Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fourteen.The Rajah’s Ring.Murray was anxious, unwilling, and willing altogether, as he followed the Tumongong and a guard of the rajah’s men into the lantern-lit clearing before the house; and from thence they were ushered into a room hung with mats, where water was brought in brass basins for their ablutions, before they were shown into a long dimly-lit room, where a meal was spread on mats upon the floor, while upon cushions at one end the rajah himself was seated conversing with the doctor and the ladies.He rose and received the rest of his guests with dignity, pointing out to them the places he wished them to occupy, and then, to the surprise of all, he took the head of the board himself; a compliment which the Englishmen looked upon with suspicion, as possibly meaning something, opposed as it was to his ordinary customs.To the boys it was delightful, for everything in the dimly-lit room was attractive: the group of guards and officials who stood behind and about the rajah in their showiest silks; the chief in his native costume now, in which bright-yellow silk predominated; and as Ned gazed at him, he could not help thinking how much better he looked in a dress which became him, for he looked now like an eastern prince, and the boy whispered so to his companion.“Yes; he don’t look such an old guy now,” said Frank, in the same tone. “We English people can wear our clothes without looking foolish,” he said, complacently. “They can’t wear English things without being scarecrows.”“But, I say, where are his wives? There are no ladies here,” whispered Ned again.“Locked up, put away in the cupboard. Heads chopped off, perhaps,” whispered Frank. “You didn’t suppose they would be here to sit down and eat with such infidels as we are!”“Oh, I didn’t know.”“Well, I did. It’s a wonder to see the old chap here. He’s got some scheme in his head, or he wouldn’t be so civil. I wonder what it is. You see they’re all obliged to come if he gives orders. But be quiet: don’t talk and ask questions. I’m hungry, and the things he gives you to eat are precious good, though often enough you don’t know what they are.”“But, I say, tell me this,” whispered Ned; “and I won’t ask you any more questions. There will not be anything one don’t like to eat, will there? I mean anything queer.”“What, young crocodile fatted with niggers, pickled boa constrictor, or curried baby?”“Don’t chaff. Tell me.”“Look here: do you want to know what to do?”“Of course.”“Then you eat just the same as I do, and you can’t be wrong.”Ned took the advice, and, like his companion, he was very soon enjoying himself thoroughly; too busy, in fact, to take much notice of the others, till Frank began to make remarks.“I say, how nice Amy Barnes looks, doesn’t she! Got quite a colour.”Ned glanced at her, and saw that she was flushed and looked excited, but was evidently doing her best to be at ease, talking readily enough with the Resident, and letting him translate in answer to some remark made in a grave and stately way by the rajah, who scarcely ate anything, but kept on giving instructions to his attendants to take this dish or that wine to his guests.“What’s the matter with your uncle?” said Frank, suddenly; “not poorly, is he?”“Matter?” said Ned, looking across to where Murray was seated. “Nothing; he only looks cross.”“But he is hardly eating anything. Overdid it to-day in our walk, or else riding the elephants has made him queer. It makes some people ill, like going to sea for the first time.”Just then the rajah spoke to one of the attendants, who directly after went and filled Murray’s cup with some kind of palm wine, and then the Resident’s, and the doctor’s.“The rajah will take wine with us, Murray, in the English fashion,” said Mr Braine; and though Murray felt as if he would like to refuse, he told himself that so far he had no real cause, and that such an act on his part might mean peril to all present. So in a very distant quiet way he took wine, the rajah merely putting his cup to his lips, while as Murray drank he could not help thinking how easily such a man might get rid of any one he disliked, and how little likelihood there was of his being ever called to account for the murder.These thoughts gave a bitter flavour to the by no means unpalatable draught.He had no time to dwell further on the thoughts which had been troubling him ever since he had entered the place, for the rajah spoke to Mr Braine, who bowed and turned to the naturalist:“Our host is eager to know whether you have made any fresh discoveries.”Murray replied that he had only found more tin, and this was interpreted to the rajah, who scowled a little, and then spoke rather sharply to Mr Braine, who again interpreted.“His highness is disappointed,” he said, “for he is sure that there is an abundance of gold, and that there are precious stones in the hills. He wishes you to go again.”“Orders me to go again, you mean,” said Murray, warmly.“For Heaven’s sake, man, be careful,” whispered Mr Braine; but with a smile upon his face the while. “You do not know. Our lives may be at stake. Help me, pray. The ladies. Have you a specimen of anything you found?”Murray glanced at Amy, who gave him an imploring look, and, drawing a deep breath, he felt ready to diplomatise, give up self, and smother his indignation for the sake of those before him.The rajah’s eyes were fixed upon him keenly, and he met them without flinching, but he mastered the anger at his heart, and thrusting his hand into his jacket pocket, drew out a couple of fragments of quartz. These he passed over to Mr Braine.“The best I could do,” he said. “I searched well, but this is the only metal I could find.”Mr Braine took them to the rajah, whose eyes glittered with cupidity as he saw the specimens; but as soon as he took them in his hands he returned them with a gesture of impatience, saying something quickly to Mr Braine, who bowed, looked troubled, but smiled directly, and said aloud:“The rajah bids me say that your last discovery of tin was ample, Mr Murray, and he begs that you will start again to-morrow, making arrangements to be away three or four days, so that you may have time to penetrate right into the hills.”“But hang it all!” began Murray; and then he stopped, for he saw a frightened look in the faces of the ladies, and he altered his tone.“I’ll see to-morrow morning,” he said.“That will not do,” said Mr Braine, quickly; and Murray was conscious that the Tumongong’s eyes were fixed upon them, and that he was evidently comprehending every word they said. “My dear fellow, I must ask you to give way, or at all events seem to give way. Pray, be careful. That chief understands what we say, and I cannot be sure whether he is an enemy or friend.”This last was in a whisper.“But really, Mr Braine, this is getting beyond bearing.”“No. Try to bear it for all our sakes—at all events now, and we’ll talk it over later on. May I answer that you will go?”“Yes,” said Murray, bowing his head, as he uttered the monosyllable unwillingly.Mr Braine turned to the rajah and spoke to him, his words evidently calming the great man’s wrath, for he nodded and turned smilingly to address a few words to Mrs Barnes, and then to Mrs Braine, to which, with a little hesitation, they replied in the Malay tongue.After that he turned smilingly to Amy, and evidently paid her some compliment, for she started a little and coloured, her eyes being directed the next moment at Murray, as if to apologise for having listened to the prince’s words, while the Englishman bit his lip till it bled.Meanwhile the attendants glided about silently, plying each of the guests with wine, fruits, and sweets, to all of which Frank helped himself liberally; and the guards and attendants, dimly-seen in the feebly-lit place, looked like so many statues cast in bronze.“I say,” whispered Frank, as he cut open a mangosteen, “do you notice anything?”“Yes. Uncle looks horribly cross. He can’t bear to be ordered about.”“S’pose not. No man does. But I say, don’t you notice anything else?”“No.”“Well, I do. Strikes me we are going to have a storm.”“Are we? Well, I want to look at the lightning.”“Nonsense! I mean a row. My father looks as if he had been getting into trouble with the rajah, and the ladies are all on the fidget. So’s the doctor. I can’t make it out.”“I fancied they looked as if they were not enjoying themselves.”“So did I, but then I wasn’t sure, and it was such a beautiful supper, and I did enjoy it so. You did pretty well.”“Yes,” said Ned, “I liked it.”“I know,” whispered Frank; “they think it’s time to get up and go to the drawing-room, and leave us gentlemen to our coffee and cigars, and there is no drawing-room that they can go to, and they daren’t get up for fear of offending the grand panjandrum.”Just then the rajah, clapped his hands, and coffee was brought in, another attendant bearing a tray with some clumsy-looking cigarettes, and others bringing great pipes with water receptacles, and charcoal pans to supply lights.The men bore pipes to the doctor and Mr Braine, and then to Murray, who took one of the clumsy-looking cigarettes, formed by so much tobacco crammed into the dry sheaths of a peculiar palm. Then the attendant came on to where the two lads were seated together, and offered them pipes.“Go on, you ugly brown-nosed animal,” said Frank; “what would they say if I tried to smoke?” Then, uttering a negative in the man’s tongue, he let him pass on.“Wasn’t it tempting, Ned?” whispered the boy. “Offering a pipe to us like that. I don’t see why we should not have a try. Pass those sweets, and let’s have some more of that lemonady stuff. I want a durian, too, and I don’t see any. Wonder whether old Pan would mind if I asked for one.”Just then the Tumongong came to where they were seated, and with a grave smile said a few words to Frank, who turned to his companion.“The rajah says you are to come and see him to-morrow. He will send for you to look at all his curiosities.”“But how can I come if I go with my uncle?” replied Ned.“Says how can he come if he goes shooting and gold-hunting with his uncle?” said Frank, in English.The Tumongong smiled sadly, and replied in Malay.“Tells me you’re not to go with your uncle to-morrow, but to come here,” said Frank, interpreting. “Never mind; I’ll go with him.”The Tumongong said a few words.“Oh, I’m to stop too. Very well. I don’t mind. I’ll stay, and we’ll make the old boy give us plenty of fruit and sweets. He will, I know. Go and tell him,” he continued, “that we kiss his feet.”The Tumongong smiled, patted Frank on the arm, as if he were a favourite, and returned to stand behind where his master was seated, smoking, and gazing amiably from one to the other, favouring Murray several times, and each time their eyes met, the rajah raised his golden cup to his lips, and sipped a little coffee.At last, when the patience of every one of the English party was thoroughly exhausted, the rajah rose, which was taken as a signal for their dismissal; but the potentate reversed the etiquette of an English parting by shaking hands with the gentlemen first, and smiling almost affectionately upon Murray, whose hand he grasped warmly, while the Englishman’s grip was cold and limp. Then turning to the ladies, he bade Mrs Braine, Mrs Greig, and Mrs Barnes good-night, after the custom of his country, and lastly, held out his hand to Amy, who could hardly master herself sufficiently to place hers within it.As he grasped it firmly, he bent down and said a few words in a low tone, which made the girl shrink away with a horrified look, while Murray would have started forward, but for Mr Braine’s restraining hand.But the rajah retained the hand he held, and slipping a ring from his little finger, he placed it on one of Amy’s, accompanying it with a meaning look, and then drawing back to march slowly toward the hanging mats which, divided the room from the next, and passing through followed by the chiefs and attendants; while the visitors lost no time in making for the veranda, below which an armed guard bearing lanterns was waiting, ready to escort them as far as the doctor’s house, and here they salaamed and retired.“Come in, Braine—come in, Mr Murray,” said the doctor, excitedly. “I should like a few words with you both. Go in, my dears. Mrs Braine, please, don’t leave them yet.”The ladies went hurriedly up the steps into the open veranda, and Mr Braine turned to his son.“Walk home with Ned,” he said quickly. “You can stay with him till I come with Mr Murray.”“Yes, father,” replied the boy, and the two lads went off together toward Murray’s house.“They’re going to have a confab,” said Frank, “that they don’t want us to hear. I was right; there’s going to be a storm.”“But isn’t it very strange?” said Ned, eagerly. “What does it all mean?”“I’m regularly puzzled,” cried frank. “It’s impossible, of course, but it looks so like it, that I can’t help thinking so.”“What do you mean?”“That I hope I’m wrong, but it looks as if the old boy has taken a fancy to Amy.”“What—an English lady! Impossible!” cried Ned, indignantly.“’Taint impossible here; if the rajah says he will; but if it isn’t so, why did he give Amy Barnes that ring?”“I don’t know. Why did he give you that kris?”“Oh, that was for a present. I don’t understand such things, but I believe when a gentleman gives a lady a ring, it’s because he means to marry her.”“But he can’t; he has a wife.”“A wife!” cried Frank. “Lots. But that doesn’t matter out here.”

Murray was anxious, unwilling, and willing altogether, as he followed the Tumongong and a guard of the rajah’s men into the lantern-lit clearing before the house; and from thence they were ushered into a room hung with mats, where water was brought in brass basins for their ablutions, before they were shown into a long dimly-lit room, where a meal was spread on mats upon the floor, while upon cushions at one end the rajah himself was seated conversing with the doctor and the ladies.

He rose and received the rest of his guests with dignity, pointing out to them the places he wished them to occupy, and then, to the surprise of all, he took the head of the board himself; a compliment which the Englishmen looked upon with suspicion, as possibly meaning something, opposed as it was to his ordinary customs.

To the boys it was delightful, for everything in the dimly-lit room was attractive: the group of guards and officials who stood behind and about the rajah in their showiest silks; the chief in his native costume now, in which bright-yellow silk predominated; and as Ned gazed at him, he could not help thinking how much better he looked in a dress which became him, for he looked now like an eastern prince, and the boy whispered so to his companion.

“Yes; he don’t look such an old guy now,” said Frank, in the same tone. “We English people can wear our clothes without looking foolish,” he said, complacently. “They can’t wear English things without being scarecrows.”

“But, I say, where are his wives? There are no ladies here,” whispered Ned again.

“Locked up, put away in the cupboard. Heads chopped off, perhaps,” whispered Frank. “You didn’t suppose they would be here to sit down and eat with such infidels as we are!”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Well, I did. It’s a wonder to see the old chap here. He’s got some scheme in his head, or he wouldn’t be so civil. I wonder what it is. You see they’re all obliged to come if he gives orders. But be quiet: don’t talk and ask questions. I’m hungry, and the things he gives you to eat are precious good, though often enough you don’t know what they are.”

“But, I say, tell me this,” whispered Ned; “and I won’t ask you any more questions. There will not be anything one don’t like to eat, will there? I mean anything queer.”

“What, young crocodile fatted with niggers, pickled boa constrictor, or curried baby?”

“Don’t chaff. Tell me.”

“Look here: do you want to know what to do?”

“Of course.”

“Then you eat just the same as I do, and you can’t be wrong.”

Ned took the advice, and, like his companion, he was very soon enjoying himself thoroughly; too busy, in fact, to take much notice of the others, till Frank began to make remarks.

“I say, how nice Amy Barnes looks, doesn’t she! Got quite a colour.”

Ned glanced at her, and saw that she was flushed and looked excited, but was evidently doing her best to be at ease, talking readily enough with the Resident, and letting him translate in answer to some remark made in a grave and stately way by the rajah, who scarcely ate anything, but kept on giving instructions to his attendants to take this dish or that wine to his guests.

“What’s the matter with your uncle?” said Frank, suddenly; “not poorly, is he?”

“Matter?” said Ned, looking across to where Murray was seated. “Nothing; he only looks cross.”

“But he is hardly eating anything. Overdid it to-day in our walk, or else riding the elephants has made him queer. It makes some people ill, like going to sea for the first time.”

Just then the rajah spoke to one of the attendants, who directly after went and filled Murray’s cup with some kind of palm wine, and then the Resident’s, and the doctor’s.

“The rajah will take wine with us, Murray, in the English fashion,” said Mr Braine; and though Murray felt as if he would like to refuse, he told himself that so far he had no real cause, and that such an act on his part might mean peril to all present. So in a very distant quiet way he took wine, the rajah merely putting his cup to his lips, while as Murray drank he could not help thinking how easily such a man might get rid of any one he disliked, and how little likelihood there was of his being ever called to account for the murder.

These thoughts gave a bitter flavour to the by no means unpalatable draught.

He had no time to dwell further on the thoughts which had been troubling him ever since he had entered the place, for the rajah spoke to Mr Braine, who bowed and turned to the naturalist:

“Our host is eager to know whether you have made any fresh discoveries.”

Murray replied that he had only found more tin, and this was interpreted to the rajah, who scowled a little, and then spoke rather sharply to Mr Braine, who again interpreted.

“His highness is disappointed,” he said, “for he is sure that there is an abundance of gold, and that there are precious stones in the hills. He wishes you to go again.”

“Orders me to go again, you mean,” said Murray, warmly.

“For Heaven’s sake, man, be careful,” whispered Mr Braine; but with a smile upon his face the while. “You do not know. Our lives may be at stake. Help me, pray. The ladies. Have you a specimen of anything you found?”

Murray glanced at Amy, who gave him an imploring look, and, drawing a deep breath, he felt ready to diplomatise, give up self, and smother his indignation for the sake of those before him.

The rajah’s eyes were fixed upon him keenly, and he met them without flinching, but he mastered the anger at his heart, and thrusting his hand into his jacket pocket, drew out a couple of fragments of quartz. These he passed over to Mr Braine.

“The best I could do,” he said. “I searched well, but this is the only metal I could find.”

Mr Braine took them to the rajah, whose eyes glittered with cupidity as he saw the specimens; but as soon as he took them in his hands he returned them with a gesture of impatience, saying something quickly to Mr Braine, who bowed, looked troubled, but smiled directly, and said aloud:

“The rajah bids me say that your last discovery of tin was ample, Mr Murray, and he begs that you will start again to-morrow, making arrangements to be away three or four days, so that you may have time to penetrate right into the hills.”

“But hang it all!” began Murray; and then he stopped, for he saw a frightened look in the faces of the ladies, and he altered his tone.

“I’ll see to-morrow morning,” he said.

“That will not do,” said Mr Braine, quickly; and Murray was conscious that the Tumongong’s eyes were fixed upon them, and that he was evidently comprehending every word they said. “My dear fellow, I must ask you to give way, or at all events seem to give way. Pray, be careful. That chief understands what we say, and I cannot be sure whether he is an enemy or friend.”

This last was in a whisper.

“But really, Mr Braine, this is getting beyond bearing.”

“No. Try to bear it for all our sakes—at all events now, and we’ll talk it over later on. May I answer that you will go?”

“Yes,” said Murray, bowing his head, as he uttered the monosyllable unwillingly.

Mr Braine turned to the rajah and spoke to him, his words evidently calming the great man’s wrath, for he nodded and turned smilingly to address a few words to Mrs Barnes, and then to Mrs Braine, to which, with a little hesitation, they replied in the Malay tongue.

After that he turned smilingly to Amy, and evidently paid her some compliment, for she started a little and coloured, her eyes being directed the next moment at Murray, as if to apologise for having listened to the prince’s words, while the Englishman bit his lip till it bled.

Meanwhile the attendants glided about silently, plying each of the guests with wine, fruits, and sweets, to all of which Frank helped himself liberally; and the guards and attendants, dimly-seen in the feebly-lit place, looked like so many statues cast in bronze.

“I say,” whispered Frank, as he cut open a mangosteen, “do you notice anything?”

“Yes. Uncle looks horribly cross. He can’t bear to be ordered about.”

“S’pose not. No man does. But I say, don’t you notice anything else?”

“No.”

“Well, I do. Strikes me we are going to have a storm.”

“Are we? Well, I want to look at the lightning.”

“Nonsense! I mean a row. My father looks as if he had been getting into trouble with the rajah, and the ladies are all on the fidget. So’s the doctor. I can’t make it out.”

“I fancied they looked as if they were not enjoying themselves.”

“So did I, but then I wasn’t sure, and it was such a beautiful supper, and I did enjoy it so. You did pretty well.”

“Yes,” said Ned, “I liked it.”

“I know,” whispered Frank; “they think it’s time to get up and go to the drawing-room, and leave us gentlemen to our coffee and cigars, and there is no drawing-room that they can go to, and they daren’t get up for fear of offending the grand panjandrum.”

Just then the rajah, clapped his hands, and coffee was brought in, another attendant bearing a tray with some clumsy-looking cigarettes, and others bringing great pipes with water receptacles, and charcoal pans to supply lights.

The men bore pipes to the doctor and Mr Braine, and then to Murray, who took one of the clumsy-looking cigarettes, formed by so much tobacco crammed into the dry sheaths of a peculiar palm. Then the attendant came on to where the two lads were seated together, and offered them pipes.

“Go on, you ugly brown-nosed animal,” said Frank; “what would they say if I tried to smoke?” Then, uttering a negative in the man’s tongue, he let him pass on.

“Wasn’t it tempting, Ned?” whispered the boy. “Offering a pipe to us like that. I don’t see why we should not have a try. Pass those sweets, and let’s have some more of that lemonady stuff. I want a durian, too, and I don’t see any. Wonder whether old Pan would mind if I asked for one.”

Just then the Tumongong came to where they were seated, and with a grave smile said a few words to Frank, who turned to his companion.

“The rajah says you are to come and see him to-morrow. He will send for you to look at all his curiosities.”

“But how can I come if I go with my uncle?” replied Ned.

“Says how can he come if he goes shooting and gold-hunting with his uncle?” said Frank, in English.

The Tumongong smiled sadly, and replied in Malay.

“Tells me you’re not to go with your uncle to-morrow, but to come here,” said Frank, interpreting. “Never mind; I’ll go with him.”

The Tumongong said a few words.

“Oh, I’m to stop too. Very well. I don’t mind. I’ll stay, and we’ll make the old boy give us plenty of fruit and sweets. He will, I know. Go and tell him,” he continued, “that we kiss his feet.”

The Tumongong smiled, patted Frank on the arm, as if he were a favourite, and returned to stand behind where his master was seated, smoking, and gazing amiably from one to the other, favouring Murray several times, and each time their eyes met, the rajah raised his golden cup to his lips, and sipped a little coffee.

At last, when the patience of every one of the English party was thoroughly exhausted, the rajah rose, which was taken as a signal for their dismissal; but the potentate reversed the etiquette of an English parting by shaking hands with the gentlemen first, and smiling almost affectionately upon Murray, whose hand he grasped warmly, while the Englishman’s grip was cold and limp. Then turning to the ladies, he bade Mrs Braine, Mrs Greig, and Mrs Barnes good-night, after the custom of his country, and lastly, held out his hand to Amy, who could hardly master herself sufficiently to place hers within it.

As he grasped it firmly, he bent down and said a few words in a low tone, which made the girl shrink away with a horrified look, while Murray would have started forward, but for Mr Braine’s restraining hand.

But the rajah retained the hand he held, and slipping a ring from his little finger, he placed it on one of Amy’s, accompanying it with a meaning look, and then drawing back to march slowly toward the hanging mats which, divided the room from the next, and passing through followed by the chiefs and attendants; while the visitors lost no time in making for the veranda, below which an armed guard bearing lanterns was waiting, ready to escort them as far as the doctor’s house, and here they salaamed and retired.

“Come in, Braine—come in, Mr Murray,” said the doctor, excitedly. “I should like a few words with you both. Go in, my dears. Mrs Braine, please, don’t leave them yet.”

The ladies went hurriedly up the steps into the open veranda, and Mr Braine turned to his son.

“Walk home with Ned,” he said quickly. “You can stay with him till I come with Mr Murray.”

“Yes, father,” replied the boy, and the two lads went off together toward Murray’s house.

“They’re going to have a confab,” said Frank, “that they don’t want us to hear. I was right; there’s going to be a storm.”

“But isn’t it very strange?” said Ned, eagerly. “What does it all mean?”

“I’m regularly puzzled,” cried frank. “It’s impossible, of course, but it looks so like it, that I can’t help thinking so.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I hope I’m wrong, but it looks as if the old boy has taken a fancy to Amy.”

“What—an English lady! Impossible!” cried Ned, indignantly.

“’Taint impossible here; if the rajah says he will; but if it isn’t so, why did he give Amy Barnes that ring?”

“I don’t know. Why did he give you that kris?”

“Oh, that was for a present. I don’t understand such things, but I believe when a gentleman gives a lady a ring, it’s because he means to marry her.”

“But he can’t; he has a wife.”

“A wife!” cried Frank. “Lots. But that doesn’t matter out here.”

Chapter Fifteen.A Troubled Night.As soon as Amy entered her home, she let the pent-up agony and fear which she had hidden for hours have vent in a burst of passionate weeping, and hurried away to her own room, closely followed by her mother and Mrs Braine, leaving the gentlemen standing in the half-darkened room, silent, agitated, and each waiting for the other to speak. But for some minutes no word was spoken, and the silence was only broken by the creaking sound of the bamboo flooring, as in a violent state of agitation, Murray walked the room from end to end. Just then a low cat-like cry came from the jungle, repeated and answered from different directions, and influencing Murray, so that he went and stood at the opening, gazing across the veranda at the fireflies gliding here and there like tiny wandering stars, and listening to the cries which told him that on the jungle side they were surrounded by enemies.As he stood there motionless, strange hoarse barking sounds came from the river, with an occasional faint splash, and then a loud beating noise, as if some monster were thrashing the surface of the river with its tail. Then, again, from the forest arose other strange cries, croakings, whinings, and sounds to which it would have been hard to give a name, but all suggestive of the black darkness around being full of danger, and after his experience that day of the forest track, he found himself thinking of how impossible it would be for any one seeking to leave the village to escape in that direction.Then there was the river.“Yes,” he thought; “that would be easier, for it was a broad highway, swiftly flowing down toward civilisation and safety.”Murray felt a bitter twinge of annoyance at that moment, as he thought of how he had sacrificed everything to his love for science, and as soon as he had found it necessary to accept his position, hardly troubled himself to think of the whereabouts of the boat in which he had arrived, and of where the men who formed her crew had been placed.“Hamet will know,” he thought as, in a vague way, he began to make plans, when he was interrupted by Mr Braine’s voice uttering the one word, “Well?”Murray turned at once and stood close to the other occupants of the room, drawing his breath hard, and longing to plunge at once into the conversation, but shrinking from the emotion by which he was half suffocated.A silence of some moments succeeded Mr Braine’s questioning word, and the faint murmur of women’s voices could be heard from the inner rooms.“Yes; there is no doubt about it now,” said the doctor. “I have always dreaded this, but lived on in hope.”“And I,” said Mr Braine, sadly.“The base, treacherous—”“Hush!”Mr Braine laid his hand upon his old friend’s arm, and pointed downwards to the floor, beneath which lay the open space formed by the house being raised on posts, while the flooring was so slight that anything spoken in the room could easily be heard by a listener below.“There is not likely to be any one there who could understand us,” said the doctor, impatiently. “Man, man, what is to be done?”There was a few moments’ silence, and then Mr Braine said despondently:“I am at my wits’ end. I never felt our helplessness so thoroughly as at the present moment.”Murray drew a long deep breath, and the veins in his temples seemed to throb as he stood listening to his companions’ words, and waiting to hear what they intended to do next.At last he could contain himself no longer.“We are wasting time, gentlemen,” he said. “I have not heard you say a word that promises to help us out of our difficulty.”“Ah, Mr Murray!” said the doctor, “I had almost forgotten you. Yes, it is us indeed. Well, sir, you see now our position; what can we say or do?”“Surely you are not going to stand still, and see that insolent savage force his attentions upon your daughter.”“Sir, I would sooner see her dead than hurried into such a degrading position, but you know how we are situated, and our utter helplessness.”“But you will send for help. Mr Wilson at his station—Dindong—assured me that in a case of necessity he would see that we were protected.”“How would you send the message, sir?”“By some Malay. He must be bribed heavily. Plenty would be glad to make the venture.”“Where will you find them, sir? Do you know that you would be sending the man to certain death?”“Surely not.”“The river is closely watched night and day. No boat could pass down unseen.”“But a man might swim say a few hundred yards,” cried Murray. “I would go myself.”“And if you escaped the crocodiles, which is not likely, what would you do then?”“Land, and follow the stream by the bank.”The doctor uttered a low laugh.“My dear sir, you do not know what you are saying; the bank for miles inland is utterly impassable.”“Then the other way by that elephant track.”“Farther into the enemy’s country. No, sir; there is only one route—the river; and so far, I can only see violence as the way, and we are too weak to attempt that—too weak, or the rajah is too strong.”“Then do I understand you to mean that you are going to remain prostrate, and bow down your necks for this man to trample upon you?”“Mr Murray,” interposed Mr Braine, “you are too hard. You are losing your temper. Recollect, sir, that we are placed in a position whose difficulties you even now hardly realise.”“Indeed you are wrong, Mr Braine!” cried Murray, hotly.“Then remember, sir, you are speaking to a gentleman—a father, whose heart is wrung by the position in which he is placed.”“Yes, I am wrong,” said Murray, warmly; “but have some pity for me too. Doctor Barnes, you cannot be blind to what I think and feel. All this is agonising to me. Look here, sir; do you think I have not brains enough to see that this man reads me and my sentiments toward your daughter. The scoundrel—the insolent barbarian! he is actually jealous, and under his smiling civility, he is trying to crush me down or to sweep me out of his path. Do you not see what this expedition to-morrow means.”“Ah, I did not think of that!” cried Greig, excitedly.“But I did,” said Murray. “I will not go so far as to say that the wretch means to have me killed, but I do say that as my presence here might interfere with his plans, I am to be either put out of the way, or kept up the country a prisoner, doing his work until such time as he considers it safe for me to return.”“Murray is right,” said Mr Braine; “too right, I fear. You must not, you shall not risk the journey to-morrow alone. I must speak plainly now. I would not answer for your life.”“I will not go,” said Murray, firmly. “I am a quiet enthusiast, but there is some old Scottish blood in my veins, gentlemen, that can be roused, and I’ll fight to the death before I will see this wrong done.”“As we all would,” said Mr Braine, warmly. “God bless you, Murray! You will be a tower of strength to us; but this is not a time for fighting. We are weak—the rajah is strong. He is cunning, too, with all the smiling deceit of these people, who throw you off your guard so as to get a better opportunity for striking.”“But we must act and at once, Braine.”“Yes, but it must be with quiet and dissimulation; cunning for cunning. Violence is useless.”“I don’t know,” said Murray, fiercely. “The future of a lady whom I boldly tell her father I love and reverence so dearly that, though my suit may be hopeless, though she may never look upon me as aught but a friend, I will die in her service to save her from such a fate as threatens her. My life is, I know, menaced now. Well, I had better try to do some good before I go, if it is only to rid the world of this tyrannical scoundrel and—”Murray stopped short, the doctor darted to a chest and snatched out a revolver, and Mr Braine seized a sword hanging upon a couple of hooks against the wall; for all at once a violent scuffling and panting arose from beneath their feet, telling that two men were contending, and all doubt as to who one of them might be, was set aside the next moment by a familiar voice.“Ah-hah! would ye—ye thayving baste? Shure, would ye? Take that, and that, and that.”It was plain, too, what the donations were from the sounds which followed them—dull heavy thuds of blows delivered by a sturdy fist.The struggle was continued as all hurried out into the veranda, and down the steps to plunge below the house into the intense darkness, where all was now silent.“Who’s there?” said the doctor. “Driscol, where are you?”There was no reply.“Surely the poor fellow has not been stabbed!” cried the doctor excitedly. “Wait till I fetch a light.”He hurried back, leaving Murray and Mr Braine trying in vain to penetrate the darkness, so as to make out whether any one was near. Then the doctor’s steps were heard overhead, and his voice came down so distinctly, that both felt how a listener would hear every word.“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “Driscol caught some Malay scoundrel prowling about.”“Where is my husband!” said Mrs Braine.“Down below with Murray. How is Amy?”“Calmer now.”“That’s right. Back directly.”And then the doctor’s step made the bamboo creak as he crossed the room.“Whoever it was must have heard every word we said,” whispered Mr Braine.Just then the lamp the doctor carried shone down through the steps, and directly after among the posts which supported the house.“Well?” he said, holding the lamp above his head; “heard any one?”“Yes,” said Mr Braine in a low tone. “You.”“You heard me speaking?”“Every word you said.”“How unfortunate! But where is my man? There is no one here.”“Thank goodness!” said Mr Braine. “I was afraid the poor fellow had been stabbed. But let’s look round.”The lamp’s light was directed in all directions, but there was no sign except in one spot where the ground had been trampled, and a climbing-plant torn down.“We must try to follow the trail,” said the doctor; but at that moment steps were heard, and the whisking noise of some body passing through the bushes and shrubs the doctor had collected about the back of his house.“Who’s that?” cried Mr Braine, sharply.“Only me, sor. Is the master there? Oh, there you are, sor. I wint after him, sor, for he made me a bit mad shticking at me with his kris thing.”“Are you wounded?”“Only just a bit of a prick, sor. I’ve put my hankychy round it. In me arm here. It’s jist nawthing.”“But who was it? What does it mean?” said the doctor, hastily examining the man’s arm, while Mr Braine held the light.“Who was it, sor? Well, I hardly know. It was so dark, but if I was to guess by the face of the man, I should say it was Mr Tumongong—an’ what a name for a gintleman!—and what does it mane? Well, sor, I was having just a little whiff out of me bamboo-pipe, and takking a look round, or a feel round, it was so dark, before going to bed, when I heard a bit of a rustle, and I backed under the house to get away, for I thought it was a tiger; but it was a man, and he kept on coming nearer till he was right underneath here, and close to where we stand, and hiff—!”“Did I hurt you?” said the doctor, who was binding Tim’s wound.“Yes, sor, thank ye, sor. It did rather, but I don’t mind. Well, sor, he was listening to you gintlemen up-stairs; and as I thought it moighty ondacent, I laid howld of him, and nipped him, and we scuffled a bit, and then he pricked me wid his kris, and I hit him two or three cracks wid me fist, for I had no stick. Then he went off in the dark, and I afther him; but there wasn’t a chance of catching him, for he went through the trees like a sarpent, and of course, sor, the man who runs has a better chance than the man who runs afther him.”“Did you see where he made for?” said the doctor.“And is it see on a night like this, sor?”“No, no. Of course not. There, come into the house, it must have been some scoundrel trying what he could pick up. Come, Braine.”They went back up the stairs into the room where Mrs Barnes and Mrs Braine were anxiously awaiting their coming, and told them that it was only a scare.“Driscol heard some one about the place, and tried to hold him,” the doctor said. “Don’t be alarmed.”“But I am alarmed,” said Mrs Barnes, excitedly. “I am sure there is some great trouble coming upon us.”“Then act like a true Englishwoman,” said the doctor; “help your husband. Don’t hinder him by being weak and hysterical.”“I’ll try,” said Mrs Barnes, speaking firmly.“That’s right. Now Braine, what do you propose doing next?”“Nothing. We must wait.”“But Amy—my child?”“I am thinking of her as much as you are,” said Mr Braine, “and I see no other course but to stand firm, and to give the rajah to understand that such a thing as he is bent upon is impossible. Mr Murray will stand by us.”“Yes,” said Mr Braine, moodily. “But—”“For Heaven’s sake, do not raise difficulties, man,” cried the doctor. “We can do nothing to-night, but rest and gain strength for any trouble which may come to-morrow.—My dear,” he continued to his wife, “you will stay with Mrs Barnes to-night; she and Amy will be glad, I am sure, of your company.”“Indeed yes,” cried the doctor’s wife, gratefully.“I can do no good, Barnes, so I will go on with Murray here, and bring back Frank. You will send to me if there is the slightest need. There, good-night, all. This has been a scare, but it may have had its crisis, and a few days hence, I hope we shall all be laughing at our fright.”He shook hands, and moved towards the door.“Now, Greig, Murray,” he said.But Murray was standing grasping Mrs Barnes’s hand, “Tell her,” he whispered, “that some means shall be devised to save her from such another insult as this.”Mrs Barnes pressed his hand; and then hastily shaking hands with Mrs Braine and the doctor, he hurried out into the garden and joined the others, after which the Greigs went to their own place.“Those boys will think we are never coming,” Murray said, speaking more cheerily now.“Well, we will soon relieve their anxiety,” replied Mr Braine. “Come, that’s better. We must not treat this as a panic, and exaggerate the difficulty of our position.”“I do not,” said Murray, quietly. “It needs no exaggeration. Look!” he whispered; “we are followed, are we not?”“I can hardly see for the darkness. Possibly. His men are always on the watch. No European monarch was ever better served by his secret police.”“But tell me,” said Murray; “are you going back quietly to your place as soon as you have fetched Frank?”“Not directly, perhaps, but very soon. We had better separate, and seem to be treating all this calmly, for our acts are certain to be reported to the rajah.”“And what about our words at the house?”“What? the possibility of them having been heard, and the information conveyed to the rajah?”“Yes.”“I cannot say. Let us both sleep on it. To-morrow I may have some plan.”“And the boys. Are they to know?”“As little as possible. Here we are. How quiet and peaceful the place seems! Asleep, I suppose. Tired of waiting.”There was a dim light in the house devoted to Murray and his nephew; and as they reached the steps, the naturalist felt a pang of annoyance at not seeing Hamet start up and challenge them, for, as a rule, he was always in the veranda on the watch.“It has been a long and weary day,” said Murray, with the depression from which he suffered affecting his voice. “Will you go on first?”“No; you are the master; lead on.”Murray stopped short.“Look here,” he said. “Let the boys sleep. Stop here with me. I will soon make some coffee, and we will sit and smoke and talk.”“No, no,” said Mr Braine, hastily.“But it is hard indeed if we cannot hit out some plan before morning. There, go up quietly. You will stay?”“No,” said Mr Braine, firmly. “You forget what was said when we came away. I must be at my own place in case Barnes wants me.”“Yes, of course,” said Murray, quickly. “Then I will come back with you. One minute. Let me see if the boys are sleeping all right, and say a few words to Hamet.”He sprang up the steps lightly, and entered the house, but no Hamet was there to challenge him, neither were the boys in the outer room stretched on the mats, as he expected to find them—asleep.Murray looked round quickly, and at a glance saw that the guns had been brought in and hung on their slings, the two baskets containing the specimens shot, and the others were hung upon the pegs arranged for the purpose, and the lamp was burning dimly on the rough table.He caught up the light, and shading it with his hand, stepped lightly over the mats, and looked into the inner room, drew a long deep breath, and stepped back to stand thinking a few moments before he set down the lamp.He stepped to the doorway.“Come up,” he said.Braine obeyed.“Sleeping soundly?”“Take the light. Look,” said Murray, in a low voice.Mr Braine glanced at him, surprised by his strange manner, and then he caught up the light, and went and looked in the room in his turn.“Gone!” he said, in a low excited voice. “What is the meaning of this?”Murray shook his head.“There was no mistake about the directions? I told Frank to go home with your boy to bear him company, and to wait until I came. Oh, I see. The foolish fellow! He must have misunderstood me, and taken Ned home with him. They are waiting for us there.”“And Hamet? My follower?”“Gone with them.”“He would not have known.”“Then the boys have been here. Frank was fagged out, and said he would not wait for me any longer, and he has gone home. Your boy and Hamet have accompanied him to see him safely there.”“You are speaking without conviction, Braine,” said Murray, sternly. “You say this to comfort me, and you are thinking differently. What does this mean? What desperate game is this man playing? I swear that if harm has come to that poor boy, though I die for it, I’ll shoot this rajah like a dog—like the cowardly cur he is.”“Hush! don’t be hasty. You know that your threat may have been heard, and will perhaps be reported to the rajah.”“Let them report it.”“Be sensible, man,” whispered Mr Braine. “I feel all this as keenly as you do, and I cling to the hope that we may find the boys at my place. Come with me.”Murray made no answer, but went to one of the cases he had brought up the river in the boat, and took from it his revolver and some cartridges, charged the weapon, and then thrusting it into his breast, he turned to the Resident.“I am ready now,” he said, in a low harsh voice. “Come on.”The bamboos creaked, and the house shook with the heavy steps of the two men, as they went down, and conscious all the time that they were watched, and fully expecting to have their way barred at any moment, they retraced their steps, to halt for a minute and listen, as they came opposite the entrance to the doctor’s garden. But all was silent there, and the lamps were burning just inside the door.“Come on,” whispered Mr Braine, with his voice trembling with the intense strain from which he suffered.The distance was very short, not many yards on in the direction of the rajah’s place, and here they crossed a carefully-tended garden toward the veranda, about whose creepers the fireflies were gleaming.But there a low fierce voice challenged them from the darkness, and Murray’s hand flew to his breast.“I, Yussuf,” said Mr Braine, quietly; and then, in Malay, he asked if the boys had come, and received his answer.“Not here, and they have not been,” he whispered to Murray.“No. There is some other meaning to it,” said Murray, sternly. “The rajah has had them seized. To-morrow I was to have been sent out of the way, but this is a fresh plan. Is it in consequence of what was overheard at Doctor Barnes’s?”“It is impossible to say,” replied Mr Braine. “I am beginning to feel bewildered. But we must be calm. No great harm can have befallen them. It is part of some plan to force Barnes to consent to this hateful marriage.”“Then we must take time by the forelock, and go.”“It is impossible, I tell you.”“There is no such thing in a case like this, man,” cried Murray, angrily. “Have you not thought of what I feel?”“Sir,” retorted Mr Braine, bitterly, “have you not thought of what I feel?”“Forgive me,” said Murray, humbly. “I am half mad with rage and excitement. But, for pity’s sake, propose something upon which I can act. If I could be doing something, I could bear it better.”“I can propose nothing,” said Mr Braine, sadly. “We are so surrounded by difficulties, so hedged in by danger, that we cannot stir. You must remember that any premature action on our part might hasten the catastrophe we want to avert.”“But he would not dare—”“Murray!” replied Mr Braine, with energy, as they stood there in the intense darkness, the speaker conscious that several of the rajah’s spearmen were close at hand, “he would dare anything in his blind belief that he is too powerful for the English government to attack him.”“Then he must be taught.”“And I,” continued Mr Braine, as if not hearing the interruption, “have been for years doing what seems now to recoil on my unhappy head, strengthening his belief in himself by training his people for him, and turning savages into decent, well-drilled soldiers, who have made him the dread of the country for hundreds of miles round.”“Come on and tell Doctor Barnes,” said Murray at last, and they hurried back, almost brushing against two sentries standing among the trees, men who followed them silently, and then paused as they entered the gates, where they were joined by three more, looking shadowy and strange by the fireflies’ light.As they reached the foot of the steps, the doctor stepped forward, and then said that he would descend.“She is asleep at last,” he whispered. “Thank you for coming. You need not be so anxious now. Go back, and I promise you both that I will send Driscol on if there is the slightest need of your help. There is not likely to be anything but a quiet insistence on his part, and this must be met firmly.”“There is likely to be something more than quiet insistence, Doctor Barnes,” said Murray, sternly. “We have come to bring bad news. Those two lads have been spirited away.”“What!” cried the doctor, excitedly. “No, no; surely not. They were favourites with the rajah. Some accident or some prank. They are only boys; perhaps my man Driscol has— No, no, no. He is here in the house. But think again; had they any idea of trying some kind of night fishing, or shooting? Yes, of course. I heard Frank tell my child that he was going to sit up and watch with a Malay—of course—in the jungle, to try and trap or shoot a specimen or two of the argus pheasant for you, Mr Murray.—That is it, depend upon it, Braine.”“No,” said the Resident, despondently. “He would not have gone to-night after such a weary day, and he would not have gone without telling me his plans. He told me everything, even to his trifling fishing trips on the river. There is something more—an accident, or he has been carried off.”“What! by the crocodiles?” said Murray, suddenly.“No, no; I don’t fear that. Come, man, we must be up and at work now.”“What are you going to do?” asked Murray, eagerly, for he was quivering with the intense desire he felt to be in action.“I am going to the Tumongong. He has always been my friend.”“The man who was watching and listening to-night!”“It could not have been the chief. He is too much of a gentleman at heart. Your servant was mistaken. Come on, Murray. We will come and tell you when we have been. He must know what has been done.”“He will not betray his master’s secrets,” said Murray, bitterly. “It is more than his life is worth.”“I shall not ask him to do that,” said Mr Braine, slowly; “but I think he will set our hearts at rest as to the safety of our boys. Will you come?”“Yes,” said Murray, thoughtfully, “I will come. No: I cannot think of anything else having happened to them. It must be the rajah’s doing. Come on then, and let us know their fate.”

As soon as Amy entered her home, she let the pent-up agony and fear which she had hidden for hours have vent in a burst of passionate weeping, and hurried away to her own room, closely followed by her mother and Mrs Braine, leaving the gentlemen standing in the half-darkened room, silent, agitated, and each waiting for the other to speak. But for some minutes no word was spoken, and the silence was only broken by the creaking sound of the bamboo flooring, as in a violent state of agitation, Murray walked the room from end to end. Just then a low cat-like cry came from the jungle, repeated and answered from different directions, and influencing Murray, so that he went and stood at the opening, gazing across the veranda at the fireflies gliding here and there like tiny wandering stars, and listening to the cries which told him that on the jungle side they were surrounded by enemies.

As he stood there motionless, strange hoarse barking sounds came from the river, with an occasional faint splash, and then a loud beating noise, as if some monster were thrashing the surface of the river with its tail. Then, again, from the forest arose other strange cries, croakings, whinings, and sounds to which it would have been hard to give a name, but all suggestive of the black darkness around being full of danger, and after his experience that day of the forest track, he found himself thinking of how impossible it would be for any one seeking to leave the village to escape in that direction.

Then there was the river.

“Yes,” he thought; “that would be easier, for it was a broad highway, swiftly flowing down toward civilisation and safety.”

Murray felt a bitter twinge of annoyance at that moment, as he thought of how he had sacrificed everything to his love for science, and as soon as he had found it necessary to accept his position, hardly troubled himself to think of the whereabouts of the boat in which he had arrived, and of where the men who formed her crew had been placed.

“Hamet will know,” he thought as, in a vague way, he began to make plans, when he was interrupted by Mr Braine’s voice uttering the one word, “Well?”

Murray turned at once and stood close to the other occupants of the room, drawing his breath hard, and longing to plunge at once into the conversation, but shrinking from the emotion by which he was half suffocated.

A silence of some moments succeeded Mr Braine’s questioning word, and the faint murmur of women’s voices could be heard from the inner rooms.

“Yes; there is no doubt about it now,” said the doctor. “I have always dreaded this, but lived on in hope.”

“And I,” said Mr Braine, sadly.

“The base, treacherous—”

“Hush!”

Mr Braine laid his hand upon his old friend’s arm, and pointed downwards to the floor, beneath which lay the open space formed by the house being raised on posts, while the flooring was so slight that anything spoken in the room could easily be heard by a listener below.

“There is not likely to be any one there who could understand us,” said the doctor, impatiently. “Man, man, what is to be done?”

There was a few moments’ silence, and then Mr Braine said despondently:

“I am at my wits’ end. I never felt our helplessness so thoroughly as at the present moment.”

Murray drew a long deep breath, and the veins in his temples seemed to throb as he stood listening to his companions’ words, and waiting to hear what they intended to do next.

At last he could contain himself no longer.

“We are wasting time, gentlemen,” he said. “I have not heard you say a word that promises to help us out of our difficulty.”

“Ah, Mr Murray!” said the doctor, “I had almost forgotten you. Yes, it is us indeed. Well, sir, you see now our position; what can we say or do?”

“Surely you are not going to stand still, and see that insolent savage force his attentions upon your daughter.”

“Sir, I would sooner see her dead than hurried into such a degrading position, but you know how we are situated, and our utter helplessness.”

“But you will send for help. Mr Wilson at his station—Dindong—assured me that in a case of necessity he would see that we were protected.”

“How would you send the message, sir?”

“By some Malay. He must be bribed heavily. Plenty would be glad to make the venture.”

“Where will you find them, sir? Do you know that you would be sending the man to certain death?”

“Surely not.”

“The river is closely watched night and day. No boat could pass down unseen.”

“But a man might swim say a few hundred yards,” cried Murray. “I would go myself.”

“And if you escaped the crocodiles, which is not likely, what would you do then?”

“Land, and follow the stream by the bank.”

The doctor uttered a low laugh.

“My dear sir, you do not know what you are saying; the bank for miles inland is utterly impassable.”

“Then the other way by that elephant track.”

“Farther into the enemy’s country. No, sir; there is only one route—the river; and so far, I can only see violence as the way, and we are too weak to attempt that—too weak, or the rajah is too strong.”

“Then do I understand you to mean that you are going to remain prostrate, and bow down your necks for this man to trample upon you?”

“Mr Murray,” interposed Mr Braine, “you are too hard. You are losing your temper. Recollect, sir, that we are placed in a position whose difficulties you even now hardly realise.”

“Indeed you are wrong, Mr Braine!” cried Murray, hotly.

“Then remember, sir, you are speaking to a gentleman—a father, whose heart is wrung by the position in which he is placed.”

“Yes, I am wrong,” said Murray, warmly; “but have some pity for me too. Doctor Barnes, you cannot be blind to what I think and feel. All this is agonising to me. Look here, sir; do you think I have not brains enough to see that this man reads me and my sentiments toward your daughter. The scoundrel—the insolent barbarian! he is actually jealous, and under his smiling civility, he is trying to crush me down or to sweep me out of his path. Do you not see what this expedition to-morrow means.”

“Ah, I did not think of that!” cried Greig, excitedly.

“But I did,” said Murray. “I will not go so far as to say that the wretch means to have me killed, but I do say that as my presence here might interfere with his plans, I am to be either put out of the way, or kept up the country a prisoner, doing his work until such time as he considers it safe for me to return.”

“Murray is right,” said Mr Braine; “too right, I fear. You must not, you shall not risk the journey to-morrow alone. I must speak plainly now. I would not answer for your life.”

“I will not go,” said Murray, firmly. “I am a quiet enthusiast, but there is some old Scottish blood in my veins, gentlemen, that can be roused, and I’ll fight to the death before I will see this wrong done.”

“As we all would,” said Mr Braine, warmly. “God bless you, Murray! You will be a tower of strength to us; but this is not a time for fighting. We are weak—the rajah is strong. He is cunning, too, with all the smiling deceit of these people, who throw you off your guard so as to get a better opportunity for striking.”

“But we must act and at once, Braine.”

“Yes, but it must be with quiet and dissimulation; cunning for cunning. Violence is useless.”

“I don’t know,” said Murray, fiercely. “The future of a lady whom I boldly tell her father I love and reverence so dearly that, though my suit may be hopeless, though she may never look upon me as aught but a friend, I will die in her service to save her from such a fate as threatens her. My life is, I know, menaced now. Well, I had better try to do some good before I go, if it is only to rid the world of this tyrannical scoundrel and—”

Murray stopped short, the doctor darted to a chest and snatched out a revolver, and Mr Braine seized a sword hanging upon a couple of hooks against the wall; for all at once a violent scuffling and panting arose from beneath their feet, telling that two men were contending, and all doubt as to who one of them might be, was set aside the next moment by a familiar voice.

“Ah-hah! would ye—ye thayving baste? Shure, would ye? Take that, and that, and that.”

It was plain, too, what the donations were from the sounds which followed them—dull heavy thuds of blows delivered by a sturdy fist.

The struggle was continued as all hurried out into the veranda, and down the steps to plunge below the house into the intense darkness, where all was now silent.

“Who’s there?” said the doctor. “Driscol, where are you?”

There was no reply.

“Surely the poor fellow has not been stabbed!” cried the doctor excitedly. “Wait till I fetch a light.”

He hurried back, leaving Murray and Mr Braine trying in vain to penetrate the darkness, so as to make out whether any one was near. Then the doctor’s steps were heard overhead, and his voice came down so distinctly, that both felt how a listener would hear every word.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “Driscol caught some Malay scoundrel prowling about.”

“Where is my husband!” said Mrs Braine.

“Down below with Murray. How is Amy?”

“Calmer now.”

“That’s right. Back directly.”

And then the doctor’s step made the bamboo creak as he crossed the room.

“Whoever it was must have heard every word we said,” whispered Mr Braine.

Just then the lamp the doctor carried shone down through the steps, and directly after among the posts which supported the house.

“Well?” he said, holding the lamp above his head; “heard any one?”

“Yes,” said Mr Braine in a low tone. “You.”

“You heard me speaking?”

“Every word you said.”

“How unfortunate! But where is my man? There is no one here.”

“Thank goodness!” said Mr Braine. “I was afraid the poor fellow had been stabbed. But let’s look round.”

The lamp’s light was directed in all directions, but there was no sign except in one spot where the ground had been trampled, and a climbing-plant torn down.

“We must try to follow the trail,” said the doctor; but at that moment steps were heard, and the whisking noise of some body passing through the bushes and shrubs the doctor had collected about the back of his house.

“Who’s that?” cried Mr Braine, sharply.

“Only me, sor. Is the master there? Oh, there you are, sor. I wint after him, sor, for he made me a bit mad shticking at me with his kris thing.”

“Are you wounded?”

“Only just a bit of a prick, sor. I’ve put my hankychy round it. In me arm here. It’s jist nawthing.”

“But who was it? What does it mean?” said the doctor, hastily examining the man’s arm, while Mr Braine held the light.

“Who was it, sor? Well, I hardly know. It was so dark, but if I was to guess by the face of the man, I should say it was Mr Tumongong—an’ what a name for a gintleman!—and what does it mane? Well, sor, I was having just a little whiff out of me bamboo-pipe, and takking a look round, or a feel round, it was so dark, before going to bed, when I heard a bit of a rustle, and I backed under the house to get away, for I thought it was a tiger; but it was a man, and he kept on coming nearer till he was right underneath here, and close to where we stand, and hiff—!”

“Did I hurt you?” said the doctor, who was binding Tim’s wound.

“Yes, sor, thank ye, sor. It did rather, but I don’t mind. Well, sor, he was listening to you gintlemen up-stairs; and as I thought it moighty ondacent, I laid howld of him, and nipped him, and we scuffled a bit, and then he pricked me wid his kris, and I hit him two or three cracks wid me fist, for I had no stick. Then he went off in the dark, and I afther him; but there wasn’t a chance of catching him, for he went through the trees like a sarpent, and of course, sor, the man who runs has a better chance than the man who runs afther him.”

“Did you see where he made for?” said the doctor.

“And is it see on a night like this, sor?”

“No, no. Of course not. There, come into the house, it must have been some scoundrel trying what he could pick up. Come, Braine.”

They went back up the stairs into the room where Mrs Barnes and Mrs Braine were anxiously awaiting their coming, and told them that it was only a scare.

“Driscol heard some one about the place, and tried to hold him,” the doctor said. “Don’t be alarmed.”

“But I am alarmed,” said Mrs Barnes, excitedly. “I am sure there is some great trouble coming upon us.”

“Then act like a true Englishwoman,” said the doctor; “help your husband. Don’t hinder him by being weak and hysterical.”

“I’ll try,” said Mrs Barnes, speaking firmly.

“That’s right. Now Braine, what do you propose doing next?”

“Nothing. We must wait.”

“But Amy—my child?”

“I am thinking of her as much as you are,” said Mr Braine, “and I see no other course but to stand firm, and to give the rajah to understand that such a thing as he is bent upon is impossible. Mr Murray will stand by us.”

“Yes,” said Mr Braine, moodily. “But—”

“For Heaven’s sake, do not raise difficulties, man,” cried the doctor. “We can do nothing to-night, but rest and gain strength for any trouble which may come to-morrow.—My dear,” he continued to his wife, “you will stay with Mrs Barnes to-night; she and Amy will be glad, I am sure, of your company.”

“Indeed yes,” cried the doctor’s wife, gratefully.

“I can do no good, Barnes, so I will go on with Murray here, and bring back Frank. You will send to me if there is the slightest need. There, good-night, all. This has been a scare, but it may have had its crisis, and a few days hence, I hope we shall all be laughing at our fright.”

He shook hands, and moved towards the door.

“Now, Greig, Murray,” he said.

But Murray was standing grasping Mrs Barnes’s hand, “Tell her,” he whispered, “that some means shall be devised to save her from such another insult as this.”

Mrs Barnes pressed his hand; and then hastily shaking hands with Mrs Braine and the doctor, he hurried out into the garden and joined the others, after which the Greigs went to their own place.

“Those boys will think we are never coming,” Murray said, speaking more cheerily now.

“Well, we will soon relieve their anxiety,” replied Mr Braine. “Come, that’s better. We must not treat this as a panic, and exaggerate the difficulty of our position.”

“I do not,” said Murray, quietly. “It needs no exaggeration. Look!” he whispered; “we are followed, are we not?”

“I can hardly see for the darkness. Possibly. His men are always on the watch. No European monarch was ever better served by his secret police.”

“But tell me,” said Murray; “are you going back quietly to your place as soon as you have fetched Frank?”

“Not directly, perhaps, but very soon. We had better separate, and seem to be treating all this calmly, for our acts are certain to be reported to the rajah.”

“And what about our words at the house?”

“What? the possibility of them having been heard, and the information conveyed to the rajah?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot say. Let us both sleep on it. To-morrow I may have some plan.”

“And the boys. Are they to know?”

“As little as possible. Here we are. How quiet and peaceful the place seems! Asleep, I suppose. Tired of waiting.”

There was a dim light in the house devoted to Murray and his nephew; and as they reached the steps, the naturalist felt a pang of annoyance at not seeing Hamet start up and challenge them, for, as a rule, he was always in the veranda on the watch.

“It has been a long and weary day,” said Murray, with the depression from which he suffered affecting his voice. “Will you go on first?”

“No; you are the master; lead on.”

Murray stopped short.

“Look here,” he said. “Let the boys sleep. Stop here with me. I will soon make some coffee, and we will sit and smoke and talk.”

“No, no,” said Mr Braine, hastily.

“But it is hard indeed if we cannot hit out some plan before morning. There, go up quietly. You will stay?”

“No,” said Mr Braine, firmly. “You forget what was said when we came away. I must be at my own place in case Barnes wants me.”

“Yes, of course,” said Murray, quickly. “Then I will come back with you. One minute. Let me see if the boys are sleeping all right, and say a few words to Hamet.”

He sprang up the steps lightly, and entered the house, but no Hamet was there to challenge him, neither were the boys in the outer room stretched on the mats, as he expected to find them—asleep.

Murray looked round quickly, and at a glance saw that the guns had been brought in and hung on their slings, the two baskets containing the specimens shot, and the others were hung upon the pegs arranged for the purpose, and the lamp was burning dimly on the rough table.

He caught up the light, and shading it with his hand, stepped lightly over the mats, and looked into the inner room, drew a long deep breath, and stepped back to stand thinking a few moments before he set down the lamp.

He stepped to the doorway.

“Come up,” he said.

Braine obeyed.

“Sleeping soundly?”

“Take the light. Look,” said Murray, in a low voice.

Mr Braine glanced at him, surprised by his strange manner, and then he caught up the light, and went and looked in the room in his turn.

“Gone!” he said, in a low excited voice. “What is the meaning of this?”

Murray shook his head.

“There was no mistake about the directions? I told Frank to go home with your boy to bear him company, and to wait until I came. Oh, I see. The foolish fellow! He must have misunderstood me, and taken Ned home with him. They are waiting for us there.”

“And Hamet? My follower?”

“Gone with them.”

“He would not have known.”

“Then the boys have been here. Frank was fagged out, and said he would not wait for me any longer, and he has gone home. Your boy and Hamet have accompanied him to see him safely there.”

“You are speaking without conviction, Braine,” said Murray, sternly. “You say this to comfort me, and you are thinking differently. What does this mean? What desperate game is this man playing? I swear that if harm has come to that poor boy, though I die for it, I’ll shoot this rajah like a dog—like the cowardly cur he is.”

“Hush! don’t be hasty. You know that your threat may have been heard, and will perhaps be reported to the rajah.”

“Let them report it.”

“Be sensible, man,” whispered Mr Braine. “I feel all this as keenly as you do, and I cling to the hope that we may find the boys at my place. Come with me.”

Murray made no answer, but went to one of the cases he had brought up the river in the boat, and took from it his revolver and some cartridges, charged the weapon, and then thrusting it into his breast, he turned to the Resident.

“I am ready now,” he said, in a low harsh voice. “Come on.”

The bamboos creaked, and the house shook with the heavy steps of the two men, as they went down, and conscious all the time that they were watched, and fully expecting to have their way barred at any moment, they retraced their steps, to halt for a minute and listen, as they came opposite the entrance to the doctor’s garden. But all was silent there, and the lamps were burning just inside the door.

“Come on,” whispered Mr Braine, with his voice trembling with the intense strain from which he suffered.

The distance was very short, not many yards on in the direction of the rajah’s place, and here they crossed a carefully-tended garden toward the veranda, about whose creepers the fireflies were gleaming.

But there a low fierce voice challenged them from the darkness, and Murray’s hand flew to his breast.

“I, Yussuf,” said Mr Braine, quietly; and then, in Malay, he asked if the boys had come, and received his answer.

“Not here, and they have not been,” he whispered to Murray.

“No. There is some other meaning to it,” said Murray, sternly. “The rajah has had them seized. To-morrow I was to have been sent out of the way, but this is a fresh plan. Is it in consequence of what was overheard at Doctor Barnes’s?”

“It is impossible to say,” replied Mr Braine. “I am beginning to feel bewildered. But we must be calm. No great harm can have befallen them. It is part of some plan to force Barnes to consent to this hateful marriage.”

“Then we must take time by the forelock, and go.”

“It is impossible, I tell you.”

“There is no such thing in a case like this, man,” cried Murray, angrily. “Have you not thought of what I feel?”

“Sir,” retorted Mr Braine, bitterly, “have you not thought of what I feel?”

“Forgive me,” said Murray, humbly. “I am half mad with rage and excitement. But, for pity’s sake, propose something upon which I can act. If I could be doing something, I could bear it better.”

“I can propose nothing,” said Mr Braine, sadly. “We are so surrounded by difficulties, so hedged in by danger, that we cannot stir. You must remember that any premature action on our part might hasten the catastrophe we want to avert.”

“But he would not dare—”

“Murray!” replied Mr Braine, with energy, as they stood there in the intense darkness, the speaker conscious that several of the rajah’s spearmen were close at hand, “he would dare anything in his blind belief that he is too powerful for the English government to attack him.”

“Then he must be taught.”

“And I,” continued Mr Braine, as if not hearing the interruption, “have been for years doing what seems now to recoil on my unhappy head, strengthening his belief in himself by training his people for him, and turning savages into decent, well-drilled soldiers, who have made him the dread of the country for hundreds of miles round.”

“Come on and tell Doctor Barnes,” said Murray at last, and they hurried back, almost brushing against two sentries standing among the trees, men who followed them silently, and then paused as they entered the gates, where they were joined by three more, looking shadowy and strange by the fireflies’ light.

As they reached the foot of the steps, the doctor stepped forward, and then said that he would descend.

“She is asleep at last,” he whispered. “Thank you for coming. You need not be so anxious now. Go back, and I promise you both that I will send Driscol on if there is the slightest need of your help. There is not likely to be anything but a quiet insistence on his part, and this must be met firmly.”

“There is likely to be something more than quiet insistence, Doctor Barnes,” said Murray, sternly. “We have come to bring bad news. Those two lads have been spirited away.”

“What!” cried the doctor, excitedly. “No, no; surely not. They were favourites with the rajah. Some accident or some prank. They are only boys; perhaps my man Driscol has— No, no, no. He is here in the house. But think again; had they any idea of trying some kind of night fishing, or shooting? Yes, of course. I heard Frank tell my child that he was going to sit up and watch with a Malay—of course—in the jungle, to try and trap or shoot a specimen or two of the argus pheasant for you, Mr Murray.—That is it, depend upon it, Braine.”

“No,” said the Resident, despondently. “He would not have gone to-night after such a weary day, and he would not have gone without telling me his plans. He told me everything, even to his trifling fishing trips on the river. There is something more—an accident, or he has been carried off.”

“What! by the crocodiles?” said Murray, suddenly.

“No, no; I don’t fear that. Come, man, we must be up and at work now.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Murray, eagerly, for he was quivering with the intense desire he felt to be in action.

“I am going to the Tumongong. He has always been my friend.”

“The man who was watching and listening to-night!”

“It could not have been the chief. He is too much of a gentleman at heart. Your servant was mistaken. Come on, Murray. We will come and tell you when we have been. He must know what has been done.”

“He will not betray his master’s secrets,” said Murray, bitterly. “It is more than his life is worth.”

“I shall not ask him to do that,” said Mr Braine, slowly; “but I think he will set our hearts at rest as to the safety of our boys. Will you come?”

“Yes,” said Murray, thoughtfully, “I will come. No: I cannot think of anything else having happened to them. It must be the rajah’s doing. Come on then, and let us know their fate.”

Chapter Sixteen.Prisoners.Everything looked dark as the Resident and Murray reached the Tumongong’s handsome residence—handsome, though merely erected of bamboo and palm—but as they approached the steps, sounds were heard within, and very shortly after being summoned, the rajah’s officer appeared fully dressed.“Can I speak to you without being overheard?” said Mr Braine in English.The Malay replied in his own tongue that he was prepared to hear anything the Resident had to say.“But will what I say be overheard, I asked you?” cried Mr Braine, impatiently, still speaking in English, so that Murray might hear his words, knowing as he did that the Malay perfectly understood everything.“I am quite ready to hear you,” replied the Tumongong.“And will what I say be carried to the rajah? Look here, Tumongong. I have always been on good terms with you since I came here, though I do consider you acted unfairly by me in not warning me in Malacca as to what my position would be.”“I am the servant of his highness,” replied the officer, “and I have my duty to do toward him. When I have done that, I am your friend.”“Then tell me this: those two boys, my son and his young companion—where are they?”Dark as it was, Murray saw the Malay start, but he was perfectly calm the next moment.“I do not know,” he said.“Is this the truth?”“I do not know where they are,” replied the Malay.“Have they been seized by the rajah’s orders?”“I do not know. The rajah, our master, is king, and does what seems good to him.”Mr Braine made an impatient gesture, but masking his anger, he said appealingly:“Tumongong, you have always been my friend, and the friend of my boy. I am in agony about his fate. He and his young friend have disappeared since we left the rajah’s to-night. Tell me where he is.”“I do not know.”“Is he safe?”“I do not know.”“You do know, and you will not speak,” cried Mr Braine passionately. “The rajah has had them seized.”“The rajah is my master, and does what is good in his own eyes. If he has done this thing, it is wise and good. I do not know.”“Then I will go to the rajah himself, and he shall tell me.—Ah!”Murray had been standing listening impatiently to this conversation, a portion of which was translated to him, but he had now suddenly grasped his companion’s arm, and drawn his attention to the open place or veranda at the top of the steps, and upon Mr Braine looking up, he dimly saw that there was a figure standing there with a group of others behind, and in spite of the gloom he had no difficulty in seeing who the foremost figure was, and comprehending why the Tumongong had been so guarded in his replies to them.Mr Braine addressed himself to the dimly-seen figure at once, speaking now in the Malay tongue.“Your highness has heard all I have said,” he cried. “Tell me, has some accident befallen those two boys, or have they been taken away by your orders?”It seemed to be a different man entirely who was now speaking, and though Murray could not comprehend a word, he grasped the rajah’s meaning plainly enough, as he uttered what was evidently a command, to which Mr Braine spoke again sharply now.The rajah uttered a low guttural word, and Murray now cried: “What does he say?”“Go!”“But I insist,” cried Murray.The rajah spoke again, and a dozen armed men ran from behind and leaped actively to the ground.Murray’s hand darted to his breast, but Mr Braine caught his wrist.“Madness!” he said. “Wait.”“But—”“Do you want to throw away two lives that are valuable to our friends?” whispered the Resident. “Do as I do. It is folly to resist now.”That moment the rajah spoke again, the men formed up around Murray and Mr Braine, and their leader said something to the latter.“Come, Murray,” he said, bitterly. “I have drilled these men to some purpose. We are prisoners, I suppose.”He took his companion’s arm, and they were marched off through the darkness.“Where will they take us?” said Murray, who was raging with pain and indignation at his inability to struggle against such force.“To a boat, I suppose, and then put us on board one of the prahus,” replied Mr Braine. “I might have known what would come of all these years of service.”They marched on in silence for a minute or two, and then Mr Braine uttered an ejaculation full of surprise; for their guards faced round to the left, and marched the prisoners into the Resident’s own garden, where the leader said a few words and pointed up.“Prisoner in my own place?” said Mr Braine to the officer.“His highness commands that neither you nor the bird man leaves the house till he gives orders.”“It might have been worse, Murray,” said Mr Braine, as they ascended the steps, and dimly made out that the leader of the little party of guards was posting his men here and there.“Been worse!” said Murray, angrily, as he threw himself upon a divan, “impossible!”“Possible,” said Mr Braine, quietly. “We are not quite prisoners, and are at liberty to plot and plan. They are very cunning, these people; but we English have some brains. It must be getting on toward morning. Let’s have some coffee, and a quiet smoke.”“Oh, how can you take things so quietly!” cried Murray.“Because I am more at ease. Those boys are alive. He would not kill them. He felt that they were in the way of his plans. They must have done something to make him act as he has done.”“If I could only be sure of that,” said Murray, “it would be one trouble the less.”Mr Braine clapped his hands. A quiet-looking Malay entered the room, trimmed the lamp, and went out again, to return with water-pipes and a pan of charcoal; after which he retired as silently as he came, and once more entered bearing a tray with coffee.“Smoke, drink your coffee, my dear fellow,” said Mr Braine, quietly.“I cannot.”“You must, man; you want your brain clear and your body rested.”“How can you speak so coolly, with those poor people in such agony?”“Because I am helping them—or preparing to,” said Mr Braine, cheerfully. “Then the game is not lost; be guided by me, and you shall marry Amy, and some day we will talk and chat over these troubles, which time will soften, and they will not be so horrible then.”“But if it comes to the worst,” cried Murray. “If this wretched despot, presuming on his power, insists upon that poor girl becoming his wife— Wife? No; it is an insult to the name.”“He will not succeed,” said Mr Braine, sternly; “even monarchs are not all-powerful. The night before the marriage, if everything else has been tried, that man will die.”“What! be murdered?” cried Murray, in horrified tones.“No; the cup of his iniquities will be full; he will be adjudged worthy of death; he will die, and a new rajah will reign.”“A new rajah! Who will it be?”“Hush! these places are very thin; our words might be heard.”“But tell me. You can trust me.”“Hist! some one.”There was a foot upon the steps, and the Tumongong entered and saluted both gravely.“His highness bids me tell you,” said the officer, “that he does not forget the many good services you have done for him. He desires now that you content yourselves by staying here, where you will have everything you desire.”“Except liberty,” said Mr Braine, bitterly.“Except liberty,” replied the Tumongong. “Good-night. Sleep. Be obedient, and your lives are safe.”He bowed and left them, and as soon as he was out of hearing, Mr Braine told Murray what had passed.“Then our lives are safe?”“If we are obedient.”“I shall be obedient till I see an opportunity to strike, sir. But go on; tell me who will reign in his stead.”“That man,” said Mr Braine, quietly puffing at his pipe.“The Tumongong?”“Yes. Still waters run deep.”“But—”“Hush, man! Keep that in your breast. I know, and I am certain. He is our friend, but is compelled to act as he does. You saw just now—you heard his words—so did the Malays by the door, and every sentence will be reported to the rajah,” said Mr Braine.“Yes.”“If the tyrant dreamed that his officer was friendly toward us to the extent of trying to give us help, he would be marched to the river-bank at sunrise; there would be another execution, and the world would hold one honest man the less. Now, drink your coffee, and lie back and sleep.”“I cannot.”“You must. We can do nothing but wait the turn of affairs, and the more coolly we take these matters, the better able we shall be to act. Now try and rest.”Murray shook his head, and sat wondering how a man whose son had been suddenly snatched from him could drop into a calm and restful sleep. Then he wondered how Amy and the ladies were, and then he ceased wondering, for when the sun rose above the river mist and the tops of the jungle trees, it shone in between the mats hanging over the doorway, lighting up the Resident’s room, and the divan where Murray lay back utterly exhausted, and now fast asleep.

Everything looked dark as the Resident and Murray reached the Tumongong’s handsome residence—handsome, though merely erected of bamboo and palm—but as they approached the steps, sounds were heard within, and very shortly after being summoned, the rajah’s officer appeared fully dressed.

“Can I speak to you without being overheard?” said Mr Braine in English.

The Malay replied in his own tongue that he was prepared to hear anything the Resident had to say.

“But will what I say be overheard, I asked you?” cried Mr Braine, impatiently, still speaking in English, so that Murray might hear his words, knowing as he did that the Malay perfectly understood everything.

“I am quite ready to hear you,” replied the Tumongong.

“And will what I say be carried to the rajah? Look here, Tumongong. I have always been on good terms with you since I came here, though I do consider you acted unfairly by me in not warning me in Malacca as to what my position would be.”

“I am the servant of his highness,” replied the officer, “and I have my duty to do toward him. When I have done that, I am your friend.”

“Then tell me this: those two boys, my son and his young companion—where are they?”

Dark as it was, Murray saw the Malay start, but he was perfectly calm the next moment.

“I do not know,” he said.

“Is this the truth?”

“I do not know where they are,” replied the Malay.

“Have they been seized by the rajah’s orders?”

“I do not know. The rajah, our master, is king, and does what seems good to him.”

Mr Braine made an impatient gesture, but masking his anger, he said appealingly:

“Tumongong, you have always been my friend, and the friend of my boy. I am in agony about his fate. He and his young friend have disappeared since we left the rajah’s to-night. Tell me where he is.”

“I do not know.”

“Is he safe?”

“I do not know.”

“You do know, and you will not speak,” cried Mr Braine passionately. “The rajah has had them seized.”

“The rajah is my master, and does what is good in his own eyes. If he has done this thing, it is wise and good. I do not know.”

“Then I will go to the rajah himself, and he shall tell me.—Ah!”

Murray had been standing listening impatiently to this conversation, a portion of which was translated to him, but he had now suddenly grasped his companion’s arm, and drawn his attention to the open place or veranda at the top of the steps, and upon Mr Braine looking up, he dimly saw that there was a figure standing there with a group of others behind, and in spite of the gloom he had no difficulty in seeing who the foremost figure was, and comprehending why the Tumongong had been so guarded in his replies to them.

Mr Braine addressed himself to the dimly-seen figure at once, speaking now in the Malay tongue.

“Your highness has heard all I have said,” he cried. “Tell me, has some accident befallen those two boys, or have they been taken away by your orders?”

It seemed to be a different man entirely who was now speaking, and though Murray could not comprehend a word, he grasped the rajah’s meaning plainly enough, as he uttered what was evidently a command, to which Mr Braine spoke again sharply now.

The rajah uttered a low guttural word, and Murray now cried: “What does he say?”

“Go!”

“But I insist,” cried Murray.

The rajah spoke again, and a dozen armed men ran from behind and leaped actively to the ground.

Murray’s hand darted to his breast, but Mr Braine caught his wrist.

“Madness!” he said. “Wait.”

“But—”

“Do you want to throw away two lives that are valuable to our friends?” whispered the Resident. “Do as I do. It is folly to resist now.”

That moment the rajah spoke again, the men formed up around Murray and Mr Braine, and their leader said something to the latter.

“Come, Murray,” he said, bitterly. “I have drilled these men to some purpose. We are prisoners, I suppose.”

He took his companion’s arm, and they were marched off through the darkness.

“Where will they take us?” said Murray, who was raging with pain and indignation at his inability to struggle against such force.

“To a boat, I suppose, and then put us on board one of the prahus,” replied Mr Braine. “I might have known what would come of all these years of service.”

They marched on in silence for a minute or two, and then Mr Braine uttered an ejaculation full of surprise; for their guards faced round to the left, and marched the prisoners into the Resident’s own garden, where the leader said a few words and pointed up.

“Prisoner in my own place?” said Mr Braine to the officer.

“His highness commands that neither you nor the bird man leaves the house till he gives orders.”

“It might have been worse, Murray,” said Mr Braine, as they ascended the steps, and dimly made out that the leader of the little party of guards was posting his men here and there.

“Been worse!” said Murray, angrily, as he threw himself upon a divan, “impossible!”

“Possible,” said Mr Braine, quietly. “We are not quite prisoners, and are at liberty to plot and plan. They are very cunning, these people; but we English have some brains. It must be getting on toward morning. Let’s have some coffee, and a quiet smoke.”

“Oh, how can you take things so quietly!” cried Murray.

“Because I am more at ease. Those boys are alive. He would not kill them. He felt that they were in the way of his plans. They must have done something to make him act as he has done.”

“If I could only be sure of that,” said Murray, “it would be one trouble the less.”

Mr Braine clapped his hands. A quiet-looking Malay entered the room, trimmed the lamp, and went out again, to return with water-pipes and a pan of charcoal; after which he retired as silently as he came, and once more entered bearing a tray with coffee.

“Smoke, drink your coffee, my dear fellow,” said Mr Braine, quietly.

“I cannot.”

“You must, man; you want your brain clear and your body rested.”

“How can you speak so coolly, with those poor people in such agony?”

“Because I am helping them—or preparing to,” said Mr Braine, cheerfully. “Then the game is not lost; be guided by me, and you shall marry Amy, and some day we will talk and chat over these troubles, which time will soften, and they will not be so horrible then.”

“But if it comes to the worst,” cried Murray. “If this wretched despot, presuming on his power, insists upon that poor girl becoming his wife— Wife? No; it is an insult to the name.”

“He will not succeed,” said Mr Braine, sternly; “even monarchs are not all-powerful. The night before the marriage, if everything else has been tried, that man will die.”

“What! be murdered?” cried Murray, in horrified tones.

“No; the cup of his iniquities will be full; he will be adjudged worthy of death; he will die, and a new rajah will reign.”

“A new rajah! Who will it be?”

“Hush! these places are very thin; our words might be heard.”

“But tell me. You can trust me.”

“Hist! some one.”

There was a foot upon the steps, and the Tumongong entered and saluted both gravely.

“His highness bids me tell you,” said the officer, “that he does not forget the many good services you have done for him. He desires now that you content yourselves by staying here, where you will have everything you desire.”

“Except liberty,” said Mr Braine, bitterly.

“Except liberty,” replied the Tumongong. “Good-night. Sleep. Be obedient, and your lives are safe.”

He bowed and left them, and as soon as he was out of hearing, Mr Braine told Murray what had passed.

“Then our lives are safe?”

“If we are obedient.”

“I shall be obedient till I see an opportunity to strike, sir. But go on; tell me who will reign in his stead.”

“That man,” said Mr Braine, quietly puffing at his pipe.

“The Tumongong?”

“Yes. Still waters run deep.”

“But—”

“Hush, man! Keep that in your breast. I know, and I am certain. He is our friend, but is compelled to act as he does. You saw just now—you heard his words—so did the Malays by the door, and every sentence will be reported to the rajah,” said Mr Braine.

“Yes.”

“If the tyrant dreamed that his officer was friendly toward us to the extent of trying to give us help, he would be marched to the river-bank at sunrise; there would be another execution, and the world would hold one honest man the less. Now, drink your coffee, and lie back and sleep.”

“I cannot.”

“You must. We can do nothing but wait the turn of affairs, and the more coolly we take these matters, the better able we shall be to act. Now try and rest.”

Murray shook his head, and sat wondering how a man whose son had been suddenly snatched from him could drop into a calm and restful sleep. Then he wondered how Amy and the ladies were, and then he ceased wondering, for when the sun rose above the river mist and the tops of the jungle trees, it shone in between the mats hanging over the doorway, lighting up the Resident’s room, and the divan where Murray lay back utterly exhausted, and now fast asleep.

Chapter Seventeen.Where the Boys were.“Doesn’t matter out here, doesn’t it?” said Ned. “Well, I tell you what it is. I shall talk to uncle about it, and he’ll speak to the doctor, and tell him it would be disgraceful.”“Don’t talk so loudly; those fellows are close behind.”“But they can’t talk English.”“No; but some of them have heard so much that I often think they understand a little of what is said.”“I don’t see any one about.”“Perhaps not, but they’re following us all the same, and if you were to make a rush off now, very likely you’d run up against one of them, ready to stop you. But I don’t know,” continued Frank, looking stealthily about; “I’ve got regular cat’s eyes now, with going to the jungle edge of a night to set and watch traps with the men. I don’t see any one about. What do you say to a walk down to the jetty?”“What for?”“To hear the crocodiles at play. They have fine games there of a night, splashing and chasing one another.”“Oh no. I’m too tired, really.”“You are a chap! Why, we might take one of the boats and have a row. Go off to one of the prahus, and startle the beggars. No, that wouldn’t do, because they might throw spears at us.”“But they couldn’t hit us if they did.”“Couldn’t they! You don’t know. They throw them splendidly. Why, I know fellows here who could hit you with a spear every time at thirty yards, and send the thing right through you.”“Ugh!” ejaculated Ned, with a shudder. “Come along, and we’ll get Hamet to give us some coffee.”“And bring us pipes. I say, let’s try and smoke.”“Nonsense!”“Well then, let’s go down to the jetty. You can see the fireflies down by the river-side. They look wonderful on the other bank.”“Then let the monkeys and crocodiles look at them. I don’t want to look at anything. I’m so tired.”“Then sit in a sampan, and I’ll row you about among the crocs.”“I’m not going to sit in Sam’s pan or anybody else’s pan,” cried Ned. “I want to lie down and rest. That elephant has shaken me all to pieces, and I’m so sore; I’m just as if I had been caned all over.”“Perhaps you have,” said Frank, laughingly. “Your uncle has been giving it to you. I say though, seriously, I’ll ask the rajah to give you a set of native togs. You’d find them so cool and comfortable.”“And look just such a guy as you do.”“You want me to punch your head, Ned. Guy, indeed!”“Do. Try.”“Not I. Ill-tempered beggar, that’s what you are. I say, there are no guards watching us. Let’s go and have a game somewhere.”“Yes, a game at coffee and cushions,” said Ned. “Here we are.—I say, Hamet, can you give us some coffee, quick?”The Malay was busy arranging the rifle and guns which had been used that day, and he nodded; but, instead of hurrying to prepare the meal, he laid his hand on Ned’s arm.“Something wrong?” he said. “Trouble?”“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Ned, carelessly; “nothing much. Why do you ask?”“Hamet think so,” he said, his peculiar pronunciation sounding strange. “The master want to go away back down the river?”“Eh? Yes, but we can’t. They have taken the boat and the men.”“Yes; but Hamet knows where now. Always been try to find boat and men.”“But you couldn’t find them. My uncle can’t, and you don’t know, do you, Frank?”“No; they took them all right away somewhere. But never mind about them. You can have the rajah’s boats when you like, and you don’t want to go away.”“How do you know?” replied Ned, thoughtfully. “We might want to go perhaps all in a hurry, and it would be handy to know where our own boat and men are.”“Oh, bother! Don’t be shabby, and talk about going. We’ve had no fun at all hardly yet. Where’s that coffee?”“But it would be handy to know where the boat is kept in case of there being trouble; and I know my uncle has been annoyed at its being so hidden away.”“Yes; the master angry,” assented Hamet. “My boat—my men.”“And you know where it is?” said Frank.“Yes; one of my men came and told me to-night. They all want to go back home, and they are kept at work.”“Yes!” exclaimed Ned, “we ought to know.”“Very well then,” cried Frank, rather ill-humouredly; “he knows where the boat is, and when you’ve done collecting, and we’ve had no end more trips, you can get your things onboard again, and go.”“But we ought to know too,” said Ned, “in case of there being trouble. We might want to go in a hurry.”“Yes; that’s right,” grumbled Frank. “Well, you are shabby. I haven’t had a companion for years now; and as soon as I’ve got one, you want to take him away.”“But you used to do without one before I came.”“Yes; but then I hadn’t had one. I say, never mind about all that. Settle down here till we all go. Perhaps we shall some day.”“Hamet show the young master where the boat is?”“Yes,” said Ned eagerly; and he forgot his weariness in the desire to know that which had been concealed from him.“Why, I thought you were too tired to stir,” cried Frank.“I wanted you to go down to the river to a boat, and you were gruff and wouldn’t come.”“Hamet did not say down by the river.”“Where do you suppose it is, then?” cried Frank, laughing; “up in a tree?”“Yes; down the river. Hamet knows.”“Let’s go and see where it is, Frank,” said Ned eagerly.“What for? I’m too tired now.”“Suppose you and your father wanted to go too.”“We should have a naga and plenty of the rajah’s men.”“No, you would not. He would not let you go.”“No more he would,” said Frank, thoughtfully. “All right then, if you really mean to go, I’ll come. I can guess where it is, though, and it will not be a very nice walk.”“Not far. Soon go,” said Hamet. “Then the master know if he want boat.”“Are the men in it?” said Ned.“No. All on board big prahu.”“Let’s go and see, Frank.”“Very well, but you mean ‘feel.’ Why not wait till morning?”“No can go then,” said Hamet, quickly.“Very good reason,” said Frank, as thoughtful now as his companion. “Yes, we might as well know. My father has often said he wished we had a boat of our own that we could use if we wanted to go away in a hurry, because the rajah had gone in a mad fit.”“Young masters come?”“Yes. Go on and we’ll follow,” said Frank; “but look out for the crocs.”Hamet gave them a keen look, held up his hand, and threw himself down, crawled to the doorway, and out on to the veranda.“Looking out for squalls,” said Frank, laughingly.In a minute Hamet was back.“Can’t see men. All dark. No one. No speak. Keep close to Hamet.”“Yes; we’ll follow,” said Ned, and after lowering the lamp a little by putting the wick back amongst the oil, they crept out on to the veranda, where all listened for a time and tried to pierce the darkness.It was very quiet. Only a cry from the jungle, and a faint splash from the river; and descending quickly, Hamet took about a dozen paces at a run, and then stopped for the boys to overtake him.“No one. No spears,” he whispered, evidently fully convinced that his sharp run would have in some way brought him in contact with the guard if they had been there.Then, going off quickly in the direction of the jetty, he turned off when about half-way there, and led his young companions in and out among the houses, and after passing them, away along the edge of the rice-fields that skirted the village, the boys following in perfect silence for about a quarter of an hour, when Frank whispered: “He’s going wrong, right away from the river.”“Hist!” whispered Hamet, and he went on again for another ten minutes, before Frank tried to speak again.“It’s all right,” he said. “I know: it isn’t where I thought. There’s a creek runs right up ever so far among the rice-fields. I never went there, but that’s where he is going.”“Hist!” whispered Hamet.“Oh bother! You need not be so particular now. We’re right away from all the houses. Nobody would be down here.—I say, Ned, how do you like your walk?”“It’s very dark and awkward,” said Ned; “but I don’t mind. I should like to be able to tell uncle where the boat is.”They had now reached a part where trees were growing pretty thickly, and it was only by keeping close to their guide that they were able to make their way onward; but this confusing part of their journey was soon over, for Hamet suddenly stood fast as if puzzled, and uttered a word or two in a tone full of vexation.“He can’t find it after all,” cried Frank. “Oh, what a bother, to drag us all this way for nothing.”“Hah!” ejaculated the Malay, and catching Ned’s hand, he drew him through the trees at right angles to their former course, and again suddenly stopped.“Well, which way now?” asked Ned. “Can’t you find it?”“The boat—the boat!” whispered Hamet, and drawing Ned’s arm out to full length, he made him stoop a little in the black darkness, with the result that the boy’s hand rustled among the leaves of the attap covering.“It’s here, Frank,” he said excitedly, and pressing down now with both hands, he felt the boat yield and then stop.“Yes, that’s a boat, sure enough,” said Frank, who now felt about the top of the awning. “Yes, and I can feel the poles and oars. Why, this is quite a narrow ditch, only just wide enough to hold it. I’ve got hold of a rope, too. It’s tied up to a cocoa-nut palm; I know the thing by the feel.”“Yes; the boat,” whispered Hamet.“All right. Then now you know where your own boat is, Ned, and when you are tired of us all, you can jump in and say ‘Good-bye.’”“Or take you with us,” said Ned. “I don’t want to go away from you. Not so ungrateful as you think. Oh, don’t! You needn’t hug me like that. I say: don’t act like a great girl. Ah, Ham—”Then silence. For Ned felt, as he believed, his companion fling his arms affectionately about him, and so roughly that he bore him back. He felt the silken baju and sarong and the hilt of the kris against him, and then he went down heavily. Frank was evidently playing him some foolish trick, and he had clapped a hand now over his mouth to keep him from making a noise, and betraying their whereabouts.Then a horrible pang of fear ran through him, for there were smothered sounds and scuffling going on close by, leaves cracked and stalks and twigs snapped, and directly after the hand was removed, and he opened his mouth to cry out, but something soft was thrust in, then a cloth was dragged over his head, his arms were bound to his body, and he felt himself lifted up, and carried by a couple of men.“A piece of treachery,” he thought. “And we trusted Hamet so. Poor Frank! Is he being served the same?”He got as far as that point, and then the heat and the oppression caused by the gag so nearly stifled him that his brain grew confused; there was a sensation of giddiness and a singing in his ears.“They are choking me,” he thought; and he made a desperate struggle to get his hands to his lips, and then he remembered no more till he felt a sensation of something cool being trickled between his lips. It tasted bitter but pleasant, and in his half-insensible state he swallowed the grateful beverage, and swallowed again and again.Then forgetfulness stole over him once, and he knew no more, till he opened his eyes and saw the level rays of the sun shining through the open doorway on to the mats that formed the side of the room.“Going to get up, uncle?” he said, and then he stared, for a couple of dark faces were thrust in to stare at him, and as he looked quickly round, he could not see the guns on the walls, nor his uncle’s specimens hanging out of reach of the ants, nor yet his uncle; but close beside him, lying on a mat, the figure of Frank, evidently fast asleep.The two swarthy-looking faces were withdrawn slowly, and Ned turned, seized Frank by the shoulder, and shook him violently.“Don’t, father!” was the result, as Frank spoke, without unclosing his eyes. “Let me lie a bit longer. My head is so bad.”“Frank, old chap, wake up. Where are we? What does it all mean?”The boy opened his eyes and sat up, stared round, rubbed himself, and then gazed at his companion.“I—what does it mean? I—what—I remember now. Some one jumped on me and stuffed something into my mouth. I thought it was you then. It was that Hamet. What does he mean? Here, we’re not tied now; let’s get out of this. I say, where’s my kris?”He sprang up, and Ned followed his example, both making for the doorway, but only to be confronted directly by four spearmen, who effectually barred the way.“Eh,” said Frank, thoughtfully, “that’s it, is it? ’Tisn’t one of Hamet’s games. Here you,” he continued, speaking now in Malay; “what does all this mean? Why are we brought here?”One of the men answered respectfully enough, and Frank turned from the door to face his companion.“Those are the rajah’s chaps, and that fellow says we are to stay here. I know: they thought we were going to cut off in that boat. Here you, where’s Hamet?”The man addressed looked at him half smilingly, but made no reply.“He won’t speak,” said Frank, impatiently. “It’s no good to try. You might as well ask questions of a cocoa-nut. I hope they haven’t given him the kris. Here, you: tell me this—Hamet—has he had the kris?”This too in Malay, and the man addressed smiled now, but he would not answer, and Frank gave it up.“I don’t think they’ve killed him, or they wouldn’t look so civil. Perhaps they’ve only shut him up like us. Well, I’m glad we went to see where the boat was.”“Oh, I say, don’t reproach me!” cried Ned. “I did all for the best. Then we’ve been sleeping here all night. I never knew.”“Not you. They gave us some stuff, I know.”“But my uncle! He’ll think I’m lost, or gone into the river, or something. What will he say?”“Oh, bother your uncle!” cried Frank, petulantly. “I’m thinking about my poor old dad.”

“Doesn’t matter out here, doesn’t it?” said Ned. “Well, I tell you what it is. I shall talk to uncle about it, and he’ll speak to the doctor, and tell him it would be disgraceful.”

“Don’t talk so loudly; those fellows are close behind.”

“But they can’t talk English.”

“No; but some of them have heard so much that I often think they understand a little of what is said.”

“I don’t see any one about.”

“Perhaps not, but they’re following us all the same, and if you were to make a rush off now, very likely you’d run up against one of them, ready to stop you. But I don’t know,” continued Frank, looking stealthily about; “I’ve got regular cat’s eyes now, with going to the jungle edge of a night to set and watch traps with the men. I don’t see any one about. What do you say to a walk down to the jetty?”

“What for?”

“To hear the crocodiles at play. They have fine games there of a night, splashing and chasing one another.”

“Oh no. I’m too tired, really.”

“You are a chap! Why, we might take one of the boats and have a row. Go off to one of the prahus, and startle the beggars. No, that wouldn’t do, because they might throw spears at us.”

“But they couldn’t hit us if they did.”

“Couldn’t they! You don’t know. They throw them splendidly. Why, I know fellows here who could hit you with a spear every time at thirty yards, and send the thing right through you.”

“Ugh!” ejaculated Ned, with a shudder. “Come along, and we’ll get Hamet to give us some coffee.”

“And bring us pipes. I say, let’s try and smoke.”

“Nonsense!”

“Well then, let’s go down to the jetty. You can see the fireflies down by the river-side. They look wonderful on the other bank.”

“Then let the monkeys and crocodiles look at them. I don’t want to look at anything. I’m so tired.”

“Then sit in a sampan, and I’ll row you about among the crocs.”

“I’m not going to sit in Sam’s pan or anybody else’s pan,” cried Ned. “I want to lie down and rest. That elephant has shaken me all to pieces, and I’m so sore; I’m just as if I had been caned all over.”

“Perhaps you have,” said Frank, laughingly. “Your uncle has been giving it to you. I say though, seriously, I’ll ask the rajah to give you a set of native togs. You’d find them so cool and comfortable.”

“And look just such a guy as you do.”

“You want me to punch your head, Ned. Guy, indeed!”

“Do. Try.”

“Not I. Ill-tempered beggar, that’s what you are. I say, there are no guards watching us. Let’s go and have a game somewhere.”

“Yes, a game at coffee and cushions,” said Ned. “Here we are.—I say, Hamet, can you give us some coffee, quick?”

The Malay was busy arranging the rifle and guns which had been used that day, and he nodded; but, instead of hurrying to prepare the meal, he laid his hand on Ned’s arm.

“Something wrong?” he said. “Trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Ned, carelessly; “nothing much. Why do you ask?”

“Hamet think so,” he said, his peculiar pronunciation sounding strange. “The master want to go away back down the river?”

“Eh? Yes, but we can’t. They have taken the boat and the men.”

“Yes; but Hamet knows where now. Always been try to find boat and men.”

“But you couldn’t find them. My uncle can’t, and you don’t know, do you, Frank?”

“No; they took them all right away somewhere. But never mind about them. You can have the rajah’s boats when you like, and you don’t want to go away.”

“How do you know?” replied Ned, thoughtfully. “We might want to go perhaps all in a hurry, and it would be handy to know where our own boat and men are.”

“Oh, bother! Don’t be shabby, and talk about going. We’ve had no fun at all hardly yet. Where’s that coffee?”

“But it would be handy to know where the boat is kept in case of there being trouble; and I know my uncle has been annoyed at its being so hidden away.”

“Yes; the master angry,” assented Hamet. “My boat—my men.”

“And you know where it is?” said Frank.

“Yes; one of my men came and told me to-night. They all want to go back home, and they are kept at work.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Ned, “we ought to know.”

“Very well then,” cried Frank, rather ill-humouredly; “he knows where the boat is, and when you’ve done collecting, and we’ve had no end more trips, you can get your things onboard again, and go.”

“But we ought to know too,” said Ned, “in case of there being trouble. We might want to go in a hurry.”

“Yes; that’s right,” grumbled Frank. “Well, you are shabby. I haven’t had a companion for years now; and as soon as I’ve got one, you want to take him away.”

“But you used to do without one before I came.”

“Yes; but then I hadn’t had one. I say, never mind about all that. Settle down here till we all go. Perhaps we shall some day.”

“Hamet show the young master where the boat is?”

“Yes,” said Ned eagerly; and he forgot his weariness in the desire to know that which had been concealed from him.

“Why, I thought you were too tired to stir,” cried Frank.

“I wanted you to go down to the river to a boat, and you were gruff and wouldn’t come.”

“Hamet did not say down by the river.”

“Where do you suppose it is, then?” cried Frank, laughing; “up in a tree?”

“Yes; down the river. Hamet knows.”

“Let’s go and see where it is, Frank,” said Ned eagerly.

“What for? I’m too tired now.”

“Suppose you and your father wanted to go too.”

“We should have a naga and plenty of the rajah’s men.”

“No, you would not. He would not let you go.”

“No more he would,” said Frank, thoughtfully. “All right then, if you really mean to go, I’ll come. I can guess where it is, though, and it will not be a very nice walk.”

“Not far. Soon go,” said Hamet. “Then the master know if he want boat.”

“Are the men in it?” said Ned.

“No. All on board big prahu.”

“Let’s go and see, Frank.”

“Very well, but you mean ‘feel.’ Why not wait till morning?”

“No can go then,” said Hamet, quickly.

“Very good reason,” said Frank, as thoughtful now as his companion. “Yes, we might as well know. My father has often said he wished we had a boat of our own that we could use if we wanted to go away in a hurry, because the rajah had gone in a mad fit.”

“Young masters come?”

“Yes. Go on and we’ll follow,” said Frank; “but look out for the crocs.”

Hamet gave them a keen look, held up his hand, and threw himself down, crawled to the doorway, and out on to the veranda.

“Looking out for squalls,” said Frank, laughingly.

In a minute Hamet was back.

“Can’t see men. All dark. No one. No speak. Keep close to Hamet.”

“Yes; we’ll follow,” said Ned, and after lowering the lamp a little by putting the wick back amongst the oil, they crept out on to the veranda, where all listened for a time and tried to pierce the darkness.

It was very quiet. Only a cry from the jungle, and a faint splash from the river; and descending quickly, Hamet took about a dozen paces at a run, and then stopped for the boys to overtake him.

“No one. No spears,” he whispered, evidently fully convinced that his sharp run would have in some way brought him in contact with the guard if they had been there.

Then, going off quickly in the direction of the jetty, he turned off when about half-way there, and led his young companions in and out among the houses, and after passing them, away along the edge of the rice-fields that skirted the village, the boys following in perfect silence for about a quarter of an hour, when Frank whispered: “He’s going wrong, right away from the river.”

“Hist!” whispered Hamet, and he went on again for another ten minutes, before Frank tried to speak again.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I know: it isn’t where I thought. There’s a creek runs right up ever so far among the rice-fields. I never went there, but that’s where he is going.”

“Hist!” whispered Hamet.

“Oh bother! You need not be so particular now. We’re right away from all the houses. Nobody would be down here.—I say, Ned, how do you like your walk?”

“It’s very dark and awkward,” said Ned; “but I don’t mind. I should like to be able to tell uncle where the boat is.”

They had now reached a part where trees were growing pretty thickly, and it was only by keeping close to their guide that they were able to make their way onward; but this confusing part of their journey was soon over, for Hamet suddenly stood fast as if puzzled, and uttered a word or two in a tone full of vexation.

“He can’t find it after all,” cried Frank. “Oh, what a bother, to drag us all this way for nothing.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the Malay, and catching Ned’s hand, he drew him through the trees at right angles to their former course, and again suddenly stopped.

“Well, which way now?” asked Ned. “Can’t you find it?”

“The boat—the boat!” whispered Hamet, and drawing Ned’s arm out to full length, he made him stoop a little in the black darkness, with the result that the boy’s hand rustled among the leaves of the attap covering.

“It’s here, Frank,” he said excitedly, and pressing down now with both hands, he felt the boat yield and then stop.

“Yes, that’s a boat, sure enough,” said Frank, who now felt about the top of the awning. “Yes, and I can feel the poles and oars. Why, this is quite a narrow ditch, only just wide enough to hold it. I’ve got hold of a rope, too. It’s tied up to a cocoa-nut palm; I know the thing by the feel.”

“Yes; the boat,” whispered Hamet.

“All right. Then now you know where your own boat is, Ned, and when you are tired of us all, you can jump in and say ‘Good-bye.’”

“Or take you with us,” said Ned. “I don’t want to go away from you. Not so ungrateful as you think. Oh, don’t! You needn’t hug me like that. I say: don’t act like a great girl. Ah, Ham—”

Then silence. For Ned felt, as he believed, his companion fling his arms affectionately about him, and so roughly that he bore him back. He felt the silken baju and sarong and the hilt of the kris against him, and then he went down heavily. Frank was evidently playing him some foolish trick, and he had clapped a hand now over his mouth to keep him from making a noise, and betraying their whereabouts.

Then a horrible pang of fear ran through him, for there were smothered sounds and scuffling going on close by, leaves cracked and stalks and twigs snapped, and directly after the hand was removed, and he opened his mouth to cry out, but something soft was thrust in, then a cloth was dragged over his head, his arms were bound to his body, and he felt himself lifted up, and carried by a couple of men.

“A piece of treachery,” he thought. “And we trusted Hamet so. Poor Frank! Is he being served the same?”

He got as far as that point, and then the heat and the oppression caused by the gag so nearly stifled him that his brain grew confused; there was a sensation of giddiness and a singing in his ears.

“They are choking me,” he thought; and he made a desperate struggle to get his hands to his lips, and then he remembered no more till he felt a sensation of something cool being trickled between his lips. It tasted bitter but pleasant, and in his half-insensible state he swallowed the grateful beverage, and swallowed again and again.

Then forgetfulness stole over him once, and he knew no more, till he opened his eyes and saw the level rays of the sun shining through the open doorway on to the mats that formed the side of the room.

“Going to get up, uncle?” he said, and then he stared, for a couple of dark faces were thrust in to stare at him, and as he looked quickly round, he could not see the guns on the walls, nor his uncle’s specimens hanging out of reach of the ants, nor yet his uncle; but close beside him, lying on a mat, the figure of Frank, evidently fast asleep.

The two swarthy-looking faces were withdrawn slowly, and Ned turned, seized Frank by the shoulder, and shook him violently.

“Don’t, father!” was the result, as Frank spoke, without unclosing his eyes. “Let me lie a bit longer. My head is so bad.”

“Frank, old chap, wake up. Where are we? What does it all mean?”

The boy opened his eyes and sat up, stared round, rubbed himself, and then gazed at his companion.

“I—what does it mean? I—what—I remember now. Some one jumped on me and stuffed something into my mouth. I thought it was you then. It was that Hamet. What does he mean? Here, we’re not tied now; let’s get out of this. I say, where’s my kris?”

He sprang up, and Ned followed his example, both making for the doorway, but only to be confronted directly by four spearmen, who effectually barred the way.

“Eh,” said Frank, thoughtfully, “that’s it, is it? ’Tisn’t one of Hamet’s games. Here you,” he continued, speaking now in Malay; “what does all this mean? Why are we brought here?”

One of the men answered respectfully enough, and Frank turned from the door to face his companion.

“Those are the rajah’s chaps, and that fellow says we are to stay here. I know: they thought we were going to cut off in that boat. Here you, where’s Hamet?”

The man addressed looked at him half smilingly, but made no reply.

“He won’t speak,” said Frank, impatiently. “It’s no good to try. You might as well ask questions of a cocoa-nut. I hope they haven’t given him the kris. Here, you: tell me this—Hamet—has he had the kris?”

This too in Malay, and the man addressed smiled now, but he would not answer, and Frank gave it up.

“I don’t think they’ve killed him, or they wouldn’t look so civil. Perhaps they’ve only shut him up like us. Well, I’m glad we went to see where the boat was.”

“Oh, I say, don’t reproach me!” cried Ned. “I did all for the best. Then we’ve been sleeping here all night. I never knew.”

“Not you. They gave us some stuff, I know.”

“But my uncle! He’ll think I’m lost, or gone into the river, or something. What will he say?”

“Oh, bother your uncle!” cried Frank, petulantly. “I’m thinking about my poor old dad.”

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