One Maid's Mischief

“And you have cut through them?”

“Yes; through two of them, so that one has only to pull my bed aside, lift the two pieces of wood – ”

“Chumbley!” ejaculated Hilton, joyously.

“Hullo!”

“Why, I’ve been giving you the credit of being ready to settle down here in the most nonchalant way.”

“Yes, I saw you did. That’s why I chiselled away so, to get through those bamboos.”

“While I was asleep?”

“While you were asleep,” said Chumbley, spitting vigorously.

“Ah, my dear fellow, I shall – ”

“Hold your row. Light a cigar, or they’ll be suspicious.”

Hilton obeyed without a word, and Chumbley went on:

“So when you are ready we’ll pocket a table-knife apiece, fill our pockets with portable meat of some kind, and then be off.”

“Why not to-night?”

“I don’t see why not,” replied Chumbley, coolly; “I’m ready. It will do you good – a bit of a scamper through the jungle, even if we get caught.”

“No scoundrel shall catch me alive.”

“I say, old man, don’t talk as if the Malays were fly-papers and you were a pretty insect.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Hilton excitedly. “Shall we try to-night?”

“Well, no; let’s leave it till to-morrow, when we can devote the day to storing up cigars and food; and then if they don’t find out the hole I have made, we can slip through and make for the river.”

“But suppose they find out the hole you have made.”

“Well, then we must try another plan: your way through the thatch.”

“Yes, of course. But, by the way, old fellow, I wish you would drop that habit you have just taken up of spitting through the window.”

“Certainly I will,” said Chumbley, coolly; “but don’t you see, old fellow, I’ve had to get rid of a lot of bamboo chips, and that was the only way I could destroy them. They’re awfully harsh chewing, by the way.”

Hilton looked at him with a kind of admiration.

“And to think that I’ve been abusing you for your indolence!” he cried.

“Didn’t hurt me a bit,” said Chumbley. “Go it. I don’t mind.”

That night and the next day seemed as if they would never pass. Every time a native servant entered Hilton felt sure that he had some suspicion about the loosened bamboos, and it seemed as if his eyes were directed towards the pile of mats upon which Chumbley slept.

But at last, after a false alarm of the Princess coming, the night fell, and with a beating heart Hilton set about filling his pockets and a handkerchief with provisions for the journey, Chumbley seeming all the while to be plunged into a state of lethargy.

“Come, Chum,” whispered Hilton, at last, “be stirring, man.”

“Heaps of time yet, my boy,” replied the other. “Lie down and have a nap.”

“Will nothing stir you?” whispered Hilton, wrathfully. “Good Heavens, man, rouse yourself!”

“Shan’t. I’m resting. There’s heaps to do when we start, and I want to be fresh. Lie down.”

“Hang it, don’t speak as if I were a dog,” cried Hilton, sharply.

“Have the goodness to lie down and rest yourself, my dear boy,” said Chumbley in a polite drawl. “It is of no use for us to attempt to stir till the fellows are all asleep, so save yourself up.”

Hilton obeyed, lying down upon the matting, and in spite of his excitement, he felt a strangely-delicious drowsy sensation stealing over him, to which he yielded, and the next moment – so it seemed to him – Chumbley laid a great hand over his lips, and whispered:

“Time’s up!”

He rose to his knees, to find that it was intensely dark, and saving an occasional howl from the forest, all was perfectly still.

“I’ve got the bamboos up,” whispered Chumbley, “and you are going first, because I can then hold your hands and lower you softly down. Don’t speak, but do as I bid you.”

Hilton felt ready to resist his companion’s autocratic ways, but he obeyed him in silence, Chumbley lowering him through the hole to the open space below the house, the building being raised some eight feet above the ground upon huge bamboo piles, as a protection from floods and the prowling tiger.

The next minute there was a faint rustle, a heavy breathing, a slight crack or two, and Hilton received a heavy kick.

Then Chumbley dropped to his feet.

“I got stuck,” he whispered, as he took his friend’s hand; “thought I should not have got through. Now then, the river lies straight before us, under that great star. ’Ware guards and tigers, and we shall be safe.”

It was intensely dark beneath the house, and but little better as they emerged from the piles upon which it was built, to stand with the dense jungle before them, impenetrable save where there was a path; and they were about to step boldly forth, when something bright seemed to twinkle for a moment between them and the stars, and by straining their eyes they made out that straight before them were the misty-looking forms of a couple of their Malay guards.

Volume Three – Chapter Six.

In Time of Peril

With eyes wild and hair dishevelled Helen Perowne sat crouched together as far from the Rajah as her means would allow.

“Why, Helen,” he said mockingly, and with a gleam of triumph in his eyes, as he half reclined against the bamboo wall, “how beautiful you look!” He made a movement as if to clasp her in his arms, but she sprang up with a cry of horror.

“What folly!” he said, laughing as he slowly changed his feet. “And you will not drink – you are afraid that I shall try to poison you. Don’t be afraid. Why should I now? I love you too well. When first you began to woo me – ”

She burst into a piteous fit of sobbing, and then turned upon him her eyes full of misery and despair.

“That makes you more handsome!” he cried, excitedly. “Be angry with me; I love it! I will say that again. When you first began to woo me – ”

It had not the intended effect, for Helen remained silent, watching him with dilated eyes, as if he were some tiger about to make a spring.

“I say when you first began to woo me,” he continued, “I resisted for a time, for you are only a white woman, and not of our blood or our religion; but I felt at last that you had made me your slave, and once my love had turned to you, fate told me that you would be mine, and I gave way to my passion. Then you led me on till I declared my love, when you professed to cast me off, and I accepted the words; but they were words only. Fate said that I was to take to myself a wife from the invaders of my country, and do you think I was going to let the opposition of your friends, as you did, stand in the way?”

He waited for her to reply, but she remained watchful and silent.

“I knew all along,” he went on, evidently to provoke her to speak, “that you only professed to reject me, and that you were waiting, as I was, the time when you would be mine; and though I grew daily more impatient, I was ready to wait for my reward. At last the time has come. Look at me well, my wife, for such you are; even the priests have studied, and found that a prince of my race was to marry a woman fair as the morning light.”

He took a step forward, and as she shrank back with a cry of horror, he stopped and laughed.

“Why do you shrink away, little wife?” he said. “The time has passed now for that, and you should cling to me, and pay me for my patient waiting and my brave deed. But you were afraid of the water and wine, as if I should poison or drug you. Why should I? You are here – my wife – in my home amongst my slaves. It is foolishness to think that I should give you poison to drink – to you who love me so well. See here!”

He walked quickly forward to where the wine was placed, and Helen watched him keenly as he poured out a cupful, smiled at her, and drank it slowly to the last drop.

“Now,” he said, smiling, “will you drink without fear? I will pour you out a cup. No; I will use this from which I drank. It is only your husband’s, and you need not mind.”

He poured out a fresh cup of the palm wine; but as if from clumsiness shook the native bottle that contained the liquid. Helen did not perceive it; but the wine as he partook of it himself was clear; now it was thick and discoloured, a fact that would have been seen at once in a glass.

She still kept aloof from him, with her mind actively at work, seeking some means of escaping from her enemy’s hands, for she could not conceal from herself that appeals and violence would be equally in vain.

She came to the full endorsement, then, of previous thoughts – that her sole hope of escape depended upon artifice: her womanly cunning must be brought to bear. She felt that she had mastered Murad before; why should she not now – by seeming to accept her fate? He would, she argued, doubtless submit to her wishes if she showed a semblance of accepting his suit, and in this spirit, as he pressed her once more to partake of the wine, she began to parley with him.

“I do not drink wine,” she said.

“But you must be faint,” he urged. “You have only drunk water; you have not eaten.”

“Then I will eat,” she said.

“May I seat myself, and eat with you?”

She paused for a moment, for her nature fought against the subterfuge she was about to practise; but he was keenly watching her, and she motioned to him to take his seat upon the mats.

“When you are seated,” he said, with a smile of triumph playing about his lips.

She hesitated for a moment or two, and then sat down, Murad following her example, and contenting himself, as she seemed ready to start away, with placing the wine-cup at her side, and seating himself opposite.

“That is better,” he said, smiling. “Now make me happy by letting me see you eat.”

Every mouthful seemed as if it would choke her, and her heart beat wildly as she thought of her unprotected state; but she battled bravely with her feelings, and spoke quietly, answering the Rajah’s questions, and striving all the while for strength and courage to carry out her designs.

As for Murad, he was perfectly triumphant in his way. The victory was his; and with all the pride of a weak man at his success in bringing the handsome English beauty to her knees, he laughed merrily, making Helen shiver as she saw the wild excitement in his eyes, and listened to the compliments he paid to her beauty.

“I like you the more for your brave resistance,” he said; “and most of all for your cleverness and wisdom. You see that it is of no use to fight, so like a wise captain you surrender.”

He laughed again, and kept his flaming eyes fixed upon her.

“You shall be my queen, Helen,” he said, talking in a quick, excited way. “You shall help me to fight all my enemies, and drive them out, till all the country round is mine, for you are Malayan now, and your people will have to go. I shall not slay them. No: they will find they have no position here, and they will go as they came; but you will stay. You will not wish to leave me, my queen. You will not wish to be white again. But you have not drunk your wine. Come: you must drink, Helen; it is my cup, and I wish to drink again.”

She took up the cup and held it to him, Murad taking it with a bow and smile, holding her fingers within his pressed against the side of the vessel, and keeping them prisoned there.

She did not shrink, but sat motionless, her hand becoming deathly cold, and the dank perspiration gathering upon her brow.

“No,” he said at last, with a smile; “it is not fair. You must drink to me. See!” he continued, raising the cup to his lips, and holding it there for some moments. “I drink to your happiness – a toast you English people call it.”

She watched him narrowly, and saw that he did not drink, merely held the cup to his lips, and then slowly let it down to the level of his breast, carefully wiping his lips before holding out the cup to her.

“Stay,” he cried, “I must fill it up again;” and taking the native bottle, his hand shook a good deal as he refilled the cup. “Your presence agitates me,” he said. “See how my hand trembles. It is all for love – the love you taught me to feel.”

Helen trembled with horror; and never had her heart reproached her in all her past more bitterly than at this moment. It was retribution, and she felt it cruelly.

“There,” he cried, touching the edge of the cup again with his lips, “drink from that, Helen, my love, my wife, as an earnest of the kisses you press upon these lips, for I will not force them from you; they shall come full and freely as your gifts. Forced kisses are from slaves, and I can command them when I will! I want your warm, true, freely-given English love, and in return I will worship you, and make you a queen as great as your own, far over the seas. There, take the cup and drink. Yes, you must – you shall drink. No, no,” he cried, laughing in a harsh, strange way, “I do not command, I beg and pray.”

He had risen now, and was bending down over her with the wine, and in her horror and fear of his presence she was ready to shriek aloud. His hand grasped her arm as he pressed the cup towards her. It was with no lustful caress, but with a spasmodic, furious grasp to save himself from falling as the cup dropped from his hand, making a great patch upon the soft brown matting that was spread with sweets and fruit.

He recovered himself though directly, and stood upright, but kept on muttering angrily and gazing about him in a wild, excited way. His eyes looked fixed and dilated, while his hands were extended as if feeling about for something to grasp.

Helen gazed at him in horror, and she shrank more and more away as Murad kept on muttering in the Malay tongue before sinking down heavily and then letting his head drop as if it were much too heavy to bear.

She stared, believing it to be some ruse, but a heavy, stertorous breathing set in, and the Rajah sank lower and lower, evidently in a heavy stupor, while now all became confused and misty before Helen’s eyes; and as, like a flash, the thought passed through her brain that after all the water that she had tasted had been drugged, a deathly sickness overcame her, and she sank back insensible upon the mats.

Volume Three – Chapter Seven.

Light in Darkness

When Helen Perowne came to her senses it was some minutes before she could realise what had taken place, and she lay there motionless, staring up at the bamboo and palm-leaf roof that looked dim, and weird, and strange, as she saw it softly illumined by the rays of the lamp; while there above her was one soft round patch of light glowing amidst the darkness, and reminding her of the nights when she had been ill at Miss Twettenhams’, and a night-light had been set to burn in a shade.

“Where am I?” she asked herself: for the past seemed gone.

Then all at once she seemed to hear, coming, as it were, out of the mental mist wherein she wandered, a dull, low, long-drawn breathing, and she rose to her elbow, to see there, lying with his face turned to the lamp, and not two yards away, Murad, apparently watching her, for his eyes were widely opened and staring in her direction.

Her heart began to throb violently, and, cautiously watchful, she rose slowly to her knees, supporting herself with her hands, as she felt how horror-stricken and weak she was; and it was only by a great effort that she found herself able to stand.

She was glad, however, to sit down again, to allow the sensation of giddiness that oppressed her to pass away. And now she fully realised the fact that the staring eyes before her, in which the light of the lamp was strangely reflected, were fixed and blind to what passed around, their owner being plunged in a deep stupor-like sleep.

It was some time before she could really believe this to be a fact; but when she did realise her position it gave her courage; while, as she tried to recall what had passed, she wondered how it had all come about.

Her common-sense soon told her that she had fainted entirely from fright, and that her suspicion concerning the water being drugged was ill-founded; while, on the other hand, as she gazed at Murad, her ideas gathered force, and she fully believed that her enemy had fallen into the trap that he had laid for his victim, and she wondered how long it would be before he awoke.

Helen’s suspicions were correct. Murad had had some little experience in the management and usage of the vegetable narcotics of the jungle, and believing from old experiments he had made that he could drink with impunity the clear wine from the top of the prepared vessel, he had, to disarm her suspicions partaken thereof, leaving the strong, thick portion for his victim, taking care to agitate it at the time of pouring out.

He was, however, wrong, for the narcotic he had used was a particularly strong preparation, and the clear portion at the top of the bottle contained ample quantity of the poison to overcome him in the fancied moment of his triumph, leaving him prone at his prisoner’s feet.

The dizziness passed off; but for a few minutes the girl felt that she dared not stir for fear that at the least motion on her part her persecutor might awaken; and in this spirit she remained for some time, listening to the heavy breathing, and watching intently, as if fascinated by the dark eyes that at times seemed gazing into hers.

At last, however, she gained a little more courage, and cautiously made a step or two towards the door.

Then she paused and listened, and gazed at the prostrate figure, fancying that she had detected some slight movement; but satisfying herself at last that Murad still slept, she went once more, step by step, her heart palpitating wildly, till she reached the door, when a louder inspiration than usual made her turn sick with dread, and she had to cling to the framework to keep from falling.

Finding, however, that Murad did not stir, she once more gained courage; and rousing herself for the effort, she drew aside the heavy matting curtain with cautious hand, tried the fastening of the door – growing more bold moment by moment as she strove to get it open – but all in vain. The handle would not stir, and it seemed to her that there must be a great bar across on the outside, making prisoners of both her and her captor.

It was not until the utter hopelessness of her effort dawned upon her that she gave up her task and turned to the window.

Here her efforts were equally vain, for the grill was formed of stout bamboos secured with ratan cane, bound at the intersections, and so strong, that without a powerful edge-tool even a stout-hearted man might well have given up the task in despair.

Helen’s delicate fingers, then, failed even to shake the bars; and at last, thrusting her arms through, she clasped her hands on the other side, and pressed her fevered brow to one of the openings that the soft night air might breathe upon it, and there she remained, alternately praying for help and listening to the Rajah’s heavy, stertorous breath.

A couple of hours must have passed like this, and the silence was terrible. There was at times the hoarse roar of a tiger in the jungle, and the Rajah now and then muttered some words in his own tongue; otherwise there was the regular breathing of the sleeper, and the dull thud – thud, thud – thud of the prisoner’s palpitating heart.

All at once there was a sharp exclamation and an uneasy movement which sent Helen’s blood bounding through her veins.

The time of peril had arrived then; and she thrust her arms more fully through the bamboo trellis, meaning to enlace her fingers firmly, and cling there to the last.

It was a strong position which she had accidentally taken, and it now dawned upon her that it would need a tremendous effort to dislodge her from her hold.

Here, then, she clung as the uneasy movement continued, and it was not for some time that she dared turn her head to look where, to her great relief, she found that Murad had only slightly changed his position, and was still sleeping heavily.

How long would this last, she asked herself, with a shiver of fear; and then, in the reaction after the horror of a few minutes before, when she fancied her enemy was waking, she became weak – so weak that she sobbed hysterically, and almost hung from the bars of the window, for her legs refused to bear her up.

But she recovered after awhile, and feeling stronger, satisfied herself that Murad was still sleeping heavily, and then stood gazing out at the darkness of the night.

The dense foliage made it seem blacker; but here and there the rays of a star penetrated to where she was, and seemed like a promise of hope. The faint perfume of flower and leaf made the soft, moist air odorous and sweet, and there was a delicious coolness that seemed to give strength to her enervated frame.

Every now and then came the ominous cry of some wandering tiger following the narrow jungle paths, and at times there were strange, mysterious sounds, evidently arising from the forest depths, and to which she could give no name, but which sent a shudder through her frame, as she thought that ere long she might be wandering there in the darkness, running the risk of an attack from one or other of the fierce beasts that haunted these shades.

But as these thoughts crossed her mind, she glanced back at where the sleeping figure of Murad lay full in the light of the lamp, and she felt that she would sooner risk the danger to be incurred by wandering through the jungle than remain another hour beneath that roof.

It must, from the time that seemed to have elapsed, have been near morning when, as she stood there with her weary head pressed against the bamboo barn, the cry of a tiger sounded very close at hand, followed a few minutes later by a low, rustling noise, as if the creature were forcing its way through the dense undergrowth towards the house.

This ceased, and then went on again and again, till, forgetting the peril that threatened her in the room, Helen strained her eyes to try and make out the long, lithe, striped form of the advancing tiger, which appeared to be approaching with the greatest caution the window where she stood.

It was so unmistakably making for where she stood that Helen felt a chill of horror run through her, thinking that sooner or later the fierce beast would make a tremendous spring, and perhaps force its paws through between the bars and seize her as its prey.

So horrible was the impression that once more she felt fascinated, and gazed down with starting eyes, her enlaced fingers clutching more tightly, and her whole being as if under the influence of a nightmare.

Then, all at once, the rustling noise ceased, and she stood listening intently for the next approach or for the final spring.

But even if she had known that the next moment the approaching tiger would launch itself through the air and seize her with its claws, she could not have stirred, for it seemed to be her fate.

The silence was awful: so perfectly still seemed everything that the breathing of Murad grew painfully loud, and the throbbing of her own heart more pronounced.

“Is he asleep?” said a low voice just then from out of the darkness where she stood, and Helen’s heart gave a great bound; for in the voice she recognised the tones of the Malay girl, who had that evening been dragged from her side.

For a few moments the reaction was so great that Helen could hardly speak; and when at last she could master her emotion, her dread was still so great that the words would hardly come.

“Speak low!” whispered the girl; and cautiously and beneath her breath, lest their common enemy should awake, each proceeded to make known her position to the other.

By degrees Helen learned from the girl, who spoke in a bitter, half-distant way, that she had been shut up in a room by herself, and threatened with death, but that she had immediately set to work to escape, and had succeeded by climbing up, and tearing a hole through the palm thatch, forcing her way out, and sliding afterwards down the steep slope, and falling pretty heavily amongst the bushes below.

She was not much hurt, however; and after lying still for a long time to make sure that she was not heard, she had slowly forced her way through the dense undergrowth, making a long circuit so as to approach the window of the room where Helen was a prisoner without exciting attention.

“You must speak lower,” she said, “or he will wake;” and then Helen told her of the drugged wine – or, rather, of her suspicions that the wine was drugged.