One Maid's Mischief Part 86

"Hold your tongue! Don't be an idiot," growled Chumbley. "It is only a woman speaking."

"Idiot!" exclaimed the Inche Maida, who just, caught the word. "She will not have you when you do go back, for by this time she is someone's wife."

"I do not believe you!" cried Hilton, angrily.

"You may," she replied, with an angry gesture. "Now listen; I can be generous, but I can be hard as well, and I shall keep you my prisoner.

I have brought you here, and I have done with you; I reject you, I would not listen to you now if you went upon your knees to me. I could not bear it, for I should know then it was only false. I say I shall keep you here for my own safety now; but though I have cast you off, I would not have your blood upon my hands. Remember, my people are charged to watch you, and they are Malays--faithful to the death. They would have been faithful to you, my lord, but you have refused. Now listen. My orders will be obeyed, as they were when I said I wish those two English chiefs brought here unhurt. Mind this, then; any attempt at escape will end in your falling by either kris or spear. Now go."

She stood there looking very handsome and disdainful, pointing to the door, and the two officers had no alternative but to get up and walk towards the entry. Here, however, Chumbley paused, and turned back to where his imperious captor was standing with flas.h.i.+ng eyes.

"We are too old friends to quarrel," he said, good-humouredly. "Of course we shall try to escape, and we should do so if you had twice as many people to guard us. You have done a very foolish thing."

"No!" she cried. "It was my will."

"All the same a very foolish thing in bringing us here. Now, take my advice, as a friend; send us back at once."

"No!" she said, fiercely.

"Yes; for your own sake."

"No," she cried, "leave me."

"I promise you," he continued, "that I will do all I can to hush the matter up. You will be reasonable. I should not like to see so brave and good a woman come to grief."

"Go! Leave me!" she cried, fiercely. "I will not listen. I am a Malay Princess, and he has insulted and wronged me."

"Well: there," said Chumbley. "I'm going. Good-night."

He held out his broad white hand, but the Inche Maida raised hers and struck at it angrily, her palm descending in Chumbley's with a loud pat.

The young officer only smiled, bent his head, and turned to join Hilton in the other room.

As he reached the door, however, he heard a step, a hand was laid upon his arm, and a hoa.r.s.e voice whispered:

"I am sorry--I was angry--forgive."

Hilton had strode to the end of his prison, and thrown himself in a dissatisfied frame of mind upon the mats; the door had swung to, and there was a heavy curtain between, so that he did not hear what was said, nor see the hearty pressure of the hand that succeeded before Chumbley left the dining-room and joined his friend; while the Malay princess stood alone, with her hands clasped and her bosom heaving.

"I have been an idiot, and mad," she muttered to herself. "He is right; I have done wrong, but I cannot go back now; I should lose all. I do not know these Englishmen. I thought he would have been proud and glad, and now he looks down upon me, and I feel so low--so crushed--that I could kill myself with rage. Ah! why do I not know more of their ways?

I am but a poor, weak savage still, and I show my temper like a child."

She walked wearily to the window, and stood with her broad forehead leaning against the bars, and for quite an hour neither of her women dared to approach her.

"Well, old fellow, feel any better for your dinner?" said Chumbley, heartily, as he strode up to the divan.

"Dinner? No. Hang the woman; how dare she insult us like that?" chafed Hilton. "As if there were anything between Helen Perowne now and me."

"It was rather warm upon you, certainly," said Chumbley; "but she was wild, and you were not above a few bitter repartees."

"Bitter? Why, you are taking the Jezebel's part!"

"Come, come, come, don't call ugly names," said Chumbley, st.u.r.dily.

"No name is too bad for such a woman!" cried Hilton.

"Drop it, I say," cried Chumbley. "We've eaten her dinner and drunk her wine. Don't let's abuse her now."

"Why hang it, Chum, have you fallen in love with the black G.o.ddess?"

cried Hilton. "There, go and beg pardon, then; woo her, and wed her.

Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed, mockingly, without seeing the hot angry spots in his companion's cheeks. "I resign in your favour. The life would just suit you. Come: here's a chance for you to prove a good friend to me, most miserable fellow under the sun. Go and tell her you will be my hostage. You are big enough."

"And ugly enough," growled Chumbley.

"You'll soon get sunburned out here in the jungle. Hail, Rajah Chumbley! Thy servant bends the knee."

"You be blowed!" said the young officer, speaking like a schoolboy; and the tone of his voice showed so much vexation that Hilton checked his banter. "I'm going to have one pipe," said Chumbley, "and then I shall have a nap."

"Stop a minute," said Hilton. "What did she mean about Helen being another's wife?" he continued, biting at his moustache--"not that I care."

"Goodness knows, unless Murad has carried her off at the same time."

"_What_!"

"I say unless Murad has been playing the same game."

"Don't talk like that," panted Hilton. "I don't care a _sou_ for the girl now; I wouldn't marry her to save my life; I couldn't after her base treatment. But Chum, old fellow, that idea of yours is like a lance thrust through me, for I did love her, and to come to that--Oh, Heaven help her! I could not bear that."

"Oh, tus.h.!.+ tus.h.!.+" said Chumbley, sitting up once more. "Don't take any notice. An angry woman will say anything. It was only a fancy of mine.

It can't be true."

"Chum," said Hilton, in a low whisper, and his voice sounded very strange in the gathering darkness, "I beg your pardon for what I said.

I was bitter and angry."

"All right, old fellow. It's all gone."

"Then listen. Can we get away to-night?"

"No. Why?"

"I feel as if I couldn't stop here after what you said. I tell you I hate Helen Perowne now devoutly, but I'd go through fire and water to save her from that black scoundrel. Why did you think such a thing?"

"I don't know; it came into my head. It appeared possible. We were spirited off, and it seemed so easy for Murad to carry her off in the same way. I suppose what the Princess said set me thinking."

"If she is in his power," began Hilton--"Oh, it is not possible! She led him on so, too. That foolish love of admiration!"

"That's the right term, Bertie. She never cared for you any more than she did for me."

"No," said Hilton, bitterly, "I believe you are right; but I was such a vain, conceited idiot, I thought myself far above you all. Chumbley, do you believe what you said?"