Helen Perowne's great horror in her situation of captive was the coming
night. The day had been more bearable, as in the comparative coolness
of the shaded room with its open windows she had felt the influence of
the quietude and calm of the forest at which she gazed. Her mind was
tortured by surmises and wonder as to whether her friends would not soon
arrive to rescue her, while at every sound she started in fear of seeing
her suspicion fully verified; but still she had bravely grown more
composed and rested. She was among women, watched by women, and sooner
or later she felt sure that someone from the station would arrive in
pursuit.
For it was monstrous to suppose that such a crime as the seizure of an
English lady would be allowed to pass without swift retribution.
This idea comforted her, and in her more hopeful moments she wondered
who would first come to her aid--whether it would be Mr Harley, Hilton,
or her father. One of them, well backed by the soldiers, she told
herself, would certainly be there ere long; but darkness began to fall.
Nobody had been to her help, and shivering with dread, she watched the
darkening of the shadows amongst the broad palm leaves, and alternated
this with shuddering glances at the door, whose curtain now began to
look black and funereal, and added to her dread.
Just at dark a couple of women entered, bearing various dishes for her
evening meal; but the sight of food was repugnant to her, and the wine
she dared not taste.
Her two attendants were, however, less scrupulous, and they ate and
drank heartily, even to finishing the luscious fruit, of which there was
a large dish, and whose juice would have been most welcome to Helen's
parched and fevered lips.
At last, though, the remains of the meal were taken away; and after
chatting together for some time by the open window, through which the
moon shone, and from where Helen sat, turning the two girls into
weird-looking silhouettes, they yawned, spoke sleepily, and ended by
pointing to the couch the prisoner was to occupy, throwing themselves
upon another, and apparently soon falling into a heavy sleep.
Helen lay resting upon her elbow, watching the darkened portion of the
great room where her companions lay, and then letting her eyes rest upon
the dimly-seen draped door, whose curtain seemed more than once to move,
as if being drawn aside.
Watching this till her eyes felt strained, and seeing nothing more, she
turned her gaze to the barred window, through which the last rays of the
moon were streaming previous to its disappearing behind the dense belt
of forest trees. Lower it sank and lower, till the room was in total
darkness; and at last, moved by the desire to try and escape from her
captivity, Helen rose with her heart throbbing violently, to try in a
fearsome hopeless way whether she could not get out of the room, having
afterwards some ill-defined idea in her mind that she might, if once
clear of the prison where she then was, find her way to some native
campong, whose inhabitants would give her shelter, and perhaps take her
down the river in their boat to where more certain help might be
secured.
It took some time to make up her mind to move, but when she had shaken
off her dread and risen softly to her feet, hardly had she gone a yard,
when one of the bamboos forming the floor gave a loud creak, and almost
before she could realise the fact, the two girls had sprung up, seized
her arms, and tenderly but firmly forced her back to her couch.
Helen lay there panting with indignation at the treatment she was
receiving, but trying to contain herself, for she felt that any attempt
at force would only be to her own injury, and that if she were to escape
it must be by some subtle turn. So she lay there perfectly still for
quite an hour before making any further attempt to reach the door, this
time with as light a step as she could assume.
But though the moment before her companions seemed to be sleeping
heavily, her slightest movement made them start up; and after several
attempts to escape their watchfulness, one of them took her hand,
grasped it firmly, and lay down to sleep by her side.
How that long, stifling night passed Helen Perowne could never
afterwards tell; but towards morning she fell into a broken, troubled
sleep, from which she awoke to find that the sun was very high, and that
the two Malay girls were waiting to act as her tirewomen once again.
She still felt too weak to offer resistance to their acts, and she sat
up and allowed them to bathe her face with a delicately-tinted,
sweet-scented water, which, with a good deal of merry laughter, they
liberally applied. It was cool and refreshing to her fevered cheeks and
hands; and seeing that she liked it they kept up the bathing for some
little time, chattering to her the while in their own language, which
they supplemented now and then with a few words of English.
When this was over at last, and she had dried herself with the perfumed
towels they brought, Helen started on finding that a portion of her own
clothing had been removed, and that the Malay girls had substituted a
couple of gay silken sarongs and a filmy scarf.
She appealed to them to return her own dress, but they only laughed and
began to praise the gay colour of the sarongs, playfully throwing them
round her to show how well they looked, and then clapping their hands
and uttering cries indicative of their admiration of the effect.
Still Helen refused to accept the change, and after trying angry
remonstrance, one of the girls ran out, to return directly with a couple
of stern-looking, richly-dressed Malay women, who frowningly threatened
the miserable girl with the indignity of force.
Still she refused; and clapping her hands, the elder of the two women
opened the door for the admission of half a dozen slaves, when, feeling
that resistance was vain, Helen signed that she would submit, and with
drooping head and throbbing brow allowed her two attendants to drape her
as they wished.
This over, breakfast was placed before her, and exhausted nature forced
her to partake of the food with a better appetite.
"I shall need my strength," she said to herself; and she ate and drank,
but started at every movement outside the room as she waited the coming
of those who would set her free.
"Hilton, in spite of what has passed, will not rest until he has found
me--poor fellow!"
She said these last two words with a mingling of contempt and pity in
her voice; though had he presented himself then, she would have thrown
herself gladly in his arms.
But there was no token of approaching relief. The voices of many women
could be heard coming and going about what was apparently a large native
house; and the prisoner could not avoid a shudder as from time to time
she thought of who must be the owner of the place.
The morning was giving way to the heats of noon, and languid and
heart-sick Helen was lying back upon one of the couches, thinking of the
happy days of the past, and trying to piece together the broken,
incoherent facts connected with her seizure, and wondering whether Murad
were the real cause, when the two Malay girls who had left her for a few
moments returned, bearing a handful of wreaths of a beautiful fresh
white jasmine, which they insisted upon placing in her thick, dark hair.
Helen resisted this trifling for a time, but despair had tamed her
spirit; and after a few feeble attempts to stay her persecutors, she sat
like a statue, asking herself, with her eyes fixed upon the gay sarong
she wore, whether this was the Helen of the past--and what was to be the
end.
The two girls placed the lovely white flowers in her hair, laughing with
delight, and clapping their hands as they drew back to gaze at their
work; after which one of them went off to fetch a common hand-glass of
European make, and held it before her face that she might, as they said,
"see how beautiful they had made her now."
Helen was too sick of heart and weary to do more than cast a cursory
glance at the glass; but this was followed by another, and then she
uttered an anguished cry, shrinking back and cowering down as if with
dread as she covered her face with her hands.
Fair Helen was fair no longer. Her face was as swarthy as that of the
darkest Malay.