One Maid's Mischief

As she sat back, listening languidly to the whistling, chattering noise of the parroquets that swarmed in the jungle, she felt a pang shoot through her, for very faintly heard there was a sound familiar to her ear – a sound that she had frequently listened to at her open window at the station. It was the plashing of oars coming from a distance, and she felt that at last the Rajah was approaching the place, to see his prisoner.

Helen’s teeth gritted together as she set them hard, calling upon herself for all her fortitude and strength of mind for what she knew must be a terrible ordeal.

The scene at home on that morning when Murad had come to propose for her hand came back most vividly, and for the moment she trembled as she realised the evil she had done.

She recovered herself though somewhat, and striving hard to be prepared for what was to come, sat listening and wondering whether Murad really was close at hand.

She had not long to wait in indecision, and she knew that her hearing had not played her false, for the two girls had heard the same sound, and running to the window, stood listening as the plash of oars now came nearer and nearer.

Then the sounds ceased, and there was to Helen a painful silence. The heat grew oppressive, and the leaves hung motionless in the glowing air. For the moment it seemed like one of the oppressive July days in her old school; but the fancy was gone directly after, and the horrors of her position came back so strongly that she could hardly refrain from running wildly about the room and crying for help.

Just then the two girls left the window, and crossed to where Helen was seated, darting at her, as it seemed in her then excited condition, furious and angrily envious looks before turning now to the doorway, passing through, and letting the great curtain fall behind.

As Helen waited her heart began to beat violently, for there was no mistaking the import of the sounds she heard. So far they had been women’s voices, now unmistakably they were men’s; and growing more and more agitated, and ready to start at every sound, she sat waiting for the interview that she knew must come.

To her surprise the day glided on till the afternoon was well advanced, and still, beyond the occasional sound of male voices, there was nothing to distinguish between this day and any other, save that once, when left alone together, the Malay girl whispered to her:

“I have sent a messenger with your paper, but he may never take it where you wish.”

Before Helen could declare her thankfulness the girl was gone, giving place to the other, who looked at her morosely, and then stood leaning by the door till a loud voice called her, and she answered, going out quickly, while Helen sat trembling and pressing her hand upon her palpitating heart.

Could it be true? and if true, were there not attendants waiting to guard the entrance, for unmistakably it seemed that the Malay girl had hurried to obey the call and left the door open.

Helen rose, and walked with tottering step to the door, to find that not only was it open, but that there was no one in the room beyond – a room whose door opened straight upon a kind of bamboo veranda, with a flight of steps down to the ground; while beyond that was a clearing, and then the jungle.

She paused for a minute listening. There was not a sound but the loud whistling and chattering of the birds in the trees. The place might have been deserted, everything was so still; and it did not occur to her that this was a time when many of the people would be asleep till the heat of the day was past.

It was enough for her that the way to freedom was there; and hesitating no longer, she passed out into the farther room, reached the door unseen, and was in the act of descending the flight of steps, when one of the Malay women of the place saw and ran at her, catching her by the dress and arm, and holding her so tenaciously, that Helen, in her anguish at being thus checked, uttered a cry for help, escaped her retainer, and then leaped down and ran.

The Malay woman was joined by another now; and in her excitement and ignorance of which way to go, she was driven into a corner, but only to make a brave dash for liberty as the girls caught and held her again.

In her excitement Helen cried again and again for help, forgetful of the fact that she was more likely to summon enemies than friends.

The cries of a woman had little effect there, for beyond bringing out a couple more of the Malay women, Helen’s appeals for help seemed to create no excitement; and she was beginning to feel that her efforts would prove in vain, when she saw a figure come from amongst the trees, and stretching out her hands towards it, she made one last effort to reach what she had looked upon as safety.

For there could be no mistaking that figure. It was the chaplain. At the moment it seemed to her that Arthur Rosebury had been sent there expressly to save her from her terrible position; and half-fainting, panting, and thoroughly exhausted, she tottered on, tripped, and fell.

The effort to escape was vain, for a couple of Malay women seized Helen’s arms and dragged her off, followed by the chaplain, but not for many yards. Before he had gone far he too was seized, and hurried back in the way by which he had come. It was vain to struggle, and he had to resign himself, but it was with feelings mingled with indignation and disgust.

The Malay lady was evidently of superior station by her dress; and that she was ill-used there could be no doubt. His English blood glowed at the thought, and clergyman though he was, and man of peace, he still felt enough spirit to be ready to have undertaken her defence.

He cooled down, though, as he was hurried back through the jungle – cooled in temper, but heated in body; while the faintness and hunger soon increased to such an extent that his adventure with the Malay lady was forgotten.

But not by Helen Perowne, who, once more shut up in her room, rejoiced to think that, though surrounded by enemies, there was one friend near – a true friend whom she could trust – one who would be ready to do anything for her sake, badly as she had behaved to him.

“He cannot be far away,” she said, half aloud, and with the hysterical sobs in her throat. “He is near, and there must be friends with him. He saw me, and he will not lose a minute without bringing help; and then – ”

And then she stopped as if paralysed, for the thought came upon her with a flash that, though the Reverend Arthur Rosebury had seen her, he had only gazed upon a tall, swarthy Malay woman, in whom he could not possibly have recognised Helen Perowne.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Eight.

Murad at Home

The place was very still once more as Helen sat thinking, with her two attendants idling by the window. She had heard the sound of oars, and there had been men’s voices, but nothing more.

She was angry with herself for the ill success of her attempt to escape; but by degrees she calmed down, and her excitement passed off, for there was something inexpressibly comforting in the knowledge that the chaplain was not far away. She succeeded so well at last in recovering her equanimity that she told herself she was ready to crush Murad with the outburst of righteous indignation that would flow from her lips.

There was a calm, dreamy feeling about the place now, and her attendants seemed half asleep. It was intensely hot, and the birds and insects had ceased their whistlings and busy hum. So quiet did it seem in the late afternoon that everything might have been supposed asleep, when once more the sound of voices sent a thrill through Helen, and she began to tremble and feel weak once more, till suddenly there was one voice heard above the others, giving orders, and this voice sent a thrill through her – not of dread, but of anger.

She drew herself up, for the time had come, and, like one who has been for weeks dreading some painful scene, shrinking within herself, but grows brave and ready at the last moment when she is face to face with the difficulty, so Helen Perowne suddenly felt herself firm and ready for the encounter she had to endure.

It was Murad’s voice undoubtedly, giving orders in a sharp, commanding way; and though he spoke in the Malay tongue, she readily recognised the tones that had been used at the station, when he had hung over her ottoman, softened his words to the occasion, and then gazed at her with love-softened eyes.

“Idiot! idiot! weak coquette that I was!” she cried to herself. “Had I no more sense than to lead this savage on for the sake of gaining a little more adoration. Oh! father, it was a curse you gave me, and not a blessing, in those handsome features that all people praised.”

The weak tears rose to her eyes, and it was only by an effort that she kept them back, clenching her teeth and fingers, and striving to be firm.

“It is too late now,” she muttered then. “Oh! Grey Stuart, would to Heaven that you were here!”

Then, with forced composure upon her face and her heart palpitating wildly, she took up one of the Chinese fans that lay by her ottoman, and sat listening as she plainly heard steps ascending the broad ladder to the platform. Then, with her heart beating in unison to the footsteps that came across the adjoining room, she waited till the door was thrown open; the great curtain was hastily drawn aside by the two Malay attendants, who both stood with head reverently bowed and eyes cast down, as if they dared not gaze upon their lord, while Murad entered with a quick imperious step, and stood there, in his semi-European costume.

He gazed sharply from one to the other for a moment or two, and then made an imperious gesture, signing to the two girls to leave the room.

Helen did not move, but sat with her head raised, her eyelids drooped, but watchfully noting everything that went on. She forced down her terrible emotion, and moment by moment gained greater command over herself.

The two girls looked up at their lord appealingly for a moment, but there was so fierce a look directed at them that they crossed their hands deprecatingly upon their breasts, bent their heads, and with their eyes upon the bamboo flooring, passed slowly out.

The time had come. Helen had determined to be brave and to resume her mastery over this savage prince; but in spite of her efforts to be calm, her timid woman’s nature prevailed, and found vent in a quick, short command to the girls.

“No, no,” she cried. “Stay!”

But as she uttered her order they were passing through, the door shut heavily behind them, and the Rajah let the heavy curtain fall back in its place.

Then she felt that she was alone indeed, and for a moment her head swam as she gazed through her long dark lashes at the daring Malay who was the author of this outrage and its cruel sequence.

He was still by the door, standing erect and proud, his head drawn back, one hand resting upon the hilt of his kris, and a mocking smile of triumph upon his face, as if he were rejoicing at the success of his plans.

“You do not rise to welcome me,” he whispered softly. “Are you angry because I have been so long away?”

She did not answer, but nerved herself more and more, and to her great joy she felt that it was anger rather than fear that now filled her breast, though she told herself that perhaps diplomacy might be more successful than threats.

“It is because I have stayed so long,” he said, half mockingly; and then, speaking once more in his low, passionate tones – the tones Helen had thought so musical in the drawing-room of their home at the station – he whispered:

“I could not have hoped for so great a change. You are a thousand times more beautiful than you were before.”

Helen essayed to speak, but her emotion choked her utterance; and always watchful of his slightest movement, she still sat with her eyelids drooping, and he went on in excellent English, but with the metaphorical imagery so loved of Eastern people:

“Always beautiful; but now, robed as a princess of my nation, decked with Malayan flowers, your white skin softened to the sun-kissed nature of a beauty of our land, you shine before me like some star.”

Still she remained silent, and he went on: “They have done their work well, and could you but see your beauty with these eyes of mine, you would not wonder that I should have thought the hours weary that kept me from your side. Helen – beautiful Helen, you used not to hide those eyes from mine. Look up; let me see them once again. We are alone here now. No prying creatures of your English people can see us. I have prayed to Allah that this hour might come, and now that I am here, humble – thy very slave – where is thy look of welcome – where is the tender look? For in thy maiden coyness say what thou wilt; but let thine eyes speak to me of love as they used so often at thy English home.”

“How dare you!” she cried, finding words at last; “how dare you insult me by such a speech!” and she rose imperiously from her seat. “How dare you have me dragged from my home like this, and submitted by your orders to this disgraceful treatment, to make me look like one of your degraded race?”

“If my race be degraded,” he said, quietly, “I try to elevate it by choosing you.”

“I desire – I insist, sir, that you have me taken to my father now – at once.”

The Rajah smiled, and crossed his arms over his breast.

“Let me think,” he said. “Take you back? No; I could not take you back save as my wife. Your English people would have me shot.”

“You were my father’s guest, sir,” continued Helen. “You were admitted to his house as friend, and you have behaved to him with the basest treachery. See! Look at me! It was by your orders I was disfigured thus!”

“Treachery!” he said, quietly. “No, there was no treachery, when I came as a prince and rajah, and said to the English merchant, ‘I love your daughter: I will stoop and make her my wife.’”

“Stoop!” cried Helen, with a flash of her beautiful eyes.

“Yes,” he said, “stoop! She has confessed her love!”

“It is false!” cried Helen.

“Not with words, but with her fierce dark eyes,” he continued. “‘I shall offend my people, but what of that? Love is all-powerful. I will dismiss all my wives, and she shall reign alone.’ I went and said all that, as an English gentleman would have asked your hand, and what followed?”

Helen’s eyes were fixed upon him sternly, and her heart condemned her, but she did not speak.

“I was treated with contempt and insult! I – I, Prince and Rajah here, was shown that I, who had stooped to love a woman of an infidel race, had been mocked and played with by the beautiful English maiden; and at that moment, Helen, had I seen you, I should have killed you with my kris, and then, in my mad rage, I would have done as my people do – run headlong here and there, killing and slaying as I went, my bare kris dripping with the blood I spilt – running amok, my people call it – and killing till they slew me where I ran. I, as a Malay, should have done all this. It is the custom among my people; but your English ways prevailed. I had learned English, and I, as a Prince, after my first wild rage was past, said that I must wait – be patient – and that the time would come when my revenge could be had. I waited patiently – and waited longer, to see if the lady would be kind and gentle to me once again; but she would not while she was among her people; so I said I would bring her amongst mine, where she would soon learn to be gentle and as kind as she was of old.”

“Coward!” she cried, fiercely.

“I knew you would say that,” he replied, mockingly. “I knew that you would assume to be very angry. You coquettes, as you English people call them, always do; and then, when all your angry, cruel things are said, you become tender, and gentle, and sweet. I do not mind.”

Helen stamped her foot with impotent rage, as she felt how justly she had been appraised by this half-savage prince; but she could find no words in reply.

“Your people thought me contented, and that peace was made,” he said, laughing. “I know all. There was a terrible state of fright at first, when you refused my hand. I know all, you see. Your people armed themselves and kept watch. ‘The people of Murad will attack us, and take revenge,’ you said, ‘and we shall be all crushed;’ and so you armed yourselves. Then you all feared to go to the fête lest there should be treachery, and I was watched; but they did not know my ways. I meant to have revenge; but what good would the blood of all your people be to me? That was not the revenge I wanted. I could wait, and I have waited with the result you see. There, is that good English? Do you understand these my words well?”

Helen did not answer, but stood there proud and defiant, though her heart quailed as she listened, and thought of the patient way in which this man had waited his time.

“I have had patience,” he said, with a calm smile of superiority, which changed, to her horror, to one of earnestness, almost of appeal.

“You do not speak,” he continued. “Must I say more – must I tell you how I loved you with all my soul! You made me love you, and were not content until I did. You led me on; you smiled at me, and lured me to your side. Your eyes told me you delighted in the passion you had roused, and you seemed to triumph in making me your slave. Then I asked you to be my wife, and I was cast aside, thrown off to make room for another, and I awoke from my dream to find that I had only been a plaything of your mocking hour. I was only a Malay – a black as your people call me in their contempt – and your father and all your people laughed at my pretensions to an English lady’s hand. You all told me by your looks and treatment that I was presuming on the kindness I had received; but do you think that, though I bent to it then, as if you and yours were right, that I, an Eastern Prince, would bear this treatment at your hands? No; I planted my revenge at once, like some tiny seed, and since have watched it grow hour by hour till it was time to cut it down ripe and ready to my hand.”

“Do you hear my words, sir?” said Helen, contemptuously. “I order you to take me back.”

“The slave orders her master to take her back,” said Murad, quietly. “You English think you have power over all.”

“How dare you call me slave!” she cried.

“I call you what you are,” he said, calmly; “my wife if you will; if not, one of my lowest slaves. I was your slave once, and would have been to the end. Now you are mine.”

Helen shivered, but she mastered her fear, and exclaimed:

“Have you reckoned what your punishment will be for this? Do you suppose my people will let this pass?”

“I have weighed all,” he said, coolly. “But let me talk, for I have much to say yet; I find relief in speaking of it all. Did you think that I was going to submit without resentment to the insult you had put upon me? Oh, no! You did not know what we Malays could do. We take a blow, and perhaps bear it then. It may be wise; but we never forgive the hand that gives that blow. We hide our suffering for a time, but at last we turn and strike. Do you understand me now? The time came at last, and I have turned and struck.”

Helen remained silent, listening to his words, which sounded like a sentence of death; but she still fought hard not to show her terror, and kept up her defiant, half-contemptuous gaze as he went on:

“I hid all my sufferings, and patiently bore with all your cruelty, seeing without a word how you lavished your smiles upon this one and that, and all without making a sign; but all the time I was waiting, and telling myself that some day you should pay me for all this suffering; and when the good time came I said to my people: ‘Take her and carry her to the house in the jungle; let her people think she is dead,’ and it was done.”

“And now that it has been done,” cried Helen, “your plans are known. You have been followed, and you will have to suffer as you deserve – death is the punishment to the cowardly native hand that is raised against an English lady.”

“Nonsense!” he said, laughing. “I have taken my steps better than that;” and his words which followed chilled Helen, as they robbed her of a hope. “No one saw you taken but that dreamy priest of your people, and he has been taken too. He wanders through our jungle finding flowers and plants, forgetting you half his time.”

“It is false!” cried Helen. “He was here to-day.”

“Yes, he was here to-day,” said Murad, coolly, “and he has been taken back. He did not follow you. Do you suppose me so weak that I should let your people know where you had gone?”

“They must – they will know – that it is you who have done this cruel wrong,” she cried, indignantly.

“No,” he said, with a contemptuous laugh. “It it very easy to throw dust in English eyes. I will tell you for your comfort, and to make you settle to your fate, the people at the station think I am their friend, and that I have been helping them with my people to find you. And now you are only living in their hearts.”

“In their hearts?” cried Helen, starting; and her thoughts involuntarily turned to Neil Harley.

“Yes,” he said, quietly; “they think you dead.”

“Dead!” she cried, in spite of her efforts to be calm.

“Yes; they believe you dead, and so you are to them. Helen the Englishwoman is dead, and this a beautiful Malay – my wife.”

“Dead?” she cried again, for his announcement came like a terrible shock.

“Yes; they found a boat down the river far below the station. They think you went with two of your lovers on the water, and that the boat filled and sank, to be washed up on a bank. It was well managed, and Helen and three of her friends or lovers are mourned as dead.”

“Mr Harley is not imprisoned too?” cried Helen.

“No; he is not a lover,” said the Sultan, smiling.

“Oh, Heaven help me!” muttered Helen.

“So you are dead to them,” he said, quietly. “Helen Perowne, the beautiful English girl, is no more, and in her place lives the Malay princess I see before me now. Ah, Helen, no one would know you. It is only I who have the knowledge of the change. What is it to be – my honoured wife or slave?”

“It is horrible!” thought Helen, as now she realised more fully the extent of the iniquitous plot of which she had been made the victim. By Murad’s words the hopes of succour she had nurtured had been swept one by one away, for she did not doubt him in the least, but felt her heart sink as she realised how helpless her position was, for his words seemed to carry truth with them, and she knew that she alone was to blame.

Then she started violently, and shrank back towards the wall, for he had taken a step or two towards her and stretched out his hands.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Nine.

At Bay

The Rajah stopped when Helen shrank away, as if he did not wish to alarm her unduly.

“Why do you shrink from me?” he said, with a laugh. “You were not so timid when I talked with you after dinner, and you invited me with smiles to stay by your side. Did you think when you began to play with my love that it was of the same cold stuff as that of your poor, weak English wooers?”

Helen made no reply, but gazed at him watchfully, meaning to elude his grasp and run to the door should he approach her again.

“Your English wooers’ hearts are like ice, and their love is cold; while that of a Malay, under his calm, quiet demeanour, glows like fire, and once kindled, is never more extinct. Do you hear me, Helen? Once you set it burning with the light of love, his heart flames until it ceases to beat. There, why be angry with me, and try to wither me with those cruel looks? I took you because you made me love you; and as you did make me love you, I shall never believe that you are anything but glad that I forced you to be my wife.”

“Be your wife?” she cried, passionately, in spite of her determination not to speak. “I would sooner die!”

“Yes,” he replied with a contemptuous laugh, “that is what all women say. The girls who waited upon you said just the same. They told me they hated me, and ended by hanging upon my neck and calling me husband and their own. Tell me you hate me!” he cried, with his dark eyes seeming to flash; “tell me you will have me killed for what I have done – tell me you will never look upon my face again, and make those beautiful eyes dart anger at me. It makes me happier than I can tell you, for I know that the storm will pass away; and when the lightning of your eyes and their rain of tears have gone, the sunshine of your love will gladden my heart. Helen, I have waited for you – oh, so long!”