Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Eighteen.A Friendly Hand.The two boys stood staring thoughtfully at each other that bright, sunny morning, for some minutes before Ned spoke again.“They will not kill us, will they?” he said.“Kill us? No. I should just like to catch them at it. The brutes! To take away my kris too. There’s going to be a row about this as soon as my father knows.”“Then you think it’s all a mistake?”“Of course it is. I shouldn’t have wondered if they’d shut you up like this, but you see they’ve shut up me.”“Well, you’re of no more consequence than I am,” said Ned, laughing in spite of his trouble and a throbbing head.“No more consequence than you? Why, I’ve done as much as I liked about here for ever so long, and the people have treated me just as if I were the rajah’s son. It’s all your fault.”“I suppose so,” said Ned, dismally.“But if they think they’re going to do just as they like, they’re mistaken. Here!” he cried in Malay, “water.”There was a bit of a bustle out on the veranda, and two men came in with brass basins and cotton cloths, which they held while, without hesitation, Frank began to bathe his face.It was a good example, and Ned followed suit, the cool, fresh water feeling delightful to his heated brow.“Done?” said Frank, as he wiped his hands.“Yes.”“Take away, and bring breakfast,” cried Frank, haughtily, to the men, who bowed and went off with the water and towels.“I’ll let them see whether they’re going to treat me like a prisoner,” cried Frank.“I wish I could be as bumptious as you are with them,” said Ned, with a faint smile.“You don’t try.”“I’m so anxious.”“Oh, it’s of no use to be anxious,” said Frank, gazing out of the door, and then through the window with its bamboo lattice-work.“Which house are we in?”“I don’t know. I was trying to make out, but you can only see trees. I do believe they’ve taken us up the river somewhere. I don’t know, though. These houses are all alike. It isn’t the Tumongong’s, nor the Muntrie’s, nor the Maharajah Lela’s. Yes, I believe they’ve taken us up the river. The old chap has houses in all sorts of places out in the jungle, where he likes to go and hide himself sometimes, but I don’t see any fun in his hiding us.”“Then they brought us up here. But how?”“In a naga, of course.”“But in our sleep, or while we were insensible?”“Insensible, if you like to call it so. They must have given us some stuff. They’ve all kinds of dodges of that sort, bless ’em! You should hear Doctor Barnes talk about the poisons they use.”“I should like to—now,” said Ned, drily.“And so you shall—before long. I’ll soon get you out of this. Yes,” he continued, “this is one of the old boy’s places. See how fine the mats are, and how the walls are covered. But never mind now, my head’s better, and here’s our breakfast.”For the two men entered as the boys came back into the main room opening on to the veranda from an inspection of two side-places beautifully hung and covered with mats. Then a third man entered, and as Frank nonchalantly seated himself on the matting floor, Ned followed his example, and an excellent breakfast was placed before them.“Not bad for being prisoners,” said Frank, as he ate away; while, after the first few mouthfuls, Ned’s appetite increased, and he began to enjoy the meal.“That’s right. Ruminate away, old chap. There’s nothing to pay. It’s the rajah’s orders, sure enough, or we shouldn’t be fed like this. He isn’t going to kill us.”“Think not?”“Sure of it, unless he’s going to fatten us up, and then try whether we’re good to eat.”“I wish I had such good spirits as you have.”“Oh, I’m getting better now. Here you, send in the head-man,” cried Frank to one of their attendants.The man bowed respectfully, and withdrew to the veranda, where they heard him speak, and directly after one of the party, evidently a man of some consequence from his silken sarong, came in.“I want my kris,” said Frank.The man smiled, and shook his head.“You give it me directly. It was the rajah’s present.”“You will run amok,” said the man.“No. I promise. An English gentleman’s promise,” said Frank.The man thrust his hand under his silken robe, and produced the handsome weapon.“An English gentleman does not break his word,” he said, giving the kris to the boy.“Of course he doesn’t. Thank you,” said Frank, replacing the dagger at his waist, and covering up the hilt with a significant look at the man, who smiled and withdrew, while the boy interpreted the words which his companion had failed to grasp.The meal being ended, they rose; the men came and cleared away, and as soon as they were alone again, Ned looked at Frank.“What next!” he said.“Ah, that’s the puzzle! Here we are, like two dicky-birds in a cage, and they won’t let us go out. If they keep us shut up long like this, it will be horrid. I wish I could send father word.”“Could we escape?”“I don’t know. We might try. What a muddle, to be sure. They think we were going to run away with Hamet, and we may talk for ever and they wouldn’t believe us.”“But we can’t sit here and do nothing.”“No; it will be horribly dull. Those Malay fellows like it. They can sit in the sun all day and chew betel. We can’t. All we can do is to sit and eat fruit, and you can’t keep up doing that always.”Sure enough the party of Malays, ten strong, who acted as their guard in the palm-thatched house, and attended to every want instantly, did sit in and below the veranda in the sun chewing betel, with their eyes half-closed, till, to use Ned’s words, it nearly drove him mad.Frank tried persuasion, bribery, threats, and then force, to get out if only for a walk; but in a patient good-humoured way the chief and his followers refused to let them pass even out on to the veranda; and all the boys knew at last of their position, as the sun went down, was that which they had learned at sunrise: they were in a house somewhere deep in the jungle, shut in by trees.“Can’t we get away when it’s dark?” said Ned.“Get away where?” cried Frank, ill-humouredly. “You ought to know by this time that you can’t get through the jungle without men to chop for you.”“But there must be a path by which they brought us.”“Yes; one leading down to the river, where you could get no farther for want of a boat, and trust ’em, they’ll watch that night and day. Fellows who know they’ll have a kris stuck into them, and be pitched into the river if they let a prisoner escape, look out pretty sharp.”It was rapidly growing dark when Frank, who had tried lying down, sitting cross-legged, standing up, walking about, and lying on his chest, with his elbows on the bamboo flooring and his chin in his hands, suddenly exclaimed: “Have some more durian?”“No, thank you.”“Some mangosteens?”“No, I’ve had enough.”“Try some of those little bananas.”“No—no—no, I couldn’t eat any more fruit.”“No more can I. Shall we tell them to bring us some curry to finish off with?”“Oh, I say, don’t talk any more about eating,” cried Ned; “we seem to have done nothing else all day.”“Well, there wasn’t anything else to do.—I know.”“What?”“Let’s catch the jungle fever. Then they’ll be obliged to take us back to the doctor.”“Nonsense! But I say, Frank, if it’s so miserable and wearisome to be shut up like this for a day, what will it be by-and-by?”“I don’t know. Never mind by-and-by,” said Frank. “’Nough to do to think of just now. What shall we do?”“Go to sleep and forget it till to-morrow morning,” said Ned philosophically.“Come,” cried Frank; “that’s the best thing you’ve said to-day. All right.”It was now so dark that they had to feel their way into the inner room, where they lay down on the mats with their heads close to the side, and they had hardly settled themselves comfortably when the chief entered the main room followed by two men, one of whom bore a lamp.The principal Malay looked sharply round, and then said to Frank, who lay on his back with his hands under his head:“Does my lord want anything else?”“Yes. You to go and not bother,” replied the boy ungraciously.“Can we bring him anything?”“Yes; a boat to take us home.”“Shall I leave the light?”“No; take it away. I’m sleepy.”The man bowed, backed out with his followers, the matting was dropped between the two rooms and then over the doorway as they passed into the veranda.“That’s the way to talk to them,” said Frank, peevishly.“You weren’t very civil.”“Well, who’s going to be to people who shut you up. It’s no use to be ‘my lord’ without you behave like one. Now let’s go to sleep.”Easier said than done. First in the hot darkness came theping-wingof a mosquito, then the restless sound made by the boys fidgeting about, and the low dull murmur of the men talking in the veranda.“What’s that?” said Ned, suddenly.“Bother! Go to sleep. Only our chaps walking underneath to see if all’s safe below. I say,” he added, after a pause, “I know what I shall do if they don’t let us out soon.”“What!”“Say I want to learn to smoke—late some evening.”“And make yourself sick.”“No; I’ll make them sick. They’ll bring a pipe and some burning charcoal.”“To light the pipe?”“No; it will be to light this jolly old bamboo house. It will blaze up like fun.”“And roast us to death!”“Not it. We won’t be inside. Perhaps we can run away in the scrimmage.”Silence again, and hot, weary, and miserable, the boys lay there in the darkness, till a peculiar sound struck Ned’s ear.“Asleep?” he said.“No; who’s going to sleep if you talk so. Yes, there it is again. Hurrah!”“Then you did hear that sound?”“Hear it? Yes. Know what it is?”“I thought it was a crocodile in the river.”“So it is, and it shows that the river isn’t far off. I wish there were none, and then we’d cut down some bamboos and float away to the village. But not to-night. Let’s go to sleep.”There was again silence, with the hot air growing unbearable, and Ned had just made up his mind to undress, when from out of the jungle, plainly heard through the thin plaited bamboo and palm walls, came a peculiar cry—Coo-ow,coo-ow—to be answered from farther away.“What’s that?” said Ned, half aloud, speaking to himself.“Argus pheasant,” said Frank, drowsily. “Oh, I do wish you wouldn’t bother. Wonder whether they’ve got any of that stuff.”“What stuff?”“To send us to sleep again.”“I wouldn’t take a drop,” thought Ned; and then in the hot silence he lay thinking about Frank’s father, wondering what was going on at the rajah’s village, and what his uncle thought of his absence, till weary nature closed his eyes, and even the loud cry of the argus pheasant and the melancholy howl of a tiger prowling about had no effect upon his slumbers.But a touch effected that which sound had not produced.For, mingled with his dreams, he had one of a great rat gnawing very softly somewhere by his head, and this kept on for what seemed in his dream like a tremendous length of time before it ceased, and the rat came in through the hole and began walking over his face and sat up on his lips.That woke him, and he felt the perspiration standing on his brow, for it was no dream: the rat was seated on his lips, and as he lay motionless like one in a nightmare, he felt the little animal glide from his lips to his shoulder, then down his arm to where his hand lay upon his chest, play with the fingers for a few moments, and then grasp them firmly.It was not a rat: it was a warm soft hand.A sob escaped from Ned’s breast, and he was about to speak, but his hand was pressed firmly, and he returned the grasp, for it felt like the hand of a friend, and if it were, it meant help and perhaps escape.Turning quickly on his side, he leaned over and touched Frank, who started awake.“Yes,” he said loudly. “What is it?”The hand was snatched away.“I told you. Argus pheas— fez— fuz—” snore.Ned shook him again sharply.“What’s the matter?” he said, thoroughly waking up now.“Hush! pray. Hist!” whispered Ned; and he pressed his companion’s arm, for steps were heard on the creaking bamboo floor, a light shone through between the mat hangings, a dark face appeared and a lantern was held up, so that its dim light fell upon them.Just then a bright thought occurred to Ned.“Tell them to bring some water,” he said, querulously; and Frank, who grasped the idea that there was something particular in the way, gave the order sharply to the man, who retired directly, and returned in a few minutes with another bearing a vessel of some pleasant, cool drink, of which Ned partook with avidity.“Leave a fellow a drop,” said Frank; and the half-full vessel was handed to him. “Ah, it ain’t bad,” he continued, as he too drank heartily. “There, be off. Thank you,” he added, in Malay; “the light hurts my eyes.”The man smiled as he took the vessel, and as Ned watched through his half-closed eyes, he saw that there was the gleam of spears in the outer room. Then the matting dropped behind their jailers, the bamboo floor creaked, the last rays of the light disappeared, and Frank rose softly, crept to the doorway, and peered under the matting.“They’re all out on the veranda,” he whispered, as he returned. “What was the matter?”Ned told him, and Frank uttered an excited “Ah!”Then after a long silence:“It’s help come. P’r’aps it’s old Hamet. Bah! you were dreaming.”“No; I am sure.”“Then,” said Frank, with his lips close to his companion’s ear; “if you were awake, there must be a hole for the hand to come through.”And as Ned listened, he heard the faint rustling of his companion’s hand moving here and there, and then there was a heavy catching breath, and Frank’s fingers were placed over his lips.“Big hole under the mat. Behind your head. Hist! some one coming.”For there was a gleam of light, and then, hardly heard, save for a faint creak of the floor, some one approached, and Ned lay with his arm over his eyes, just making out that the lantern was thrust in, and that a head was visible between the mats and the door, while Frank lay as naturally as if in a heavy sleep, his head half off its resting-place.The mats fell within again. There was another faint creak, the last gleam of light again disappeared, and the boys lay for a full half-hour without moving, while the silence was now broken by the heavy beating of their hearts.All at once, after an interval which seemed terrible, the cry of the argus pheasant was repeated, and it sounded terribly near, while at the same moment Ned was conscious of a faint rustling, and the steamy dank scent of the jungle came to his nostrils.The next moment fingers touched his cheek, were pressed upon his lips, touched his breast, and were gone directly; a slight start from Frank suggesting that he was now being touched. Then followed a faint rustling, and Frank leaned over, put his lips to Ned’s ear, and said:“The hand touched me, then went down to my waist, and it has taken my kris. It’s a thief. Shall I call for help?”At that moment he felt his hand seized and tugged. Then again, and it was drawn under the mat to the opening above their heads.“It’s all right,” whispered Frank. “I’m to go first. Snore.”For a few moments the boy did not grasp his friend’s meaning, but the idea came, and he commenced breathing hard, and uttered a faint sigh in his agony; for just in the midst of the rustling sound close by him, caused as he knew from a touch by Frank gliding slowly through the opening as if being drawn, he saw a gleam of light beneath the matting at the doorway, and felt that some one was coming again with the lantern.The difficulty now was to make a noise that should sound natural. If he snored loudly it might seem forced, and if he did not, he felt sure that the rustling, scraping sound would be heard. But fortune favoured him.Just as he was in despair, there was the sharpping-wingof a mosquito, and he babbled out something incoherently, made a restless movement, and slapped his face quickly twice, as he had often done before in an attempt to slay one of the noxious little insects.The light disappeared directly, for the listening Malay was satisfied; and as Ned stretched out his hand again, he found that he was alone.There was a terrible pause now, and in these brief moments the boy began to think that he had been forsaken, when all at once the hand touched him, glided down to his waist, and drew at it firmly.He yielded and tried to force himself along, but did little, and that little seemed unnecessary, for strong muscles were at work, and he was almost entirely drawn through the opening till he was quite out; his legs sank down gently, and he was lowered till he felt his feet touch the ground, and a hand which he knew directly for Frank’s, lay on his lips.As he was puzzling himself as to how it had been managed, he grasped the fact that some one was gliding down the smooth trunk of a palm-tree which grew close to the house, and to which one of the bamboo rafters had been secured, but whether it was Hamet or some other friend he could not tell.He had no more time for thinking, for two hands were placed on his shoulders, and a voice he now recognised whispered: “Down—creep—follow.”He grasped the idea at once, and went down on hands and knees, to begin crawling slowly and softly after two bare feet, which he had to touch from time to time to make sure that he was right, while he felt that Frank was behind him, and that he too was touching his boots in the same way.They were evidently crawling through a tunnel-like track below the undergrowth, a path probably made by a wild beast—unless it was a contrivance to escape from the back of the house in case of emergency—and along this they crawled painfully, with the bushes on either side and overhead. Now a thorn entered hand or knee, now some kind of vegetable hook caught in their clothes, and then they had to creep round some rugged stump of a tree stem to get forward.The distance was really not great, but it seemed painfully long, and every moment the fugitives were in expectation of having an alarm raised, and seeing the lights of the men in pursuit. But at last, just as Ned had crawled under a bush which scraped and pricked severely, he heard a rustling noise and a peculiar rippling, and was aware of the fact that their guide had risen upright, and that he too could stand.“Ah,” sighed Frank, directly after, “what a—”“Hist!” came in a low whisper. “Stop here—don’t move. Quiet;” and it seemed to Ned that the man lowered himself down till his head was on a level with his companion’s knees, and a faint splashing told him where.They were at the edge of the river, and their rescuer was slowly wading against the stream, holding on by the overhanging boughs.Then the faint splashing ceased, and the boys joined hands, to stand awe-struck and listening in the thick darkness, and with the knowledge that the water, gliding swiftly by their feet, swarmed with monstrous reptiles, which for aught they knew might seize their guide, or be marking them down for their prey.

The two boys stood staring thoughtfully at each other that bright, sunny morning, for some minutes before Ned spoke again.

“They will not kill us, will they?” he said.

“Kill us? No. I should just like to catch them at it. The brutes! To take away my kris too. There’s going to be a row about this as soon as my father knows.”

“Then you think it’s all a mistake?”

“Of course it is. I shouldn’t have wondered if they’d shut you up like this, but you see they’ve shut up me.”

“Well, you’re of no more consequence than I am,” said Ned, laughing in spite of his trouble and a throbbing head.

“No more consequence than you? Why, I’ve done as much as I liked about here for ever so long, and the people have treated me just as if I were the rajah’s son. It’s all your fault.”

“I suppose so,” said Ned, dismally.

“But if they think they’re going to do just as they like, they’re mistaken. Here!” he cried in Malay, “water.”

There was a bit of a bustle out on the veranda, and two men came in with brass basins and cotton cloths, which they held while, without hesitation, Frank began to bathe his face.

It was a good example, and Ned followed suit, the cool, fresh water feeling delightful to his heated brow.

“Done?” said Frank, as he wiped his hands.

“Yes.”

“Take away, and bring breakfast,” cried Frank, haughtily, to the men, who bowed and went off with the water and towels.

“I’ll let them see whether they’re going to treat me like a prisoner,” cried Frank.

“I wish I could be as bumptious as you are with them,” said Ned, with a faint smile.

“You don’t try.”

“I’m so anxious.”

“Oh, it’s of no use to be anxious,” said Frank, gazing out of the door, and then through the window with its bamboo lattice-work.

“Which house are we in?”

“I don’t know. I was trying to make out, but you can only see trees. I do believe they’ve taken us up the river somewhere. I don’t know, though. These houses are all alike. It isn’t the Tumongong’s, nor the Muntrie’s, nor the Maharajah Lela’s. Yes, I believe they’ve taken us up the river. The old chap has houses in all sorts of places out in the jungle, where he likes to go and hide himself sometimes, but I don’t see any fun in his hiding us.”

“Then they brought us up here. But how?”

“In a naga, of course.”

“But in our sleep, or while we were insensible?”

“Insensible, if you like to call it so. They must have given us some stuff. They’ve all kinds of dodges of that sort, bless ’em! You should hear Doctor Barnes talk about the poisons they use.”

“I should like to—now,” said Ned, drily.

“And so you shall—before long. I’ll soon get you out of this. Yes,” he continued, “this is one of the old boy’s places. See how fine the mats are, and how the walls are covered. But never mind now, my head’s better, and here’s our breakfast.”

For the two men entered as the boys came back into the main room opening on to the veranda from an inspection of two side-places beautifully hung and covered with mats. Then a third man entered, and as Frank nonchalantly seated himself on the matting floor, Ned followed his example, and an excellent breakfast was placed before them.

“Not bad for being prisoners,” said Frank, as he ate away; while, after the first few mouthfuls, Ned’s appetite increased, and he began to enjoy the meal.

“That’s right. Ruminate away, old chap. There’s nothing to pay. It’s the rajah’s orders, sure enough, or we shouldn’t be fed like this. He isn’t going to kill us.”

“Think not?”

“Sure of it, unless he’s going to fatten us up, and then try whether we’re good to eat.”

“I wish I had such good spirits as you have.”

“Oh, I’m getting better now. Here you, send in the head-man,” cried Frank to one of their attendants.

The man bowed respectfully, and withdrew to the veranda, where they heard him speak, and directly after one of the party, evidently a man of some consequence from his silken sarong, came in.

“I want my kris,” said Frank.

The man smiled, and shook his head.

“You give it me directly. It was the rajah’s present.”

“You will run amok,” said the man.

“No. I promise. An English gentleman’s promise,” said Frank.

The man thrust his hand under his silken robe, and produced the handsome weapon.

“An English gentleman does not break his word,” he said, giving the kris to the boy.

“Of course he doesn’t. Thank you,” said Frank, replacing the dagger at his waist, and covering up the hilt with a significant look at the man, who smiled and withdrew, while the boy interpreted the words which his companion had failed to grasp.

The meal being ended, they rose; the men came and cleared away, and as soon as they were alone again, Ned looked at Frank.

“What next!” he said.

“Ah, that’s the puzzle! Here we are, like two dicky-birds in a cage, and they won’t let us go out. If they keep us shut up long like this, it will be horrid. I wish I could send father word.”

“Could we escape?”

“I don’t know. We might try. What a muddle, to be sure. They think we were going to run away with Hamet, and we may talk for ever and they wouldn’t believe us.”

“But we can’t sit here and do nothing.”

“No; it will be horribly dull. Those Malay fellows like it. They can sit in the sun all day and chew betel. We can’t. All we can do is to sit and eat fruit, and you can’t keep up doing that always.”

Sure enough the party of Malays, ten strong, who acted as their guard in the palm-thatched house, and attended to every want instantly, did sit in and below the veranda in the sun chewing betel, with their eyes half-closed, till, to use Ned’s words, it nearly drove him mad.

Frank tried persuasion, bribery, threats, and then force, to get out if only for a walk; but in a patient good-humoured way the chief and his followers refused to let them pass even out on to the veranda; and all the boys knew at last of their position, as the sun went down, was that which they had learned at sunrise: they were in a house somewhere deep in the jungle, shut in by trees.

“Can’t we get away when it’s dark?” said Ned.

“Get away where?” cried Frank, ill-humouredly. “You ought to know by this time that you can’t get through the jungle without men to chop for you.”

“But there must be a path by which they brought us.”

“Yes; one leading down to the river, where you could get no farther for want of a boat, and trust ’em, they’ll watch that night and day. Fellows who know they’ll have a kris stuck into them, and be pitched into the river if they let a prisoner escape, look out pretty sharp.”

It was rapidly growing dark when Frank, who had tried lying down, sitting cross-legged, standing up, walking about, and lying on his chest, with his elbows on the bamboo flooring and his chin in his hands, suddenly exclaimed: “Have some more durian?”

“No, thank you.”

“Some mangosteens?”

“No, I’ve had enough.”

“Try some of those little bananas.”

“No—no—no, I couldn’t eat any more fruit.”

“No more can I. Shall we tell them to bring us some curry to finish off with?”

“Oh, I say, don’t talk any more about eating,” cried Ned; “we seem to have done nothing else all day.”

“Well, there wasn’t anything else to do.—I know.”

“What?”

“Let’s catch the jungle fever. Then they’ll be obliged to take us back to the doctor.”

“Nonsense! But I say, Frank, if it’s so miserable and wearisome to be shut up like this for a day, what will it be by-and-by?”

“I don’t know. Never mind by-and-by,” said Frank. “’Nough to do to think of just now. What shall we do?”

“Go to sleep and forget it till to-morrow morning,” said Ned philosophically.

“Come,” cried Frank; “that’s the best thing you’ve said to-day. All right.”

It was now so dark that they had to feel their way into the inner room, where they lay down on the mats with their heads close to the side, and they had hardly settled themselves comfortably when the chief entered the main room followed by two men, one of whom bore a lamp.

The principal Malay looked sharply round, and then said to Frank, who lay on his back with his hands under his head:

“Does my lord want anything else?”

“Yes. You to go and not bother,” replied the boy ungraciously.

“Can we bring him anything?”

“Yes; a boat to take us home.”

“Shall I leave the light?”

“No; take it away. I’m sleepy.”

The man bowed, backed out with his followers, the matting was dropped between the two rooms and then over the doorway as they passed into the veranda.

“That’s the way to talk to them,” said Frank, peevishly.

“You weren’t very civil.”

“Well, who’s going to be to people who shut you up. It’s no use to be ‘my lord’ without you behave like one. Now let’s go to sleep.”

Easier said than done. First in the hot darkness came theping-wingof a mosquito, then the restless sound made by the boys fidgeting about, and the low dull murmur of the men talking in the veranda.

“What’s that?” said Ned, suddenly.

“Bother! Go to sleep. Only our chaps walking underneath to see if all’s safe below. I say,” he added, after a pause, “I know what I shall do if they don’t let us out soon.”

“What!”

“Say I want to learn to smoke—late some evening.”

“And make yourself sick.”

“No; I’ll make them sick. They’ll bring a pipe and some burning charcoal.”

“To light the pipe?”

“No; it will be to light this jolly old bamboo house. It will blaze up like fun.”

“And roast us to death!”

“Not it. We won’t be inside. Perhaps we can run away in the scrimmage.”

Silence again, and hot, weary, and miserable, the boys lay there in the darkness, till a peculiar sound struck Ned’s ear.

“Asleep?” he said.

“No; who’s going to sleep if you talk so. Yes, there it is again. Hurrah!”

“Then you did hear that sound?”

“Hear it? Yes. Know what it is?”

“I thought it was a crocodile in the river.”

“So it is, and it shows that the river isn’t far off. I wish there were none, and then we’d cut down some bamboos and float away to the village. But not to-night. Let’s go to sleep.”

There was again silence, with the hot air growing unbearable, and Ned had just made up his mind to undress, when from out of the jungle, plainly heard through the thin plaited bamboo and palm walls, came a peculiar cry—Coo-ow,coo-ow—to be answered from farther away.

“What’s that?” said Ned, half aloud, speaking to himself.

“Argus pheasant,” said Frank, drowsily. “Oh, I do wish you wouldn’t bother. Wonder whether they’ve got any of that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“To send us to sleep again.”

“I wouldn’t take a drop,” thought Ned; and then in the hot silence he lay thinking about Frank’s father, wondering what was going on at the rajah’s village, and what his uncle thought of his absence, till weary nature closed his eyes, and even the loud cry of the argus pheasant and the melancholy howl of a tiger prowling about had no effect upon his slumbers.

But a touch effected that which sound had not produced.

For, mingled with his dreams, he had one of a great rat gnawing very softly somewhere by his head, and this kept on for what seemed in his dream like a tremendous length of time before it ceased, and the rat came in through the hole and began walking over his face and sat up on his lips.

That woke him, and he felt the perspiration standing on his brow, for it was no dream: the rat was seated on his lips, and as he lay motionless like one in a nightmare, he felt the little animal glide from his lips to his shoulder, then down his arm to where his hand lay upon his chest, play with the fingers for a few moments, and then grasp them firmly.

It was not a rat: it was a warm soft hand.

A sob escaped from Ned’s breast, and he was about to speak, but his hand was pressed firmly, and he returned the grasp, for it felt like the hand of a friend, and if it were, it meant help and perhaps escape.

Turning quickly on his side, he leaned over and touched Frank, who started awake.

“Yes,” he said loudly. “What is it?”

The hand was snatched away.

“I told you. Argus pheas— fez— fuz—” snore.

Ned shook him again sharply.

“What’s the matter?” he said, thoroughly waking up now.

“Hush! pray. Hist!” whispered Ned; and he pressed his companion’s arm, for steps were heard on the creaking bamboo floor, a light shone through between the mat hangings, a dark face appeared and a lantern was held up, so that its dim light fell upon them.

Just then a bright thought occurred to Ned.

“Tell them to bring some water,” he said, querulously; and Frank, who grasped the idea that there was something particular in the way, gave the order sharply to the man, who retired directly, and returned in a few minutes with another bearing a vessel of some pleasant, cool drink, of which Ned partook with avidity.

“Leave a fellow a drop,” said Frank; and the half-full vessel was handed to him. “Ah, it ain’t bad,” he continued, as he too drank heartily. “There, be off. Thank you,” he added, in Malay; “the light hurts my eyes.”

The man smiled as he took the vessel, and as Ned watched through his half-closed eyes, he saw that there was the gleam of spears in the outer room. Then the matting dropped behind their jailers, the bamboo floor creaked, the last rays of the light disappeared, and Frank rose softly, crept to the doorway, and peered under the matting.

“They’re all out on the veranda,” he whispered, as he returned. “What was the matter?”

Ned told him, and Frank uttered an excited “Ah!”

Then after a long silence:

“It’s help come. P’r’aps it’s old Hamet. Bah! you were dreaming.”

“No; I am sure.”

“Then,” said Frank, with his lips close to his companion’s ear; “if you were awake, there must be a hole for the hand to come through.”

And as Ned listened, he heard the faint rustling of his companion’s hand moving here and there, and then there was a heavy catching breath, and Frank’s fingers were placed over his lips.

“Big hole under the mat. Behind your head. Hist! some one coming.”

For there was a gleam of light, and then, hardly heard, save for a faint creak of the floor, some one approached, and Ned lay with his arm over his eyes, just making out that the lantern was thrust in, and that a head was visible between the mats and the door, while Frank lay as naturally as if in a heavy sleep, his head half off its resting-place.

The mats fell within again. There was another faint creak, the last gleam of light again disappeared, and the boys lay for a full half-hour without moving, while the silence was now broken by the heavy beating of their hearts.

All at once, after an interval which seemed terrible, the cry of the argus pheasant was repeated, and it sounded terribly near, while at the same moment Ned was conscious of a faint rustling, and the steamy dank scent of the jungle came to his nostrils.

The next moment fingers touched his cheek, were pressed upon his lips, touched his breast, and were gone directly; a slight start from Frank suggesting that he was now being touched. Then followed a faint rustling, and Frank leaned over, put his lips to Ned’s ear, and said:

“The hand touched me, then went down to my waist, and it has taken my kris. It’s a thief. Shall I call for help?”

At that moment he felt his hand seized and tugged. Then again, and it was drawn under the mat to the opening above their heads.

“It’s all right,” whispered Frank. “I’m to go first. Snore.”

For a few moments the boy did not grasp his friend’s meaning, but the idea came, and he commenced breathing hard, and uttered a faint sigh in his agony; for just in the midst of the rustling sound close by him, caused as he knew from a touch by Frank gliding slowly through the opening as if being drawn, he saw a gleam of light beneath the matting at the doorway, and felt that some one was coming again with the lantern.

The difficulty now was to make a noise that should sound natural. If he snored loudly it might seem forced, and if he did not, he felt sure that the rustling, scraping sound would be heard. But fortune favoured him.

Just as he was in despair, there was the sharpping-wingof a mosquito, and he babbled out something incoherently, made a restless movement, and slapped his face quickly twice, as he had often done before in an attempt to slay one of the noxious little insects.

The light disappeared directly, for the listening Malay was satisfied; and as Ned stretched out his hand again, he found that he was alone.

There was a terrible pause now, and in these brief moments the boy began to think that he had been forsaken, when all at once the hand touched him, glided down to his waist, and drew at it firmly.

He yielded and tried to force himself along, but did little, and that little seemed unnecessary, for strong muscles were at work, and he was almost entirely drawn through the opening till he was quite out; his legs sank down gently, and he was lowered till he felt his feet touch the ground, and a hand which he knew directly for Frank’s, lay on his lips.

As he was puzzling himself as to how it had been managed, he grasped the fact that some one was gliding down the smooth trunk of a palm-tree which grew close to the house, and to which one of the bamboo rafters had been secured, but whether it was Hamet or some other friend he could not tell.

He had no more time for thinking, for two hands were placed on his shoulders, and a voice he now recognised whispered: “Down—creep—follow.”

He grasped the idea at once, and went down on hands and knees, to begin crawling slowly and softly after two bare feet, which he had to touch from time to time to make sure that he was right, while he felt that Frank was behind him, and that he too was touching his boots in the same way.

They were evidently crawling through a tunnel-like track below the undergrowth, a path probably made by a wild beast—unless it was a contrivance to escape from the back of the house in case of emergency—and along this they crawled painfully, with the bushes on either side and overhead. Now a thorn entered hand or knee, now some kind of vegetable hook caught in their clothes, and then they had to creep round some rugged stump of a tree stem to get forward.

The distance was really not great, but it seemed painfully long, and every moment the fugitives were in expectation of having an alarm raised, and seeing the lights of the men in pursuit. But at last, just as Ned had crawled under a bush which scraped and pricked severely, he heard a rustling noise and a peculiar rippling, and was aware of the fact that their guide had risen upright, and that he too could stand.

“Ah,” sighed Frank, directly after, “what a—”

“Hist!” came in a low whisper. “Stop here—don’t move. Quiet;” and it seemed to Ned that the man lowered himself down till his head was on a level with his companion’s knees, and a faint splashing told him where.

They were at the edge of the river, and their rescuer was slowly wading against the stream, holding on by the overhanging boughs.

Then the faint splashing ceased, and the boys joined hands, to stand awe-struck and listening in the thick darkness, and with the knowledge that the water, gliding swiftly by their feet, swarmed with monstrous reptiles, which for aught they knew might seize their guide, or be marking them down for their prey.

Chapter Nineteen.Down the Stream again.Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed, and neither of the boys spoke. No sound came from the house, no splashing of the water told that their guide was on his way back.All at once a shout reached them, followed by another cry, the noise of a struggle succeeded by a splash. Then another splash, and while, with their nerves all on the strain, they listened trembling with excitement, there was another faint gurgling cry; but, instead of being from the direction in which their rescuer had gone, it was close to them in the river, and ceased at once, to be heard again more faintly lower down.“Oh, Ned,” whispered Frank, passionately, “that was poor old Hamet. They’ve krissed him, and thrown him in the river.”“Can’t we help him?” panted Ned, knowing as he spoke that they were only vain words.“No—no—no,” groaned Frank. “And hark! They’re coming after us.”For there were shouts, and quite close at hand the glow of torches dimly-seen above the trees, while as the boys strained their eyes in the direction, Ned jerked Frank’s arm.“Hark!” he whispered; “some one’s crawling along the path. Can’t we run?”“Can’t we fly?” said Frank, bitterly. “It’s all over.”“Hist! quick!” came from the water; “get in.”There was the sound of wood brushing against the bushes, and a dark object rose in front of them.“The boat!” said Frank, excitedly. “Hurrah! In with you, Ned.”The latter needed no second admonition, but sprang in against the man who was holding on by the boughs, and as the boy stumbled and fell, Frank followed.It was none too soon, for there was a sharp rustling behind them, something dark sprang right after them, and another black figure, which had struggled through the tunnel-like passage, rose up; but the boat was loosened, their rescuer struck out fiercely, and the man who had tried to leap on board fell back into the water with a splash, and they heard him dragging himself out just as there was a peculiar thud close to where Ned stood.“What was that?” he whispered.“Spear,” said the man, laconically; and they heard him drag the weapon out of the thwart into which it had stuck.The shouting continued, and it was as if two parties were answering one another; but the sounds grew more distant, and Ned realised that they were gliding down the stream.“They’ll come after us in another boat,” panted Ned.“No. No boat,” said the man.“Oh, Hamet, old chap,” whispered Frank, “we thought they had krissed you, and that we heard you go down the river.”“No,” said the man, quietly. “Two men keeping boat. Not hurt.”Ned felt a strange shrinking sensation, and his imagination supplied the facts of the case, as he mentally saw their friend wade in the darkness up to where this boat had been moored, and attack its guardians. He shuddered, and dared think no more, but, happily, Frank began whispering to him just then.“This is one of the little nagas,” he said. “I know it. The men used it to take us up the river. They did not know it would be all right for us to escape. I say, Hamet, how far is it down to the rajah’s campong?”“Don’t know,” said the man quietly, using an oar so as to get the boat’s head down stream, and farther from the bank, where the fireflies were still flitting at intervals.“Well, we shall float down to it. We needn’t speak low now?”“No; only a little,” replied the man.“I say, you were a good one to come and help us. But, I say, you did not kill any one, did you?”“They tried to kill Hamet,” he replied, quietly.“Oh, Ned!” whispered Frank, with a shudder, “I shall never wear that kris again.”They glided on down in silence for some time before either of the boys spoke again, and then Ned said in a low voice:“They seized you too, Hamet?”“Yes, master, and brought us up the river here. I said to myself, ‘I will save the young masters,’ and they are here.”“But what is to be done now?”“Go down in the dark to my lord, and say here is a boat waiting. Shall we go back to Dindong?”“But we could not, Hamet,” said Frank. “The rajah’s people would hear us, and stop us.”“Perhaps,” said the man, quietly. “Heaven knows: but we will try.”“Yes,” said Frank, “we will try, unless my father thinks we ought all to stop, and he could bully the rajah. But we will see.”“Yes, we will see,” replied Hamet; and there was silence once more for a time, but Ned was too much excited to remain quiet long.“Are you sure,” he said, “that they cannot follow us on shore though they have no boat?”“Quite sure,” said Frank. “They are on the wrong side of the river, and they could not cut a way through the jungle for days and days. I don’t know how far we are up either. Perhaps miles and miles, and they were rowing and poling up all night.”Silence once more fell upon the party, and the boys sat watching the dark wall of trees on either side and listening to the forest sounds, all of which seemed strange and impressive at such a time. Now and then the oar creaked with which Hamet kept the boat’s head right, and several times now the boys shrank from the side as there was a sudden swirl and rush through the water, evidently caused by a crocodile disturbed by the passing boat. Then, too, came the cry of a tiger, distant or near, and other peculiar calls from deep in the jungle, sounds that they would hardly have noticed by day, but which were peculiarly impressive now.And so the time wore on, till, just as Ned was asking if his companion did not think they must be near the campong now, Hamet said in a low voice:“Don’t talk. Words fly along the water. Be heard.”“Then we must be near now?” whispered Ned.“Yes,” replied Frank. “I say, Hamet, keep a good look-out for the prahus, and run her in by the tree where the crocodile was caught. It will be quite black under those boughs.”“Pst!” whispered Hamet, and he ceased dipping his oar in the water, for suddenly a faint light appeared ahead of them not larger than that emitted by a firefly, but the regular beat of oars told that it was in some boat, and unless prompt measures were taken, it was evident that they would be seen, and the efforts of the night thrown away.

Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed, and neither of the boys spoke. No sound came from the house, no splashing of the water told that their guide was on his way back.

All at once a shout reached them, followed by another cry, the noise of a struggle succeeded by a splash. Then another splash, and while, with their nerves all on the strain, they listened trembling with excitement, there was another faint gurgling cry; but, instead of being from the direction in which their rescuer had gone, it was close to them in the river, and ceased at once, to be heard again more faintly lower down.

“Oh, Ned,” whispered Frank, passionately, “that was poor old Hamet. They’ve krissed him, and thrown him in the river.”

“Can’t we help him?” panted Ned, knowing as he spoke that they were only vain words.

“No—no—no,” groaned Frank. “And hark! They’re coming after us.”

For there were shouts, and quite close at hand the glow of torches dimly-seen above the trees, while as the boys strained their eyes in the direction, Ned jerked Frank’s arm.

“Hark!” he whispered; “some one’s crawling along the path. Can’t we run?”

“Can’t we fly?” said Frank, bitterly. “It’s all over.”

“Hist! quick!” came from the water; “get in.”

There was the sound of wood brushing against the bushes, and a dark object rose in front of them.

“The boat!” said Frank, excitedly. “Hurrah! In with you, Ned.”

The latter needed no second admonition, but sprang in against the man who was holding on by the boughs, and as the boy stumbled and fell, Frank followed.

It was none too soon, for there was a sharp rustling behind them, something dark sprang right after them, and another black figure, which had struggled through the tunnel-like passage, rose up; but the boat was loosened, their rescuer struck out fiercely, and the man who had tried to leap on board fell back into the water with a splash, and they heard him dragging himself out just as there was a peculiar thud close to where Ned stood.

“What was that?” he whispered.

“Spear,” said the man, laconically; and they heard him drag the weapon out of the thwart into which it had stuck.

The shouting continued, and it was as if two parties were answering one another; but the sounds grew more distant, and Ned realised that they were gliding down the stream.

“They’ll come after us in another boat,” panted Ned.

“No. No boat,” said the man.

“Oh, Hamet, old chap,” whispered Frank, “we thought they had krissed you, and that we heard you go down the river.”

“No,” said the man, quietly. “Two men keeping boat. Not hurt.”

Ned felt a strange shrinking sensation, and his imagination supplied the facts of the case, as he mentally saw their friend wade in the darkness up to where this boat had been moored, and attack its guardians. He shuddered, and dared think no more, but, happily, Frank began whispering to him just then.

“This is one of the little nagas,” he said. “I know it. The men used it to take us up the river. They did not know it would be all right for us to escape. I say, Hamet, how far is it down to the rajah’s campong?”

“Don’t know,” said the man quietly, using an oar so as to get the boat’s head down stream, and farther from the bank, where the fireflies were still flitting at intervals.

“Well, we shall float down to it. We needn’t speak low now?”

“No; only a little,” replied the man.

“I say, you were a good one to come and help us. But, I say, you did not kill any one, did you?”

“They tried to kill Hamet,” he replied, quietly.

“Oh, Ned!” whispered Frank, with a shudder, “I shall never wear that kris again.”

They glided on down in silence for some time before either of the boys spoke again, and then Ned said in a low voice:

“They seized you too, Hamet?”

“Yes, master, and brought us up the river here. I said to myself, ‘I will save the young masters,’ and they are here.”

“But what is to be done now?”

“Go down in the dark to my lord, and say here is a boat waiting. Shall we go back to Dindong?”

“But we could not, Hamet,” said Frank. “The rajah’s people would hear us, and stop us.”

“Perhaps,” said the man, quietly. “Heaven knows: but we will try.”

“Yes,” said Frank, “we will try, unless my father thinks we ought all to stop, and he could bully the rajah. But we will see.”

“Yes, we will see,” replied Hamet; and there was silence once more for a time, but Ned was too much excited to remain quiet long.

“Are you sure,” he said, “that they cannot follow us on shore though they have no boat?”

“Quite sure,” said Frank. “They are on the wrong side of the river, and they could not cut a way through the jungle for days and days. I don’t know how far we are up either. Perhaps miles and miles, and they were rowing and poling up all night.”

Silence once more fell upon the party, and the boys sat watching the dark wall of trees on either side and listening to the forest sounds, all of which seemed strange and impressive at such a time. Now and then the oar creaked with which Hamet kept the boat’s head right, and several times now the boys shrank from the side as there was a sudden swirl and rush through the water, evidently caused by a crocodile disturbed by the passing boat. Then, too, came the cry of a tiger, distant or near, and other peculiar calls from deep in the jungle, sounds that they would hardly have noticed by day, but which were peculiarly impressive now.

And so the time wore on, till, just as Ned was asking if his companion did not think they must be near the campong now, Hamet said in a low voice:

“Don’t talk. Words fly along the water. Be heard.”

“Then we must be near now?” whispered Ned.

“Yes,” replied Frank. “I say, Hamet, keep a good look-out for the prahus, and run her in by the tree where the crocodile was caught. It will be quite black under those boughs.”

“Pst!” whispered Hamet, and he ceased dipping his oar in the water, for suddenly a faint light appeared ahead of them not larger than that emitted by a firefly, but the regular beat of oars told that it was in some boat, and unless prompt measures were taken, it was evident that they would be seen, and the efforts of the night thrown away.

Chapter Twenty.The Rajah’s Messages.Murray woke with a start to find that the sun was well above the trees, and a curious sensation of shame troubled him as he recalled the events of the previous night.As he started up, he saw that Mr Braine was seated at his little table writing, and as the latter noticed his fellow-prisoner’s awaking, he laid down his pen, and held out his hand.“I was writing a few lines to the doctor,” he said. “I daresay they will take a note for me. I have told him that we are prisoners, to account to my wife for our absence.”“Tell him—tell them,” said Murray, flushing a little, “to be of good cheer, for we are behaving like prisoners, and watching some means by which we may all escape from this wretched place.”“And if my letter goes to the rajah first, he may get it interpreted for him, and know what we intend to do.” Murray made an impatient gesture.“You are right,” he said. “My brain is all confused. We cannot escape without those boys.”“I am as confused as you are,” replied Mr Braine. “The rajah has had those two taken to hold as hostages. I am sorry to give you pain, but the truth must be told.”“But why—why?”“Do you need to ask?”“No,” said Murray, despairingly. “I know well enough, and in my selfish love for her, I am ready to say she must be saved from such a fate.”“And my son condemned to death in company with your brother’s child.”Murray sprang up, and began to pace the room, making the floor wave and the walls quiver with his impetuous tread.“Tell me what to do,” he said at last. “I feel helpless. I will follow your instructions, and look to you for what is right.”Mr Braine shook his head sorrowfully, finished his letter, and handed it to Murray to read.“Yes,” he said; “you cannot say more.”The letter was sealed, and the chief of their guards summoned.“I want this letter taken to the doctor,” said Mr Braine.The man bowed, took the letter, and gave it to one of his men, who went off directly, while Mr Braine stood back against the wall of the room.“I thought so,” he said. “I am fallen from my high position now.”“What do you mean?” said Murray, eagerly.“The messenger has gone toward the rajah’s place, and not to the doctor’s house.”Breakfast was brought in to them soon afterwards, but Murray turned from it in disgust.“Eat, man,” said Mr Braine, quietly. “It is a necessity. You may want all your wits and strength before long.”“I said I would look to you for advice,” Murray exclaimed; and he sat down and ate mechanically, while Mr Braine went on talking.“If those boys were here,” he said; “matters have now arrived at such a pitch, that I should try and scheme in some way to procure a boat, get all on board, and make an attempt to start away in the darkness.”“Of course!” cried Murray. “They might not see us, but if they did, we are skilled in the use of our weapons, and I swear I could bring down every man at whom I shot.”“Yes,” said Mr Braine, thoughtfully; “if driven, we should have to fight. I might win over three or four or half a dozen of the men to whom I have been friendly. I think I could. But no. The rajah has been too cunning for us. He sees that we are likely to try to escape, and he has us on the hip. Murray, I cannot go and leave my boy to the mercy of this demon. Mercy? He does not know the word. I should horrify you, if I told you of all I have been compelled to witness here.”Murray gazed at him with his brow puckered, and then he suddenly started.“I was to go on another expedition to-day; and, good heavens! here comes the rajah’s messenger to say that the elephants are ready. He shall kill me before I’ll stir a step. Stop,” he cried excitedly—“the elephants. I shall be able to take gun, rifle, and revolver. What if I make the men stop a mile or two away in the jungle path. Could you contrive to join me with the ladies after dark?”“And if you could alone over-ride your guard, and I could contrive to join you with the ladies after dark, where should we go? My dear fellow, it is madness. Only out into the mountains to starve. We could not take the ladies, even if we could forsake the boys. Hush! here he is.”The Tumongong, who had been in close conference with the chief of the guard below in the garden, now ascended the steps, and saluted the two prisoners.“I bring you a message,” he said, gravely. “The rajah wishes him to wait for a few days before going upon his expedition, and he is to return to his own house. Tell him.”“The rajah sends word that we are to be separated, Murray,” said Mr Braine. “You are to go.”“And if I refuse?”“There is no appeal, man; force would be used. Go patiently, and console yourself with the thought that I am working and planning for you. You must go.”Murray rose and held out his hand.“Look here,” he said; “if they have not taken them, I have plenty of arms and ammunition there, and I am ready to stand by you to the death.—Hah!” he ejaculated angrily, as he turned fiercely on the Tumongong, “you know what I said?”The Malay looked at him fixedly, but said nothing, and Murray shook hands with Mr Braine.“Is this a ruse!” he said, bitterly. “Is it good-bye for ever? Are they going to make an end of me?”The Tumongong looked admiringly at the firm manly fellow about to be led off, for aught he knew, to execution, and he spoke quickly to Mr Braine.“The Tumongong bids me tell you that your life is quite safe.”“Hah!” ejaculated Murray; and he gave the Malay a grateful look, and went down to where his escort was waiting, the chief and half the guard marching him off back to his house, where at the first glance he saw that his weapons were still in their places; and here he threw himself down, to try to hit out some plan, while the Malays stationed themselves about the place, and he saw that he was to be strictly watched.Meanwhile the Tumongong and Mr Braine stood gazing hard into each other’s faces.“Well, what next?” said Mr Braine at last, gazing searchingly into the Malay’s eyes.“You are to join the doctor and his family, and if you value your life, help his highness by reasoning with them, so that his wishes may be obeyed at once.”“He is still set upon this atrocity?”“Yes; he is determined that the poor lady shall be his wife.”“And if we all refuse and set him at defiance?”“What good?” said the Tumongong, bitterly.“I cannot do it, man,” cried Mr Braine. “Tell me where are those boys?”“I cannot—I do not know.”“But—you have always been my friend—is there no way out of this difficulty?”The Tumongong was silent.“Yes,” continued Mr Braine; “there is that way. His death or imprisonment. Is not the time ripe?”The Malay made no answer.“Murray is a strong man, brave as a lion; the doctor, Greig, and I are good shots. We will fight for you to the death.”“It is time to go,” said the Tumongong, coldly; and he walked out into the veranda, and gave the guard below an order to be in readiness.“It would be to the death,” he said, quietly, as he returned. “No; we are not strong enough. It is not for want of courage. I could kris him, but it would be too cowardly. If we fought, it would mean death to your friends and the boys—the ladies left alone to his mercy. There: I am your friend. I have trusted you: my life is in your hands.”“It has been for months,” said Mr Braine, quietly; “I have known your secret for long.”“Are you ready?” said the Tumongong, loudly. Then in a low tone—“Bring your weapons.”Five minutes after, the Resident was being marched to the doctor’s, where his coming was eagerly greeted; and the guard there being strengthened by the newcomers, the Tumongong looking grave, and then going slowly off, followed by his attendants.“Frank? Tell me about Frank,” cried Mrs Braine, clinging to her husband’s hand.“Mr Murray—Ned?” cried Amy, seizing the other.“All well as yet,” said the Resident, sadly.“This is true?” whispered Mrs Braine. “You are not deceiving me?”“You know,” he replied, gravely; and the ladies shrank away to weep together, while the doctor offered his old friend his hand.“Bad news?” whispered the doctor.“The worst. He insists, and it is to be at once.”“I would sooner kill her,” said the doctor, passionately.“And I would sooner see her dead.”They stood thoughtful and silent for a few minutes before the doctor spoke again.“I never felt our helplessness so much before. Where is Murray?”Mr Braine told him.“A good man the less, but we might perhaps get a message to him to make a dash for us here. Braine, will you fight?”“To the death.”“We shall be four, with the women to load for us as we fire.”“I am ready, man,” said Mr Braine, sadly; “and we shall have the satisfaction of acting as Englishmen in a time of peril, but we can do no more than keep them at bay for a time. Even if we did that, they could starve us out.”The doctor let his hands drop helplessly to his side.“Yes; that’s it,” he said. “It is madness. It would only mean so much bloodshed and nothing done.”“He would send every man he had to his death to gain his ends.”“If I had only known—if I had only known!” groaned the doctor; “he would never have recovered from that last illness, I swear.”“Then you swear falsely,” said Mr Braine, holding out his hand. “My old friend, John Barnes, never did a treacherous act, and never could.”“Hah!” ejaculated the doctor, wringing the Resident’s hand. “Now you disarm me: but a man would do desperate things to save his wife and child.”“Even to giving his life, as I would mine.”They stood by the door in silence, then gazing out into the garden, where a spearman stood at the gate, and the rest of the guard sat about mechanically chewing their betel-nut and sirih-leaf, apparently heedless of the prisoners’ presence, but ready to start into action on the instant.Mr Greig joined them, and the day wore on in sorrow and despair, for their position seemed to be absolutely hopeless, and it was nothing to them that the sun shone down from the pure blue sky on the gorgeous vegetation, whose leaves seemed to shed silver beams of light down amongst the dark shade beneath. Plan after plan was suggested and referred to the ladies, who also made proposals. But the result was always the same. They acknowledged that the rajah, with his Eastern cunning, had checkmated them, and that nothing could be done but wait.As the day wore on, the doctor’s servants went about their work as usual, and Tim Driscol brought in the mid-day meal, and stood looking on in despair to find it untouched.“Oh, Miss Amy, dear,” he whispered, “my heart’s bruk intirely to see your pretty eyes all swelled up and red like that. What’ll I do, darlin’? Say the word, and if it’s to slay and kill him, I’ll go.”“Don’t—don’t talk to me, Tim,” she whispered, with the tears flowing fast.“Not talk to ye—me who carried ye when ye were only half the size ye are! I’ll go to the masther, thin.”With the freedom of an old servant, he went out to where the doctor was seated in the veranda, so as to avoid seeing the sad faces within.“Oh, masther, dear,” he said, “what’s to be done?”“I wish I could tell you, Tim.”“It makes a man’s heart sore, sir, to see the misthress and her frinds looking like that.—Mr Braine, sir, begging your pardon for intrudin’, it’s only bekase I want to help. Wouldn’t a good fight set it straight, bekase if so, I’m your man.”“Waste of blood, waste of life, and no good done, Tim,” said the Resident, sadly. “We are in God’s hands. I cannot see that we can stir.”“Four of us and Mister Murray, if we could get at him,” mused Tim; “that makes foive, and they’re as many hundreds, and got their prahus and boats beside; but I don’t know. The old counthry looks a very shmall place on the map, but she could beat the world. Well, the masther has only got to spake, and I’ll foight for me misthress and my young lady as long as I can lift a fist.”As the evening drew near, Tim comforted himself by examining and loading the guns and pistols that were in the house, and then replaced them, ready for use at a moment’s notice.But when he had done, he shook his head sadly.“It’s such a whishp of a place to fight in,” he said to himself. “Anny one could knock it all over wid a scaffold pole. Why, if it kim to a foight, the bastes could run underneath, and shtick their spears through the flure. An’ I’d like to get one crack at the head of the man I caught doing it.”The dinner-time came, and Tim made another attempt to get the unhappy party to eat.“And not a bit of fruit,” he muttered. “Wonder whether they’d let us get some.”He went and spoke to one of the women who acted as servant, and she readily agreed to go and fetch what was necessary, catching up the second sarong worn by the Malay women as a veil, and used with the two ends of the long scarf-like article of attire sewn together.With this over her head, she started off, and the guard now looked up sharply, but they had no orders to interfere and prevent one of the women from going out, and in less than a quarter of an hour she returned bearing a basket of mangosteens and bananas.But it was all labour in vain; the dinner and dessert, so thoughtfully prepared, remained untouched, and the wine, cool and fresh from the evaporating it had received, remained on the table.It was a lovely starlit night, and after Mr Greig had gone, the doctor and Mr Braine rose from the table to go and walk up and down in the veranda, and wait for the coming of the next messengers from the rajah, for that there would soon be another both felt perfectly convinced.They had not long to wait before the Tumongong appeared with a small retinue of men, spear-armed as usual, who were halted by their officer at the foot of the steps, while the Malay chief ascended to the veranda to announce briefly that the rajah would honour the ladies with a visit that evening; after which he turned and left the place as he came, the dark figures of his escort filing out through the bamboo gate, looking like shadows in the starlight.“There is only one thing left,” said Mr Braine, as the doctor sat too much stunned by the intelligence, now it had come, to be able to go in and communicate it to his wife and child.

Murray woke with a start to find that the sun was well above the trees, and a curious sensation of shame troubled him as he recalled the events of the previous night.

As he started up, he saw that Mr Braine was seated at his little table writing, and as the latter noticed his fellow-prisoner’s awaking, he laid down his pen, and held out his hand.

“I was writing a few lines to the doctor,” he said. “I daresay they will take a note for me. I have told him that we are prisoners, to account to my wife for our absence.”

“Tell him—tell them,” said Murray, flushing a little, “to be of good cheer, for we are behaving like prisoners, and watching some means by which we may all escape from this wretched place.”

“And if my letter goes to the rajah first, he may get it interpreted for him, and know what we intend to do.” Murray made an impatient gesture.

“You are right,” he said. “My brain is all confused. We cannot escape without those boys.”

“I am as confused as you are,” replied Mr Braine. “The rajah has had those two taken to hold as hostages. I am sorry to give you pain, but the truth must be told.”

“But why—why?”

“Do you need to ask?”

“No,” said Murray, despairingly. “I know well enough, and in my selfish love for her, I am ready to say she must be saved from such a fate.”

“And my son condemned to death in company with your brother’s child.”

Murray sprang up, and began to pace the room, making the floor wave and the walls quiver with his impetuous tread.

“Tell me what to do,” he said at last. “I feel helpless. I will follow your instructions, and look to you for what is right.”

Mr Braine shook his head sorrowfully, finished his letter, and handed it to Murray to read.

“Yes,” he said; “you cannot say more.”

The letter was sealed, and the chief of their guards summoned.

“I want this letter taken to the doctor,” said Mr Braine.

The man bowed, took the letter, and gave it to one of his men, who went off directly, while Mr Braine stood back against the wall of the room.

“I thought so,” he said. “I am fallen from my high position now.”

“What do you mean?” said Murray, eagerly.

“The messenger has gone toward the rajah’s place, and not to the doctor’s house.”

Breakfast was brought in to them soon afterwards, but Murray turned from it in disgust.

“Eat, man,” said Mr Braine, quietly. “It is a necessity. You may want all your wits and strength before long.”

“I said I would look to you for advice,” Murray exclaimed; and he sat down and ate mechanically, while Mr Braine went on talking.

“If those boys were here,” he said; “matters have now arrived at such a pitch, that I should try and scheme in some way to procure a boat, get all on board, and make an attempt to start away in the darkness.”

“Of course!” cried Murray. “They might not see us, but if they did, we are skilled in the use of our weapons, and I swear I could bring down every man at whom I shot.”

“Yes,” said Mr Braine, thoughtfully; “if driven, we should have to fight. I might win over three or four or half a dozen of the men to whom I have been friendly. I think I could. But no. The rajah has been too cunning for us. He sees that we are likely to try to escape, and he has us on the hip. Murray, I cannot go and leave my boy to the mercy of this demon. Mercy? He does not know the word. I should horrify you, if I told you of all I have been compelled to witness here.”

Murray gazed at him with his brow puckered, and then he suddenly started.

“I was to go on another expedition to-day; and, good heavens! here comes the rajah’s messenger to say that the elephants are ready. He shall kill me before I’ll stir a step. Stop,” he cried excitedly—“the elephants. I shall be able to take gun, rifle, and revolver. What if I make the men stop a mile or two away in the jungle path. Could you contrive to join me with the ladies after dark?”

“And if you could alone over-ride your guard, and I could contrive to join you with the ladies after dark, where should we go? My dear fellow, it is madness. Only out into the mountains to starve. We could not take the ladies, even if we could forsake the boys. Hush! here he is.”

The Tumongong, who had been in close conference with the chief of the guard below in the garden, now ascended the steps, and saluted the two prisoners.

“I bring you a message,” he said, gravely. “The rajah wishes him to wait for a few days before going upon his expedition, and he is to return to his own house. Tell him.”

“The rajah sends word that we are to be separated, Murray,” said Mr Braine. “You are to go.”

“And if I refuse?”

“There is no appeal, man; force would be used. Go patiently, and console yourself with the thought that I am working and planning for you. You must go.”

Murray rose and held out his hand.

“Look here,” he said; “if they have not taken them, I have plenty of arms and ammunition there, and I am ready to stand by you to the death.—Hah!” he ejaculated angrily, as he turned fiercely on the Tumongong, “you know what I said?”

The Malay looked at him fixedly, but said nothing, and Murray shook hands with Mr Braine.

“Is this a ruse!” he said, bitterly. “Is it good-bye for ever? Are they going to make an end of me?”

The Tumongong looked admiringly at the firm manly fellow about to be led off, for aught he knew, to execution, and he spoke quickly to Mr Braine.

“The Tumongong bids me tell you that your life is quite safe.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Murray; and he gave the Malay a grateful look, and went down to where his escort was waiting, the chief and half the guard marching him off back to his house, where at the first glance he saw that his weapons were still in their places; and here he threw himself down, to try to hit out some plan, while the Malays stationed themselves about the place, and he saw that he was to be strictly watched.

Meanwhile the Tumongong and Mr Braine stood gazing hard into each other’s faces.

“Well, what next?” said Mr Braine at last, gazing searchingly into the Malay’s eyes.

“You are to join the doctor and his family, and if you value your life, help his highness by reasoning with them, so that his wishes may be obeyed at once.”

“He is still set upon this atrocity?”

“Yes; he is determined that the poor lady shall be his wife.”

“And if we all refuse and set him at defiance?”

“What good?” said the Tumongong, bitterly.

“I cannot do it, man,” cried Mr Braine. “Tell me where are those boys?”

“I cannot—I do not know.”

“But—you have always been my friend—is there no way out of this difficulty?”

The Tumongong was silent.

“Yes,” continued Mr Braine; “there is that way. His death or imprisonment. Is not the time ripe?”

The Malay made no answer.

“Murray is a strong man, brave as a lion; the doctor, Greig, and I are good shots. We will fight for you to the death.”

“It is time to go,” said the Tumongong, coldly; and he walked out into the veranda, and gave the guard below an order to be in readiness.

“It would be to the death,” he said, quietly, as he returned. “No; we are not strong enough. It is not for want of courage. I could kris him, but it would be too cowardly. If we fought, it would mean death to your friends and the boys—the ladies left alone to his mercy. There: I am your friend. I have trusted you: my life is in your hands.”

“It has been for months,” said Mr Braine, quietly; “I have known your secret for long.”

“Are you ready?” said the Tumongong, loudly. Then in a low tone—“Bring your weapons.”

Five minutes after, the Resident was being marched to the doctor’s, where his coming was eagerly greeted; and the guard there being strengthened by the newcomers, the Tumongong looking grave, and then going slowly off, followed by his attendants.

“Frank? Tell me about Frank,” cried Mrs Braine, clinging to her husband’s hand.

“Mr Murray—Ned?” cried Amy, seizing the other.

“All well as yet,” said the Resident, sadly.

“This is true?” whispered Mrs Braine. “You are not deceiving me?”

“You know,” he replied, gravely; and the ladies shrank away to weep together, while the doctor offered his old friend his hand.

“Bad news?” whispered the doctor.

“The worst. He insists, and it is to be at once.”

“I would sooner kill her,” said the doctor, passionately.

“And I would sooner see her dead.”

They stood thoughtful and silent for a few minutes before the doctor spoke again.

“I never felt our helplessness so much before. Where is Murray?”

Mr Braine told him.

“A good man the less, but we might perhaps get a message to him to make a dash for us here. Braine, will you fight?”

“To the death.”

“We shall be four, with the women to load for us as we fire.”

“I am ready, man,” said Mr Braine, sadly; “and we shall have the satisfaction of acting as Englishmen in a time of peril, but we can do no more than keep them at bay for a time. Even if we did that, they could starve us out.”

The doctor let his hands drop helplessly to his side.

“Yes; that’s it,” he said. “It is madness. It would only mean so much bloodshed and nothing done.”

“He would send every man he had to his death to gain his ends.”

“If I had only known—if I had only known!” groaned the doctor; “he would never have recovered from that last illness, I swear.”

“Then you swear falsely,” said Mr Braine, holding out his hand. “My old friend, John Barnes, never did a treacherous act, and never could.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the doctor, wringing the Resident’s hand. “Now you disarm me: but a man would do desperate things to save his wife and child.”

“Even to giving his life, as I would mine.”

They stood by the door in silence, then gazing out into the garden, where a spearman stood at the gate, and the rest of the guard sat about mechanically chewing their betel-nut and sirih-leaf, apparently heedless of the prisoners’ presence, but ready to start into action on the instant.

Mr Greig joined them, and the day wore on in sorrow and despair, for their position seemed to be absolutely hopeless, and it was nothing to them that the sun shone down from the pure blue sky on the gorgeous vegetation, whose leaves seemed to shed silver beams of light down amongst the dark shade beneath. Plan after plan was suggested and referred to the ladies, who also made proposals. But the result was always the same. They acknowledged that the rajah, with his Eastern cunning, had checkmated them, and that nothing could be done but wait.

As the day wore on, the doctor’s servants went about their work as usual, and Tim Driscol brought in the mid-day meal, and stood looking on in despair to find it untouched.

“Oh, Miss Amy, dear,” he whispered, “my heart’s bruk intirely to see your pretty eyes all swelled up and red like that. What’ll I do, darlin’? Say the word, and if it’s to slay and kill him, I’ll go.”

“Don’t—don’t talk to me, Tim,” she whispered, with the tears flowing fast.

“Not talk to ye—me who carried ye when ye were only half the size ye are! I’ll go to the masther, thin.”

With the freedom of an old servant, he went out to where the doctor was seated in the veranda, so as to avoid seeing the sad faces within.

“Oh, masther, dear,” he said, “what’s to be done?”

“I wish I could tell you, Tim.”

“It makes a man’s heart sore, sir, to see the misthress and her frinds looking like that.—Mr Braine, sir, begging your pardon for intrudin’, it’s only bekase I want to help. Wouldn’t a good fight set it straight, bekase if so, I’m your man.”

“Waste of blood, waste of life, and no good done, Tim,” said the Resident, sadly. “We are in God’s hands. I cannot see that we can stir.”

“Four of us and Mister Murray, if we could get at him,” mused Tim; “that makes foive, and they’re as many hundreds, and got their prahus and boats beside; but I don’t know. The old counthry looks a very shmall place on the map, but she could beat the world. Well, the masther has only got to spake, and I’ll foight for me misthress and my young lady as long as I can lift a fist.”

As the evening drew near, Tim comforted himself by examining and loading the guns and pistols that were in the house, and then replaced them, ready for use at a moment’s notice.

But when he had done, he shook his head sadly.

“It’s such a whishp of a place to fight in,” he said to himself. “Anny one could knock it all over wid a scaffold pole. Why, if it kim to a foight, the bastes could run underneath, and shtick their spears through the flure. An’ I’d like to get one crack at the head of the man I caught doing it.”

The dinner-time came, and Tim made another attempt to get the unhappy party to eat.

“And not a bit of fruit,” he muttered. “Wonder whether they’d let us get some.”

He went and spoke to one of the women who acted as servant, and she readily agreed to go and fetch what was necessary, catching up the second sarong worn by the Malay women as a veil, and used with the two ends of the long scarf-like article of attire sewn together.

With this over her head, she started off, and the guard now looked up sharply, but they had no orders to interfere and prevent one of the women from going out, and in less than a quarter of an hour she returned bearing a basket of mangosteens and bananas.

But it was all labour in vain; the dinner and dessert, so thoughtfully prepared, remained untouched, and the wine, cool and fresh from the evaporating it had received, remained on the table.

It was a lovely starlit night, and after Mr Greig had gone, the doctor and Mr Braine rose from the table to go and walk up and down in the veranda, and wait for the coming of the next messengers from the rajah, for that there would soon be another both felt perfectly convinced.

They had not long to wait before the Tumongong appeared with a small retinue of men, spear-armed as usual, who were halted by their officer at the foot of the steps, while the Malay chief ascended to the veranda to announce briefly that the rajah would honour the ladies with a visit that evening; after which he turned and left the place as he came, the dark figures of his escort filing out through the bamboo gate, looking like shadows in the starlight.

“There is only one thing left,” said Mr Braine, as the doctor sat too much stunned by the intelligence, now it had come, to be able to go in and communicate it to his wife and child.

Chapter Twenty One.Frank’s Errand.“What’ll I do? What’ll I do?” muttered Tim Driscol to himself as he walked up and down one of the garden paths hidden from his master and his friends, and unheeded by the Malay guard, who contented themselves with seeing that he did not pass out of the gate.“That pretty colleen! Ow, the covetous owld rip, and him wid a dozen wives at laste, to want our darlin’. What’ll I do?—what’ll I do? Faix, I’ll have me poipe.”He filled the rough bamboo affair with the coarse native tobacco he used, and went on smoking, the bowl glowing as if a ruddy firefly were gliding up and down the garden walk. “Ow, sorrow to uz all!” he muttered. “An’ what are all his wives about? Why, they can’t have a taste o’ sperrit in ’em, or they wouldn’t shtand it. Why, if they were ladies from the ould country, and he even thought of taking another, there wouldn’t be a bit of hair left on his wicked head. Oh dear! sorrow to me, what’ll I do at all, at all?—Who’s this. To see wan of the women, I suppose.”He was near the gate where two spearmen stood, and in the full starlight he saw a Malay woman coming up, and as she drew near, she raised her hands beneath the veil-like sarong she wore over her head to a level with her brows, spreading out the plaided silk after the custom of the women, so that the top and bottom hems were drawn parallel, covering her face and forming a narrow horizontal slit through which her eyes alone were seen.“Yah! Get out. How modest we are. Sure, and ye’re an ugly flat-nosed coffee-coloured one, or ye wouldn’t be so moighty particular. Want to see one of the women folk, do ye? Well, the gyards’ll shtop ye, and send ye about yer bishness, and good-luck to ye.”But the guards did not stop her as she walked quietly up. A woman coming to the doctor’s house, that was all; and she passed between them with her face covered, and turned off into the narrow path among the trees leading to the servants’ quarters, the men just glancing after her, and then chewing away at their betel.The consequence was that the next minute the woman was face to face with Tim, who blocked the way in a surly fashion; and as they stood there in the shadowy path, Tim’s pipe bowl glowed, and the eyes seen through the narrow slit gleamed.“And what do you want?” said Tim, in the Malay tongue.“Muhdra,” was the reply, in a faint voice.“She’s yonder,” said Tim. “I daresay you know the way.”“Show me,” said the woman softly.“Oh, bad luck to ye to want to come chattering haythen nonsense to the cook, wid all this trouble on the way,” he said angrily, in his own tongue. Then more civilly in Malay, “Come along, then.”He led the way, and the woman followed till they had passed another sentry, when he felt his arm gripped.“Don’t flinch—don’t speak. Tim, don’t you know me?”“Masther Frank! Oh murther!”The man staggered in his surprise as he uttered these words, but the quick Irish wit grasped the situation directly, and he said aloud in the Malay tongue something about its being a fine warm night, and then led the way into the dark room he called his pantry, though it was little more than a bamboo shed, and excitedly clasped the boy to his breast.“Masther Frank, darlin’! Oh, Heaven be thanked for this!—Ah, ye wicked young rip, to frighten us all as ye did.”“Hush, man, silence! Don’t, Tim. Why—my face is all wet.”“Whisht! nonsense, boy. That’s nawthing. Only a dhrop o’ water. It’s so hot. But quick! An’ good-luck to ye for a cliver one. To desave us all like that!”“Where is my father? He was not at home.”“Faix no; he’s up-stairs. But where have ye been?”“Don’t ask questions. Are they all right?”“Oh yes, all right; and all wrong too. There’s me news, boy. The rajah’s going to marry Miss Amy, and we’re all prishners.”“I thought so,” whispered Frank. “But prisoners?”“Oh yes; ye saw the gyards.”“Where is Mr Murray?”“Shut up at home wid sax or eight min to take care of him.”“Go and tell my father I’m here. No; take me up to them at once.”“Oh, murther! no, Masther Frank! Don’t think of it, boy. Iv ye go up, the ladies’ll all shquale out, and yer mother go wild wid sterricks. Sure an’ Masther Bang-gong’s just been to say the owld chap’s coming to see the ladies to-night.”“Oh!” ejaculated Frank.“But where have ye been, lad?”“Go quite quietly, and tell my father or the doctor I’m here.”“Yis.”“And Tim, have you got anything to eat? I’m starving.”“Lashins, me dare boy. Help yerself, for the sorrow a taste would they take in the parlour.”Tim hurried up, passed through the main room, listened for a moment or two to the murmur of the ladies’ voices in one of the inner places, and then crept out into the veranda, carrying a tray with a metal bottle and two cups, which he made to jingle loudly for the guard to hear.“No, no, my man,” said the doctor. “It’s very thoughtful of you, but no.—Braine, will you?”“No, no,” said the Resident; and then he uttered a gasp, for Tim’s lips were at his ear, as he stood behind his seat, and said softly:“Whisht, Mr Braine, darlin’: don’t make a hurroo. Masther Frank’s come, and he’s below.”There was a dead silence for a few moments, and then Mr Braine said in a forced voice:“No, no drink, Tim.—Doctor, come in and give me a cigar.”He rose, and walked quietly in with the slow careful acting of one who knows that his every action is watched, and, wondering at his friend’s change, the doctor rose and followed.“Get the cigars and matches,” said Mr Braine, quietly; and then in a quick whisper: “Be firm, man, and act. Light a cigar. Frank has come back.”“Thank God!” muttered the doctor, and he pressed his friend’s hand before getting cigars and matches, and they stood where those in the garden could see, striking a match, and holding it between them as they lit their cigars—great coarsely-made ones of the native tobacco.“Now, Tim, where?” said Mr Braine.“In my room, shure, sor.”“Sit down there and smoke,” said Mr Braine, in a low tone. “Take both cigars, man, and keep them alight, changing your position as you change the cigars.”“And desave the haythens. Yes, sor, I undherstand,” said Tim, taking the cigars as the gentlemen prepared to descend, “and a moighty plisant way of desaving ’em,” he muttered to himself, as he began smoking away; while the next minute Frank was in his father’s arms, hurriedly telling him of his adventures.“And when we heard the naga coming up the river before daybreak, we pulled in under the trees and bushes, just below the stockade,” he said in conclusion, “and there we’ve been all day, not daring to stir, and even when it was dark we were afraid to move, till I thought of putting a sarong over my head, and coming like this. I passed lots, and no one spoke to me.”“And the boat?”“Safe under the trees with Ned and Hamet.”“Is it big enough to hold us all?” said Mr Braine.“Plenty.”“Heaven has sent us help!” said Mr Braine fervently. “Barnes, we must by some means get all on board to-night, and trust to the darkness to run down the river.”“But the rajah’s visit?” said the doctor.“Ah! I had forgotten that,” said Mr Braine, with a groan; “the rajah and our guards; but with help and ease of mind coming like this, we must not despair. Now, doctor, go back up-stairs. One moment—your women-servants?”“They are to be trusted.”“Then go and set my wife’s mind at rest. Tell her our lives depend upon her being calm. There must be no excitement, or we shall excite suspicion. Implore your wife and child to be careful.”“And Murray and Mr Greig’s?”“Another obstacle?” exclaimed Mr Braine. “Never mind; one thing at a time. We may get the women to the boat, then we might drop down opposite to Murray’s place and cut him out. But we shall see. Go on, and in a minute or two I’ll bring up Frank.”The doctor went up, passed Tim, who was carefully keeping his two points of light glowing at a distance from each other, and communicated his tidings to the ladies, with the effect that Mrs Braine fainted dead away, but to recover directly, and eagerly whisper that she would be firm and not make a sound.She kept her word, weeping silently over her son, while Mrs Barnes and Amy both clung to the lad’s hands, in the faintly-lit room.“Quick!” said Mr Braine, whose ears were preternaturally sharp. “Frank, keep here in hiding. You three come out when the doctor summons you. Come, Barnes, back to our cigars. The rajah.”They glided back into the dark warm room, after adjuring those they left to be silent, and as they took their places they could see the gleam of lights through the trees, the sight of which had roused their guard into making the sound which had warned the Resident.“Light both the lamps, Tim,” said Mr Braine; “and be guarded. The rajah is coming.”The man obeyed, and as the lights shed a softened glow through the place, the guards could see the doctor and Resident seated back smoking calmly.“What are we to say?” said the doctor, huskily.“Surprised at his treatment—ask for a little time—the lady startled by the unexpected demand—diplomacy—diplomacy. Let him go back thinking that you will yield.”And as these last words were uttered, the lights drew near and lit up the swarthy faces of the rajah’s guards and sword-bearers filing into the grounds.“Whatever you do, be careful. Don’t seem to yield easily. We are hurt by his treatment, mind.”There was no time to say more, for the escort was already at the foot of the steps, on each side of which they formed up in a picturesque group, the lanterns they bore lighting up the showy costumes and displaying the rajah in his European uniform.The two Englishmen advanced into the veranda to receive him, and as he mounted alone, he smiled, and waited to be asked into the room, evidently quite confident of his safety with his guard so near.As soon as he was seated, he placed his glittering sword against his knee, and his plumed cap beside it, drawing himself up and glancing toward the doorway to make sure that he was in full sight of his guard. Then, turning to the doctor, he said in English: “Theeee—laidees.”The doctor bowed, and crossed to the inner door, which he threw open, and the prisoners came out looking pale and calm, to be received with smiles and motioned to take their seats, while the gentlemen remained standing.“Tell them this is only a short visit,” said the rajah. “To-morrow shall come, not to return alone. The lady will be with me, and we shall go to the mosque. Then my English wife will return here no more.”The Resident translated the rajah’s words, though the task was needless, for all present followed him pretty well.Then the doctor spoke, as their visitor keenly watched the effect of his words and fixed his eyes upon the shrinking girl before him. Her father’s words were much as had been arranged, and the rajah listened to the interpretation patiently enough.“Yes, yes,” he said; “you are her lather. I understand. But you will be rich, and like a prince here. It is a great honour to your child. Tell him what I say.”Mr Braine repeated the rajah’s words formally, and then the visitor rose, bowed and smiled with good-humoured contempt, and ended by drawing a ring from one of his fingers as he rose, walked toward Amy, and placed it upon her hand, after which he made a profound obeisance and moved toward the door.“One moment, your highness,” said the doctor. “We are your old servants and friends. You treat us as prisoners.”“No, no,” he said, on Mr Braine repeating the words. “I honour you. It is a guard for my wife. Not prisoners. After to-morrow, no.”“But our English friend, Murray. Your highness will let him join us?”The rajah, caught the name Murray, and his face grew black as night, and without waiting for the interpretation, he made an angry gesture in the negative.“But my son and his young friend,” said Mr Braine, watching him narrowly, to ascertain whether the flight was known.The rajah gave him a meaning look, and laughed.“After to-morrow,” he said, “they will come back.”His face was all smiles once again, and he bowed to Amy, passed into the veranda, descended, and the little cortege moved out of the shady grounds. The lights slowly disappeared among the trees, while the doctor dropped the matting hangings over the door to hide the interior of the house from their guard, after which he turned to encounter the pleading face of his wife as Amy threw herself sobbing upon his breast.Mr Braine stood looking on for a few moments in silence. Then, in a cold, stern voice, he said:“Go back to the inner room and pray for our success. Then you have sarongs, make yourselves as much like the Malay women as you can.”“Then we shall escape?” cried Amy, joyously.“Heaven knows!” said the Resident. “We shall try. Ah, thank goodness, here are the Greigs;” and unchallenged by the guards, Mr Greig and his wife came up to the house.

“What’ll I do? What’ll I do?” muttered Tim Driscol to himself as he walked up and down one of the garden paths hidden from his master and his friends, and unheeded by the Malay guard, who contented themselves with seeing that he did not pass out of the gate.

“That pretty colleen! Ow, the covetous owld rip, and him wid a dozen wives at laste, to want our darlin’. What’ll I do?—what’ll I do? Faix, I’ll have me poipe.”

He filled the rough bamboo affair with the coarse native tobacco he used, and went on smoking, the bowl glowing as if a ruddy firefly were gliding up and down the garden walk. “Ow, sorrow to uz all!” he muttered. “An’ what are all his wives about? Why, they can’t have a taste o’ sperrit in ’em, or they wouldn’t shtand it. Why, if they were ladies from the ould country, and he even thought of taking another, there wouldn’t be a bit of hair left on his wicked head. Oh dear! sorrow to me, what’ll I do at all, at all?—Who’s this. To see wan of the women, I suppose.”

He was near the gate where two spearmen stood, and in the full starlight he saw a Malay woman coming up, and as she drew near, she raised her hands beneath the veil-like sarong she wore over her head to a level with her brows, spreading out the plaided silk after the custom of the women, so that the top and bottom hems were drawn parallel, covering her face and forming a narrow horizontal slit through which her eyes alone were seen.

“Yah! Get out. How modest we are. Sure, and ye’re an ugly flat-nosed coffee-coloured one, or ye wouldn’t be so moighty particular. Want to see one of the women folk, do ye? Well, the gyards’ll shtop ye, and send ye about yer bishness, and good-luck to ye.”

But the guards did not stop her as she walked quietly up. A woman coming to the doctor’s house, that was all; and she passed between them with her face covered, and turned off into the narrow path among the trees leading to the servants’ quarters, the men just glancing after her, and then chewing away at their betel.

The consequence was that the next minute the woman was face to face with Tim, who blocked the way in a surly fashion; and as they stood there in the shadowy path, Tim’s pipe bowl glowed, and the eyes seen through the narrow slit gleamed.

“And what do you want?” said Tim, in the Malay tongue.

“Muhdra,” was the reply, in a faint voice.

“She’s yonder,” said Tim. “I daresay you know the way.”

“Show me,” said the woman softly.

“Oh, bad luck to ye to want to come chattering haythen nonsense to the cook, wid all this trouble on the way,” he said angrily, in his own tongue. Then more civilly in Malay, “Come along, then.”

He led the way, and the woman followed till they had passed another sentry, when he felt his arm gripped.

“Don’t flinch—don’t speak. Tim, don’t you know me?”

“Masther Frank! Oh murther!”

The man staggered in his surprise as he uttered these words, but the quick Irish wit grasped the situation directly, and he said aloud in the Malay tongue something about its being a fine warm night, and then led the way into the dark room he called his pantry, though it was little more than a bamboo shed, and excitedly clasped the boy to his breast.

“Masther Frank, darlin’! Oh, Heaven be thanked for this!—Ah, ye wicked young rip, to frighten us all as ye did.”

“Hush, man, silence! Don’t, Tim. Why—my face is all wet.”

“Whisht! nonsense, boy. That’s nawthing. Only a dhrop o’ water. It’s so hot. But quick! An’ good-luck to ye for a cliver one. To desave us all like that!”

“Where is my father? He was not at home.”

“Faix no; he’s up-stairs. But where have ye been?”

“Don’t ask questions. Are they all right?”

“Oh yes, all right; and all wrong too. There’s me news, boy. The rajah’s going to marry Miss Amy, and we’re all prishners.”

“I thought so,” whispered Frank. “But prisoners?”

“Oh yes; ye saw the gyards.”

“Where is Mr Murray?”

“Shut up at home wid sax or eight min to take care of him.”

“Go and tell my father I’m here. No; take me up to them at once.”

“Oh, murther! no, Masther Frank! Don’t think of it, boy. Iv ye go up, the ladies’ll all shquale out, and yer mother go wild wid sterricks. Sure an’ Masther Bang-gong’s just been to say the owld chap’s coming to see the ladies to-night.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Frank.

“But where have ye been, lad?”

“Go quite quietly, and tell my father or the doctor I’m here.”

“Yis.”

“And Tim, have you got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

“Lashins, me dare boy. Help yerself, for the sorrow a taste would they take in the parlour.”

Tim hurried up, passed through the main room, listened for a moment or two to the murmur of the ladies’ voices in one of the inner places, and then crept out into the veranda, carrying a tray with a metal bottle and two cups, which he made to jingle loudly for the guard to hear.

“No, no, my man,” said the doctor. “It’s very thoughtful of you, but no.—Braine, will you?”

“No, no,” said the Resident; and then he uttered a gasp, for Tim’s lips were at his ear, as he stood behind his seat, and said softly:

“Whisht, Mr Braine, darlin’: don’t make a hurroo. Masther Frank’s come, and he’s below.”

There was a dead silence for a few moments, and then Mr Braine said in a forced voice:

“No, no drink, Tim.—Doctor, come in and give me a cigar.”

He rose, and walked quietly in with the slow careful acting of one who knows that his every action is watched, and, wondering at his friend’s change, the doctor rose and followed.

“Get the cigars and matches,” said Mr Braine, quietly; and then in a quick whisper: “Be firm, man, and act. Light a cigar. Frank has come back.”

“Thank God!” muttered the doctor, and he pressed his friend’s hand before getting cigars and matches, and they stood where those in the garden could see, striking a match, and holding it between them as they lit their cigars—great coarsely-made ones of the native tobacco.

“Now, Tim, where?” said Mr Braine.

“In my room, shure, sor.”

“Sit down there and smoke,” said Mr Braine, in a low tone. “Take both cigars, man, and keep them alight, changing your position as you change the cigars.”

“And desave the haythens. Yes, sor, I undherstand,” said Tim, taking the cigars as the gentlemen prepared to descend, “and a moighty plisant way of desaving ’em,” he muttered to himself, as he began smoking away; while the next minute Frank was in his father’s arms, hurriedly telling him of his adventures.

“And when we heard the naga coming up the river before daybreak, we pulled in under the trees and bushes, just below the stockade,” he said in conclusion, “and there we’ve been all day, not daring to stir, and even when it was dark we were afraid to move, till I thought of putting a sarong over my head, and coming like this. I passed lots, and no one spoke to me.”

“And the boat?”

“Safe under the trees with Ned and Hamet.”

“Is it big enough to hold us all?” said Mr Braine.

“Plenty.”

“Heaven has sent us help!” said Mr Braine fervently. “Barnes, we must by some means get all on board to-night, and trust to the darkness to run down the river.”

“But the rajah’s visit?” said the doctor.

“Ah! I had forgotten that,” said Mr Braine, with a groan; “the rajah and our guards; but with help and ease of mind coming like this, we must not despair. Now, doctor, go back up-stairs. One moment—your women-servants?”

“They are to be trusted.”

“Then go and set my wife’s mind at rest. Tell her our lives depend upon her being calm. There must be no excitement, or we shall excite suspicion. Implore your wife and child to be careful.”

“And Murray and Mr Greig’s?”

“Another obstacle?” exclaimed Mr Braine. “Never mind; one thing at a time. We may get the women to the boat, then we might drop down opposite to Murray’s place and cut him out. But we shall see. Go on, and in a minute or two I’ll bring up Frank.”

The doctor went up, passed Tim, who was carefully keeping his two points of light glowing at a distance from each other, and communicated his tidings to the ladies, with the effect that Mrs Braine fainted dead away, but to recover directly, and eagerly whisper that she would be firm and not make a sound.

She kept her word, weeping silently over her son, while Mrs Barnes and Amy both clung to the lad’s hands, in the faintly-lit room.

“Quick!” said Mr Braine, whose ears were preternaturally sharp. “Frank, keep here in hiding. You three come out when the doctor summons you. Come, Barnes, back to our cigars. The rajah.”

They glided back into the dark warm room, after adjuring those they left to be silent, and as they took their places they could see the gleam of lights through the trees, the sight of which had roused their guard into making the sound which had warned the Resident.

“Light both the lamps, Tim,” said Mr Braine; “and be guarded. The rajah is coming.”

The man obeyed, and as the lights shed a softened glow through the place, the guards could see the doctor and Resident seated back smoking calmly.

“What are we to say?” said the doctor, huskily.

“Surprised at his treatment—ask for a little time—the lady startled by the unexpected demand—diplomacy—diplomacy. Let him go back thinking that you will yield.”

And as these last words were uttered, the lights drew near and lit up the swarthy faces of the rajah’s guards and sword-bearers filing into the grounds.

“Whatever you do, be careful. Don’t seem to yield easily. We are hurt by his treatment, mind.”

There was no time to say more, for the escort was already at the foot of the steps, on each side of which they formed up in a picturesque group, the lanterns they bore lighting up the showy costumes and displaying the rajah in his European uniform.

The two Englishmen advanced into the veranda to receive him, and as he mounted alone, he smiled, and waited to be asked into the room, evidently quite confident of his safety with his guard so near.

As soon as he was seated, he placed his glittering sword against his knee, and his plumed cap beside it, drawing himself up and glancing toward the doorway to make sure that he was in full sight of his guard. Then, turning to the doctor, he said in English: “Theeee—laidees.”

The doctor bowed, and crossed to the inner door, which he threw open, and the prisoners came out looking pale and calm, to be received with smiles and motioned to take their seats, while the gentlemen remained standing.

“Tell them this is only a short visit,” said the rajah. “To-morrow shall come, not to return alone. The lady will be with me, and we shall go to the mosque. Then my English wife will return here no more.”

The Resident translated the rajah’s words, though the task was needless, for all present followed him pretty well.

Then the doctor spoke, as their visitor keenly watched the effect of his words and fixed his eyes upon the shrinking girl before him. Her father’s words were much as had been arranged, and the rajah listened to the interpretation patiently enough.

“Yes, yes,” he said; “you are her lather. I understand. But you will be rich, and like a prince here. It is a great honour to your child. Tell him what I say.”

Mr Braine repeated the rajah’s words formally, and then the visitor rose, bowed and smiled with good-humoured contempt, and ended by drawing a ring from one of his fingers as he rose, walked toward Amy, and placed it upon her hand, after which he made a profound obeisance and moved toward the door.

“One moment, your highness,” said the doctor. “We are your old servants and friends. You treat us as prisoners.”

“No, no,” he said, on Mr Braine repeating the words. “I honour you. It is a guard for my wife. Not prisoners. After to-morrow, no.”

“But our English friend, Murray. Your highness will let him join us?”

The rajah, caught the name Murray, and his face grew black as night, and without waiting for the interpretation, he made an angry gesture in the negative.

“But my son and his young friend,” said Mr Braine, watching him narrowly, to ascertain whether the flight was known.

The rajah gave him a meaning look, and laughed.

“After to-morrow,” he said, “they will come back.”

His face was all smiles once again, and he bowed to Amy, passed into the veranda, descended, and the little cortege moved out of the shady grounds. The lights slowly disappeared among the trees, while the doctor dropped the matting hangings over the door to hide the interior of the house from their guard, after which he turned to encounter the pleading face of his wife as Amy threw herself sobbing upon his breast.

Mr Braine stood looking on for a few moments in silence. Then, in a cold, stern voice, he said:

“Go back to the inner room and pray for our success. Then you have sarongs, make yourselves as much like the Malay women as you can.”

“Then we shall escape?” cried Amy, joyously.

“Heaven knows!” said the Resident. “We shall try. Ah, thank goodness, here are the Greigs;” and unchallenged by the guards, Mr Greig and his wife came up to the house.

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