One Maid's Mischief Part 39

"No; don't you drink," he said, in a low voice.

"Then you do believe there is danger?" she said, excitedly.

"I do and I do not," he replied, in the same low tone. "There," he said, tossing off the contents of the cup, which was filled with a delicious liqueur, "I don't think so now; but I would not drink if I were you."

As the words left his lips, Grey Stuart raised the little cup to her mouth, slowly drained it, and set it down.

Chumbley's brow contracted, but he could not help admiring the girl's firmness.

"Do you like my wine?" said a voice then, and the lieutenant started on finding that the Princess had been narrowly watching them.

"Yes, it is delicious," he said, smiling.

"I drink to you, as you English do," she said, taking a cup from the same tray as that which had borne those of Chumbley and Grey Stuart. "I drink to your health--you two," she said again, and she seemed to drain the cup. "Do you not think it good?" she said, in a low voice, and with a singularly impressive smile. "Surely you do not think I would give poison to my friends."

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

AFTER THE FEAST.

The Inche Maida turned her head just then in reply to some remark made by Captain Hilton, and Chumbley took advantage thereof to whisper to his companion:

"The Princess must have understood what we said. How provoking that I should have uttered such a foolish remark! Why, I quite frightened you!"

"I was a little alarmed," faltered Grey, who seemed agitated. "It sounded so very dreadful, Mr Chumbley," she added, after a pause. "You have always been so kind and gentlemanly to me, may I ask a favour?"

"To be sure," he replied.

She paused again, and he saw that she was growing more agitated, and that she could hardly speak.

"I want you to promise me--"

Here she stopped again, and looked piteously in his face, her lips refusing to frame the words she wished to say.

"You wish me to promise never to take notice of the secret you betrayed just now, Miss Stuart?"

She nodded quickly, and her eyes sought his in a pleading way that set him thinking of what her feelings must be for Hilton.

"Give me the credit of being a gentleman, Miss Stuart," he said, at last, quietly.

"I do--I do!" she said, eagerly. "Indeed I do, Mr Chumbley!"

"I am an old friend of Captain Hilton. We knew one another when we were quite lads, and I exchanged into this regiment so that we might be together. He's a very good fellow, is Hilton, although he has grown so hot-headed and liable to make mistakes. I like him for many reasons, and I can't tell you how glad I am to have learned what I have to-day."

"Pray say no more, Mr Chumbley," said Grey, with a troubled look.

"But I shall say more, even at the risk of being considered rude,"

continued Chumbley. "He is making a great mistake, just as a great many more men have made the same blunder."

Grey tried to speak, but the words would not come.

"He'll wake up some day," continued Chumbley. "At present his eyes are dazzled."

"Mr Chumbley!" said Grey, in a low, earnest, appealing tone.

She only uttered the young officer's name, but the way in which it was spoken sufficed, and he bowed his head in answer, and for the next few minutes neither spoke.

"Miss Stuart, you may trust me," he said, at last.

"I do, Mr Chumbley," she replied, and a conscious feeling of pride and satisfaction thrilled the young soldier, as he looked in the frank grey eyes.

The conversation went buzzing on all around, n.o.body seeming to notice him; and Chumbley began to commune with himself as he gazed straight before him now.

"She's taken with Hilton," he said. "There's no mistake about it. Now, why didn't the little maid take a fancy to me? She's very nice--very nice indeed; and I think she would be as earnest and truthful as a woman could be. Isn't my luck, though--no, not my luck.

"By Jove, what an idiot that Hilton is," he continued, as he glanced at the young officer, who did not seem to be aware of the fact that anyone was present but Helen, whose every look and gesture were watched with rapt attention; while from time to time she seemed to rouse herself from her languid indifferent way, and repay him with a smile.

It was rather a curious scene, and as she recovered from the agitation consequent upon her little encounter with Chumbley, Grey Stuart read a good deal of what was going on around.

It seemed to her that Helen Perowne, whom she had promised their old instructresses to befriend and aid, was the princ.i.p.al object of attraction to all. She felt no jealousy on this account, only a curious sense of trouble. Her affection for Helen was as great as ever, but always there seemed to be a gathering cloud of trouble right ahead, and in an undefined way this seemed to gather and threaten them both.

Sometimes her eyes fell upon little Mrs Bolter, who appeared far from enjoying the day, but to be ready at any moment to go in quest of the doctor, who kept leaving his seat to chat with someone at another part.

There was always a smile for Grey though, whenever Mrs Bolter caught her eye, and the exchange of glances seemed to comfort the little lady for the time.

The next minute Grey would see that the Rajah was looking in Helen's direction, and she trembled at the idea of further trouble arising; but the Malay's thoughts were hidden beneath a set smile, which did duty on all occasions now, and was bestowed upon Helen, upon the Princess, Mrs Bolter, even upon the watcher in turn.

Then, as she saw how impressive were Captain Hilton's attentions, Grey sighed softly, and in remembrance of what had been said at Mayleyfield, she told herself that perhaps the best thing that could happen to Helen would be for her to become the young officer's wife.

Just then Chumbley turned to her, and as if their conversation had had no pause--

"Let me add this," he continued, "Hilton is one of the best fellows that ever breathed, only he has gone a little wild over this affair."

"Pray say no more, Mr Chumbley," pleaded Grey.

"Why not?" said the other, quietly. "I thought we were to be friends, Miss Stuart. Do you know I'm going to risk your displeasure by saying a word on my friend's behalf?"

Grey tried to speak--to recover her usual calm self-possession, but her words would not come.

"This is all nonsense, you know," continued Chumbley, "and I don't know that I blame Hilton much. It's only natural, you know, and the poor fellow's only like everyone else. They all get caught by the beauty just the same as I was. You're not a man, you know, so you can't understand it. Now, for instance, take me. I'm a great big fellow--a sort of a small giant in my way--strong as a horse. I could take that Rajah up by his neck and one leg, and pitch him out of window; but when Helen Perowne came here, and gave me one of her looks, I was done, and she led me about just as she pleased. Ah! there's a very comic side to it all."

"But you soon broke your silken string, Mr Chumbley," said Grey, trying to speak in his own bantering tone.

"Not really," he said confidentially. "The fact is, she broke it. I couldn't have got away if I had not seen that she was only playing with me. It was she who broke it by beginning to lead others on. I say, Miss Stuart, what awful old women your schoolmistresses must have been!"

"Awful old women?" exclaimed Grey. "Yes, to bring up Miss Perowne as such--a man-killer."