More long weary days of stifling heat, without a breath of air to
relieve the oppression, and more hot suffocating nights, during which,
half wild with terror and despair, Helen, like some newly-captured bird,
had beaten the bars of her prison in vain.
She had appealed to the Malay girl, but only for her to turn away and
seem at last weary and troubled by the importunity she had received.
Then she had appealed to the second girl, who was of a morose jealous
aspect, and who evidently detested her. But all appeal here was vain,
for the girl evidently did not understand her words, and turned sullenly
away. It was so, too, with the rest of the women, who came to the door
and just entered the room in obedience to some call.
But Helen might as well have appealed to the trees that stood tall and
columnar just outside the prison window. Those who did not understand
her words looked at her with a heavy scowl; while those who could
comprehend laughed, or made her keep away from them, for they disliked
her coming, and their eyes plainly told the hatred that there was in
their hearts. Beside which, they knew the punishment that would fall to
their lot should they go in opposition to their lord's orders, and the
danger was too great to tempt the most willing of them to run any risks.
The girl who had been most gentle to her, and who had not scrupled to
talk freely about her own affairs, now seemed to keep aloof; and feeling
more and more her helplessness, Helen awoke to the fact that if she were
to escape from her present durance it must be by her own effort.
In this spirit she tried to restrain herself, and waited patiently for
some opportunity for communicating with her friends; though when this
opportunity would come she was obliged to confess was doubtful in the
extreme.
Naturally enough her thoughts turned to writing, and feeling the folly
of applying in a place like her prison for pens and paper, she set
herself to contrive some means upon which she could describe her
position, finding it at last in the form of a book, one of whose
fly-leaves she covered with a pitiful appeal to any Englishman who would
read it, and imploring help. This she kept by her, ready to send should
opportunity occur, and still the dreary days glided by.
There was one redeeming point, though, in her captivity, and that was
the fact that so far she had not been troubled by a visit from Murad;
but at last one morning, when the fresh beauty of the scene outside her
window and the elasticity of the brisk air made her feel more cheerful
than of old, she awoke to the fact that there was a little stir about
the place; the women calling to each other and seeming busier than was
their wont. The two girls who acted as Helen's gaolers ran to the glass
as soon as they entered, and with all the coquetry of some London belle
in her first season, placed wreaths of white flowers in their braids,
twisted their sarongs into more graceful folds, and then turned their
attention to Helen.
She refused to allow them to approach her at first, but her resistance
was useless, and finding that without violence there were no means of
overcoming their tolerably good-humoured pertinacity, she submitted,
wearily telling them to do what they pleased, when one, the most
friendly, insisted upon taking down her magnificent hair.
"Only to make it more beautiful," she said.
At this moment the other woman left the room.
"Will you help me to escape?" said Helen, quickly, as soon as they were
alone.
"No; I dare not. Murad would have me killed."
"Then will you send this paper by a messenger down to the station?"
"Paper?" said the girl, wonderingly.
"Yes, paper. I have written for help; send it by a messenger. Here are
my rings and watch to pay him for going. Take them, and if you have any
womanly feeling, help me now."
"I cannot; I dare not," whispered the woman; but Helen forced paper and
trinkets into her hand, just as the second attendant was heard coming,
when her companion burst out into one of the minor songs of the country,
and busied herself with her task.
Helen's heart gave one great throb of hope, and raising her eyes to
those of her attendant, she read there that her message would be sent.
The second woman brought in a bunch of what seemed to be a kind of waxy
yellow jasmine of an extremely powerful odour. These she proceeded to
twine in and amongst Helen's magnificent dark hair; and when the
prisoner shudderingly attempted to resist, feeling as she did that she
was being decked out for, as it were, a sacrifice, the flower-bearer
stormed at her angrily in the Malay tongue, and seemed to threaten her
with some severe punishment if she persisted in tearing them out.
"It would be childish to keep on opposing them," thought Helen, whose
spirits were lighter now that she had found some means, as she hoped, of
communicating with the station; and she resigned herself to her
attendant's clever hands.
As she sat back, listening languidly to the whistling, chattering noise
of the parroquets that swarmed in the jungle, she felt a pang shoot
through her, for very faintly heard there was a sound familiar to her
ear--a sound that she had frequently listened to at her open window at
the station. It was the plashing of oars coming from a distance, and
she felt that at last the Rajah was approaching the place, to see his
prisoner.
Helen's teeth gritted together as she set them hard, calling upon
herself for all her fortitude and strength of mind for what she knew
must be a terrible ordeal.
The scene at home on that morning when Murad had come to propose for her
hand came back most vividly, and for the moment she trembled as she
realised the evil she had done.
She recovered herself though somewhat, and striving hard to be prepared
for what was to come, sat listening and wondering whether Murad really
was close at hand.
She had not long to wait in indecision, and she knew that her hearing
had not played her false, for the two girls had heard the same sound,
and running to the window, stood listening as the plash of oars now came
nearer and nearer.
Then the sounds ceased, and there was to Helen a painful silence. The
heat grew oppressive, and the leaves hung motionless in the glowing air.
For the moment it seemed like one of the oppressive July days in her
old school; but the fancy was gone directly after, and the horrors of
her position came back so strongly that she could hardly refrain from
running wildly about the room and crying for help.
Just then the two girls left the window, and crossed to where Helen was
seated, darting at her, as it seemed in her then excited condition,
furious and angrily envious looks before turning now to the doorway,
passing through, and letting the great curtain fall behind.
As Helen waited her heart began to beat violently, for there was no
mistaking the import of the sounds she heard. So far they had been
women's voices, now unmistakably they were men's; and growing more and
more agitated, and ready to start at every sound, she sat waiting for
the interview that she knew must come.
To her surprise the day glided on till the afternoon was well advanced,
and still, beyond the occasional sound of male voices, there was nothing
to distinguish between this day and any other, save that once, when left
alone together, the Malay girl whispered to her:
"I have sent a messenger with your paper, but he may never take it where
you wish."
Before Helen could declare her thankfulness the girl was gone, giving
place to the other, who looked at her morosely, and then stood leaning
by the door till a loud voice called her, and she answered, going out
quickly, while Helen sat trembling and pressing her hand upon her
palpitating heart.
Could it be true? and if true, were there not attendants waiting to
guard the entrance, for unmistakably it seemed that the Malay girl had
hurried to obey the call and left the door open.
Helen rose, and walked with tottering step to the door, to find that not
only was it open, but that there was no one in the room beyond--a room
whose door opened straight upon a kind of bamboo veranda, with a flight
of steps down to the ground; while beyond that was a clearing, and then
the jungle.
She paused for a minute listening. There was not a sound but the loud
whistling and chattering of the birds in the trees. The place might
have been deserted, everything was so still; and it did not occur to her
that this was a time when many of the people would be asleep till the
heat of the day was past.
It was enough for her that the way to freedom was there; and hesitating
no longer, she passed out into the farther room, reached the door
unseen, and was in the act of descending the flight of steps, when one
of the Malay women of the place saw and ran at her, catching her by the
dress and arm, and holding her so tenaciously, that Helen, in her
anguish at being thus checked, uttered a cry for help, escaped her
retainer, and then leaped down and ran.
The Malay woman was joined by another now; and in her excitement and
ignorance of which way to go, she was driven into a corner, but only to
make a brave dash for liberty as the girls caught and held her again.
In her excitement Helen cried again and again for help, forgetful of the
fact that she was more likely to summon enemies than friends.
The cries of a woman had little effect there, for beyond bringing out a
couple more of the Malay women, Helen's appeals for help seemed to
create no excitement; and she was beginning to feel that her efforts
would prove in vain, when she saw a figure come from amongst the trees,
and stretching out her hands towards it, she made one last effort to
reach what she had looked upon as safety.
For there could be no mistaking that figure. It was the chaplain. At
the moment it seemed to her that Arthur Rosebury had been sent there
expressly to save her from her terrible position; and half-fainting,
panting, and thoroughly exhausted, she tottered on, tripped, and fell.
The effort to escape was vain, for a couple of Malay women seized
Helen's arms and dragged her off, followed by the chaplain, but not for
many yards. Before he had gone far he too was seized, and hurried back
in the way by which he had come. It was vain to struggle, and he had to
resign himself, but it was with feelings mingled with indignation and
disgust.
The Malay lady was evidently of superior station by her dress; and that
she was ill-used there could be no doubt. His English blood glowed at
the thought, and clergyman though he was, and man of peace, he still
felt enough spirit to be ready to have undertaken her defence.
He cooled down, though, as he was hurried back through the jungle--
cooled in temper, but heated in body; while the faintness and hunger
soon increased to such an extent that his adventure with the Malay lady
was forgotten.
But not by Helen Perowne, who, once more shut up in her room, rejoiced
to think that, though surrounded by enemies, there was one friend near--
a true friend whom she could trust--one who would be ready to do
anything for her sake, badly as she had behaved to him.
"He cannot be far away," she said, half aloud, and with the hysterical
sobs in her throat. "He is near, and there must be friends with him.
He saw me, and he will not lose a minute without bringing help; and
then--"
And then she stopped as if paralysed, for the thought came upon her with
a flash that, though the Reverend Arthur Rosebury had seen her, he had
only gazed upon a tall, swarthy Malay woman, in whom he could not
possibly have recognised Helen Perowne.