered, loyally:“No, I am not wrong. Helen would not have been guilty of such an act. I know her too well. Neither,” she added, in a lower voice, “would Captain Hilton.”“Brave little partisan,” said the Resident, sadly. “You and I will fight all Helen Perowne’s detractors. As you say,” he cried, raising his voice, and a warm flush showing through his embrowned skin, “it is impossible!”Mr Perowne had been called from the room before the discussion assumed quite so personal a nature, and now he returned, gazing piteously from one to the other as he was asked whether there was any news.“This suspense is terrible!” he moaned. “Harley, Bolter, pray do something! My poor child!—my poor child!”There was a sympathetic silence in the now crowded room, as the occupants waited for one of the gentlemen to speak, Dr Bolter looking at his wife, as if to ask, “What shall I say?” and receiving for response a shake of the head.“The Rajah must, I am sure,” cried Mr Perowne, “be at the bottom of this terrible affair. Mr Harley!” he cried, passionately, “I can bear this no longer, and I insist—I demand of you, as one of her Majesty’s representatives—that you send troops up to the village at once!”“I have thought of all this, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, “but that would be a declaration of war, and I should not feel justified in taking such a step without authority from the Governor.”“I do not care!” cried the father, frantically. “War or no war, I demand that, instead of waiting in this cold-blooded way, you have the place searched! This outrage must be due to the Rajah!”There was a low hum of excitement in the room, as all eagerly watched for the Resident’s reply to what seemed to be, but was not—a just demand.“I would gladly do as you wish, Mr Perowne,” he replied, “the more readily because it is what my heart prompts; but I must have some good grounds—stronger than mere suspicion—before I can do more than ask the aid of Murad, who is, as you know, a friendly Prince. Again, I must ask you to consider my position here, and my stringent instructions to keep on good terms with this Rajah. Recollect, sir, once again, to do what you propose would be interpreted by the Malays as an act of war. I have the whole community to study as well as your feelings, sir—as well,” he added, in a low voice, only heard by Grey Stuart, “as my own.”“But my child—my child!” groaned Mr Perowne.“I have done what I could, sir; sent messengers at once to Murad asking his aid, and whether any of his people can give us help.”“You did not accuse him then?” said Mr Stuart.“How could I, sir, on suspicion? No, I have done what is best.”“But it is horrible!” cried Mr Perowne. “The thought of her being in the power of this unprincipled man is more than I can bear.”“But we do not know, sir, that this is the case, whatever our suspicions may be.”“I think they are wrong,” cried Mrs Bolter, quickly, “for here comes someone to tell us who is right.”She pointed through the window as she spoke, and every head was turned to see the Rajah come hurrying up the pathway leading to the house, his steps seeming to partake of the excitement of the whole group, as he dashed up to the door; and as soon as he was admitted he half ran into the midst of the silent assembly, gazing wildly from face to face, till his eyes rested upon Mr Perowne, to whom he ran, threw his arms over his shoulders, and exclaimed with a passionate, half-sobbing cry:“Tell me—quick! Tell me it is not true!”

The meeting was soon after strengthened by the arrival of Mrs Bolter and the principal ladies of the little community, when before long it became evident that Helen Perowne’s behaviour had made the ladies of one mind.

Their sole idea was that which found vent at last from the lips of Mrs Bolter, who, after a good deal of pressing as to her belief, gave it:

“I am very sorry to express my feelings upon the subject,” she said, “and perhaps I am prejudiced; but I cannot help thinking that Miss Perowne has eloped with Captain Hilton, and Lieutenant Chumbley has gone with them to save appearances.”

“That doesn’t account for Rosebury’s disappearance, my dear,” said the doctor, rather tartly, for he was annoyed at his wife’s decided tone.

“I am sorry to say that Miss Perowne,” continued the lady, “had gained a great deal of influence over my brother, and I daresay he would have acquiesced in anything she wished him to do.”

“I am quite sure you are wronging Helen, and Mr Rosebury as well!” cried Grey Stuart, suddenly. “Mrs Bolter, these words of yours are cruel in the extreme!”

“Maybe, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, tightening her lips.

“And I am sure,” cried Grey, “that Captain Hilton would never have taken such a step; while Lieutenant Chumbley would have been the first to call it madness!”

“And who made you their champion, miss?” cried old Stuart, sharply.

“I only said what I thought was right, papa,” said Grey, with no little dignity. “I could not stand by and hear Helen accused of so great a lapse of duty without a word in her defence.”

“And I am sure, from her father to the humblest here,” said the Resident, taking Grey’s hand and kissing it, “we all honour you for your sentiments, Miss Stuart. And now, Mrs Bolter,” he continued, turning to the doctor’s wife, “as we have heard your belief, let me ask you, as a sensible woman, whether you think such an assertion can be true.”

“I don’t see why you should take up the cudgels so fiercely on Miss Perowne’s behalf, Mr Harley,” said the little lady, quietly.

“That is beside the question,” he retorted, “and I ask you again, do you think this true?”

“I told you beforehand, Mr Harley,” replied the lady, “that I was no doubt very much prejudiced, and I believe I am; but I am at least frank and plain, and repeat, that after due consideration it does wear that aspect to me.”

“Speak out, Mrs Bolter, please,” said the father. “I will have no reservations.”

“It is a time, Mr Perowne, when I feel bound to speak out, and without reservation. I grieve to say that Miss Perowne’s whole conduct has been such as to lead any thoughtful woman to believe that what I say is true.”

There was a murmur of assent here from the ladies present.

“You are in the minority, Miss Stuart,” said the Resident, gravely, as he turned to Grey, who, pale of face and red-eyed, was now and again casting reproachful glances at the severe-looking little lady, “and I thank you for what you have said.”

“I’m beginning to think myself that the wife is right,” said Dr Bolter. “She tells me she has been making inquiries amongst the Malay women—many of whom we know from their coming up to our house for help. They are very friendly towards us; and if there was anything in the Murad theory they would have known, and let it out. You are wrong, my dear. I’m afraid you are wrong.”

Grey raised her eyes to the doctor’s with quite a fierce look, and she turned red and pale by turns ere she answered, loyally:

“No, I am not wrong. Helen would not have been guilty of such an act. I know her too well. Neither,” she added, in a lower voice, “would Captain Hilton.”

“Brave little partisan,” said the Resident, sadly. “You and I will fight all Helen Perowne’s detractors. As you say,” he cried, raising his voice, and a warm flush showing through his embrowned skin, “it is impossible!”

Mr Perowne had been called from the room before the discussion assumed quite so personal a nature, and now he returned, gazing piteously from one to the other as he was asked whether there was any news.

“This suspense is terrible!” he moaned. “Harley, Bolter, pray do something! My poor child!—my poor child!”

There was a sympathetic silence in the now crowded room, as the occupants waited for one of the gentlemen to speak, Dr Bolter looking at his wife, as if to ask, “What shall I say?” and receiving for response a shake of the head.

“The Rajah must, I am sure,” cried Mr Perowne, “be at the bottom of this terrible affair. Mr Harley!” he cried, passionately, “I can bear this no longer, and I insist—I demand of you, as one of her Majesty’s representatives—that you send troops up to the village at once!”

“I have thought of all this, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, “but that would be a declaration of war, and I should not feel justified in taking such a step without authority from the Governor.”

“I do not care!” cried the father, frantically. “War or no war, I demand that, instead of waiting in this cold-blooded way, you have the place searched! This outrage must be due to the Rajah!”

There was a low hum of excitement in the room, as all eagerly watched for the Resident’s reply to what seemed to be, but was not—a just demand.

“I would gladly do as you wish, Mr Perowne,” he replied, “the more readily because it is what my heart prompts; but I must have some good grounds—stronger than mere suspicion—before I can do more than ask the aid of Murad, who is, as you know, a friendly Prince. Again, I must ask you to consider my position here, and my stringent instructions to keep on good terms with this Rajah. Recollect, sir, once again, to do what you propose would be interpreted by the Malays as an act of war. I have the whole community to study as well as your feelings, sir—as well,” he added, in a low voice, only heard by Grey Stuart, “as my own.”

“But my child—my child!” groaned Mr Perowne.

“I have done what I could, sir; sent messengers at once to Murad asking his aid, and whether any of his people can give us help.”

“You did not accuse him then?” said Mr Stuart.

“How could I, sir, on suspicion? No, I have done what is best.”

“But it is horrible!” cried Mr Perowne. “The thought of her being in the power of this unprincipled man is more than I can bear.”

“But we do not know, sir, that this is the case, whatever our suspicions may be.”

“I think they are wrong,” cried Mrs Bolter, quickly, “for here comes someone to tell us who is right.”

She pointed through the window as she spoke, and every head was turned to see the Rajah come hurrying up the pathway leading to the house, his steps seeming to partake of the excitement of the whole group, as he dashed up to the door; and as soon as he was admitted he half ran into the midst of the silent assembly, gazing wildly from face to face, till his eyes rested upon Mr Perowne, to whom he ran, threw his arms over his shoulders, and exclaimed with a passionate, half-sobbing cry:

“Tell me—quick! Tell me it is not true!”

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