The awakening of the Reverend Arthur Rosebury was not very much unlike
that of the other prisoners. He, too, seemed to have been carried a
long distance blindfolded, both in boat and litter; and it all appeared
like a continuation of the dream in which he had been plunged since he
first met Helen Perowne.
The hours he had spent in her company; the giving up of his little
English home; his journey abroad; and his wild Eastern life, had all
seemed dreamlike and strange; and it was quite, to his mind, in keeping
therewith, that he should have been seized, blindfolded, and carried off
by slaves for some reason or another; probably, he argued, because a
rival was jealous of the favour in which he stood with Helen, who had
only that night appointed him her special personal attendant.
It was all quite consistent with Eastern life and romance, and did not
strike him as being at all peculiar, for the fact remains that, while
the Reverend Arthur Rosebury was exceedingly clever as a student, and
quite a master in his own particular subjects, he was weak as water in
worldly matters; and, as his sister too well knew, in many things little
better than a child. Add to this that the Reverend Arthur was, for the
first time in his life, and at middle age, hopelessly infatuated with
Helen, and it is not surprising that his weakness was extreme.
It was all, then, to him a matter of no wonderment, and he would have
taken his position coolly enough had he been satisfied that Helen was
not in danger. But of this he could not feel assured; and he was
troubled in his dull, mild way accordingly. For love blinded him
effectually to all Helen's failings. She was beautiful, and she had
looked kindly, almost lovingly upon him, more than once, and those
tender looks redeemed all else. She flirted, she coquetted with others;
she treated him with marked indifference and contempt; but she had made
him love her, and he was one of those who, without reward, would go on
patiently loving until the end.
He was a good deal troubled, then, in his own mind about Helen's fate,
for he had seen that she was, like him, seized; but in the confusion
that followed, what afterwards took place he could not tell.
When he was able to think a little more clearly, he began to ask himself
what he should do to help his companion in distress; and of course,
ignorant of the fact that he might prove in his humble way a greater
safeguard than either of her other admirers, there he stuck fast. What
was he to do to help Helen?
No answer came to this question, so there he paused, meditating hour
after hour, until he found himself unbound, and free to gaze about him
in a pleasant-looking room, whose window opened upon a fairly-kept
garden, full of such a profusion of strange and beautiful plants,
shining in the heavy morning dew, that, as the Rev Arthur Rosebury
rested his forehead against the bamboo bars, and looked out, he forgot
his present troubles in the glories of a rich botanic feast.
He was interrupted by a hand touching him on the shoulder; and turning,
he found a couple of tall, well-armed Malays standing at his side, one
of whom pointed to a breakfast arranged upon a clean mat upon the floor,
and signed to him that he should eat.
The Reverend Arthur sighed, paused, and asked where was Miss Perowne;
receiving for answer a shake of the head, and a fresh intimation that he
should eat.
This, after a moment's hesitation, he sat down and began to do,
evidently in a very abstracted mood.
At the end of a minute he rose, beckoned to one of his guards, led him
to the window, and pointing out through the open bars to a very
beautiful form of convolvulus he took out his penknife, opened it, and
placed it in the Malay's hand, signing to him that he should go out and
cut one of the long twining strands.
The man looked at him in a puzzled manner for a few moments, but ended
by comprehending; and after saying a few words to his companion, he went
out and came round to the window where the Reverend Arthur was watching,
and ready to point to the plant, a portion of which the Malay cut, and
also a spray of a large jasmine, and brought in.
The prisoner took the plants and his knife, and sat down crosslegged to
his breakfast, which became a prolonged meal, full of enjoyment; for
between every two mouthfuls there was a long pause, and sections had to
be made of the flowers and seed vessels, while notes were made in the
notebook the chaplain always carried in his breast-pocket.
Altogether that was a very pleasant meal; and the two Malay guards
stared to see how calm and contented their prisoner seemed to be.
Then came a period of depression, during which the chaplain questioned
the Malays, making use of all the words that he had studied up during
the voyage and since his stay; but they either could not or would not
give him any information respecting the object of his inquiry; and he
walked dreamily to the window, and stood gazing out once more.
Whatever might be his troubles or perplexities, it was impossible for
the Reverend Arthur Rosebury to gaze at the beauties of nature in a
botanical form without forgetting the perturbations of his spirit; and
consequently he had not been looking out at the wonderful collection of
plants, for the most part strange to him, many minutes, before he was
signing to the Malay guard to cut him a fresh specimen.
This the man readily did; and with intervals for meals and fits of
despondency at not being able to help Helen Perowne, the Reverend Arthur
Rosebury passed his first day in prison.
The next was very similar, for he was treated with the greatest of
kindness and consideration, except that he could obtain no information
whatever respecting his detention or his fellow-captive.
On the third day, upon signifying a desire to have another specimen of
the plants in the garden, the guard handed to him one of the little
woven caps worn by the Malays, signed to him to put it on as he had not
his own hat, led him out through a doorway into the garden, and then
said, in fair English:
"You may walk and pick flowers. If you run away you will be killed."
The chaplain stared at the man, and asked him some other questions, but
the Malay guard pointed to the flowers, waved his hand over the garden
as if to say, "You are free to walk here;" and seating himself upon a
stump, he took out his betel-box, extracted a sirih leaf, smeared it
with coral-lime mixed into a cream, rolled a piece of nut therein, and
placing the preparation in his mouth, he began to chew it calmly without
seeming to heed his prisoner, though he was watchfully observant of him
the whole time.
Helen Perowne was entirely forgotten for the space of three hours,
during which the chaplain dreamily revelled in the beauties of the
wonderful flowers of that Eastern land. He had no thought outside the
present, and in a kind of ecstasy he wandered here and there till, truth
to tell, he began to feel hungry, and hunger made him look up at the
long, low, palm-thatched building that was his prison.
Hunger made him also, for some occult reason, begin to think of Helen,
and he found himself wondering whether she was confined anywhere near
him, and if so, could he make known his presence by any means.
Just then, seeing him gazing hard at the house, the Malay rose from his
seat, where he had remained patiently the whole time, and pointing to
the open door, the chaplain went in laden with flowers sufficient to
occupy him in making scientific notes for the rest of the day.