The place was very still once more as Helen sat thinking, with her two
attendants idling by the window. She had heard the sound of oars, and
there had been men's voices, but nothing more.
She was angry with herself for the ill success of her attempt to escape;
but by degrees she calmed down, and her excitement passed off, for there
was something inexpressibly comforting in the knowledge that the
chaplain was not far away. She succeeded so well at last in recovering
her equanimity that she told herself she was ready to crush Murad with
the outburst of righteous indignation that would flow from her lips.
There was a calm, dreamy feeling about the place now, and her attendants
seemed half asleep. It was intensely hot, and the birds and insects had
ceased their whistlings and busy hum. So quiet did it seem in the late
afternoon that everything might have been supposed asleep, when once
more the sound of voices sent a thrill through Helen, and she began to
tremble and feel weak once more, till suddenly there was one voice heard
above the others, giving orders, and this voice sent a thrill through
her--not of dread, but of anger.
She drew herself up, for the time had come, and, like one who has been
for weeks dreading some painful scene, shrinking within herself, but
grows brave and ready at the last moment when she is face to face with
the difficulty, so Helen Perowne suddenly felt herself firm and ready
for the encounter she had to endure.
It was Murad's voice undoubtedly, giving orders in a sharp, commanding
way; and though he spoke in the Malay tongue, she readily recognised the
tones that had been used at the station, when he had hung over her
ottoman, softened his words to the occasion, and then gazed at her with
love-softened eyes.
"Idiot! idiot! weak coquette that I was!" she cried to herself. "Had I
no more sense than to lead this savage on for the sake of gaining a
little more adoration. Oh! father, it was a curse you gave me, and not
a blessing, in those handsome features that all people praised."
The weak tears rose to her eyes, and it was only by an effort that she
kept them back, clenching her teeth and fingers, and striving to be
firm.
"It is too late now," she muttered then. "Oh! Grey Stuart, would to
Heaven that you were here!"
Then, with forced composure upon her face and her heart palpitating
wildly, she took up one of the Chinese fans that lay by her ottoman, and
sat listening as she plainly heard steps ascending the broad ladder to
the platform. Then, with her heart beating in unison to the footsteps
that came across the adjoining room, she waited till the door was thrown
open; the great curtain was hastily drawn aside by the two Malay
attendants, who both stood with head reverently bowed and eyes cast
down, as if they dared not gaze upon their lord, while Murad entered
with a quick imperious step, and stood there, in his semi-European
costume.
He gazed sharply from one to the other for a moment or two, and then
made an imperious gesture, signing to the two girls to leave the room.
Helen did not move, but sat with her head raised, her eyelids drooped,
but watchfully noting everything that went on. She forced down her
terrible emotion, and moment by moment gained greater command over
herself.
The two girls looked up at their lord appealingly for a moment, but
there was so fierce a look directed at them that they crossed their
hands deprecatingly upon their breasts, bent their heads, and with their
eyes upon the bamboo flooring, passed slowly out.
The time had come. Helen had determined to be brave and to resume her
mastery over this savage prince; but in spite of her efforts to be calm,
her timid woman's nature prevailed, and found vent in a quick, short
command to the girls.
"No, no," she cried. "Stay!"
But as she uttered her order they were passing through, the door shut
heavily behind them, and the Rajah let the heavy curtain fall back in
its place.
Then she felt that she was alone indeed, and for a moment her head swam
as she gazed through her long dark lashes at the daring Malay who was
the author of this outrage and its cruel sequence.
He was still by the door, standing erect and proud, his head drawn back,
one hand resting upon the hilt of his kris, and a mocking smile of
triumph upon his face, as if he were rejoicing at the success of his
plans.
"You do not rise to welcome me," he whispered softly. "Are you angry
because I have been so long away?"
She did not answer, but nerved herself more and more, and to her great
joy she felt that it was anger rather than fear that now filled her
breast, though she told herself that perhaps diplomacy might be more
successful than threats.
"It is because I have stayed so long," he said, half mockingly; and
then, speaking once more in his low, passionate tones--the tones Helen
had thought so musical in the drawing-room of their home at the
station--he whispered:
"I could not have hoped for so great a change. You are a thousand times
more beautiful than you were before."
Helen essayed to speak, but her emotion choked her utterance; and always
watchful of his slightest movement, she still sat with her eyelids
drooping, and he went on in excellent English, but with the metaphorical
imagery so loved of Eastern people:
"Always beautiful; but now, robed as a princess of my nation, decked
with Malayan flowers, your white skin softened to the sun-kissed nature
of a beauty of our land, you shine before me like some star."
Still she remained silent, and he went on: "They have done their work
well, and could you but see your beauty with these eyes of mine, you
would not wonder that I should have thought the hours weary that kept me
from your side. Helen--beautiful Helen, you used not to hide those eyes
from mine. Look up; let me see them once again. We are alone here now.
No prying creatures of your English people can see us. I have prayed
to Allah that this hour might come, and now that I am here, humble--thy
very slave--where is thy look of welcome--where is the tender look? For
in thy maiden coyness say what thou wilt; but let thine eyes speak to me
of love as they used so often at thy English home."
"How dare you!" she cried, finding words at last; "how dare you insult
me by such a speech!" and she rose imperiously from her seat. "How dare
you have me dragged from my home like this, and submitted by your orders
to this disgraceful treatment, to make me look like one of your degraded
race?"
"If my race be degraded," he said, quietly, "I try to elevate it by
choosing you."
"I desire--I insist, sir, that you have me taken to my father now--at
once."
The Rajah smiled, and crossed his arms over his breast.
"Let me think," he said. "Take you back? No; I could not take you back
save as my wife. Your English people would have me shot."
"You were my father's guest, sir," continued Helen. "You were admitted
to his house as friend, and you have behaved to him with the basest
treachery. See! Look at me! It was by your orders I was disfigured
thus!"
"Treachery!" he said, quietly. "No, there was no treachery, when I came
as a prince and rajah, and said to the English merchant, `I love your
daughter: I will stoop and make her my wife.'"
"Stoop!" cried Helen, with a flash of her beautiful eyes.
"Yes," he said, "stoop! She has confessed her love!"
"It is false!" cried Helen.
"Not with words, but with her fierce dark eyes," he continued. "`I
shall offend my people, but what of that? Love is all-powerful. I will
dismiss all my wives, and she shall reign alone.' I went and said all
that, as an English gentleman would have asked your hand, and what
followed?"
Helen's eyes were fixed upon him sternly, and her heart condemned her,
but she did not speak.
"I was treated with contempt and insult! I--I, Prince and Rajah here,
was shown that I, who had stooped to love a woman of an infidel race,
had been mocked and played with by the beautiful English maiden; and at
that moment, Helen, had I seen you, I should have killed you with my
kris, and then, in my mad rage, I would have done as my people do--run
headlong here and there, killing and slaying as I went, my bare kris
dripping with the blood I spilt--running _amok_, my people call it--and
killing till they slew me where I ran. I, as a Malay, should have done
all this. It is the custom among my people; but your English ways
prevailed. I had learned English, and I, as a Prince, after my first
wild rage was past, said that I must wait--be patient--and that the time
would come when my revenge could be had. I waited patiently--and waited
longer, to see if the lady would be kind and gentle to me once again;
but she would not while she was among her people; so I said I would
bring her amongst mine, where she would soon learn to be gentle and as
kind as she was of old."
"Coward!" she cried, fiercely.
"I knew you would say that," he replied, mockingly. "I knew that you
would assume to be very angry. You coquettes, as you English people
call them, always do; and then, when all your angry, cruel things are
said, you become tender, and gentle, and sweet. I do not mind."
Helen stamped her foot with impotent rage, as she felt how justly she
had been appraised by this half-savage prince; but she could find no
words in reply.
"Your people thought me contented, and that peace was made," he said,
laughing. "I know all. There was a terrible state of fright at first,
when you refused my hand. I know all, you see. Your people armed
themselves and kept watch. `The people of Murad will attack us, and
take revenge,' you said, `and we shall be all crushed;' and so you armed
yourselves. Then you all feared to go to the _fete_ lest there should
be treachery, and I was watched; but they did not know my ways. I meant
to have revenge; but what good would the blood of all your people be to
me? That was not the revenge I wanted. I could wait, and I have waited
with the result you see. There, is that good English? Do you
understand these my words well?"
Helen did not answer, but stood there proud and defiant, though her
heart quailed as she listened, and thought of the patient way in which
this man had waited his time.
"I have had patience," he said, with a calm smile of superiority, which
changed, to her horror, to one of earnestness, almost of appeal.
"You do not speak," he continued. "Must I say more--must I tell you how
I loved you with all my soul! You made me love you, and were not
content until I did. You led me on; you smiled at me, and lured me to
your side. Your eyes told me you delighted in the passion you had
roused, and you seemed to triumph in making me your slave. Then I asked
you to be my wife, and I was cast aside, thrown off to make room for
another, and I awoke from my dream to find that I had only been a
plaything of your mocking hour. I was only a Malay--a black as your
people call me in their contempt--and your father and all your people
laughed at my pretensions to an English lady's hand. You all told me by
your looks and treatment that I was presuming on the kindness I had
received; but do you think that, though I bent to it then, as if you and
yours were right, that I, an Eastern Prince, would bear this treatment
at your hands? No; I planted my revenge at once, like some tiny seed,
and since have watched it grow hour by hour till it was time to cut it
down ripe and ready to my hand."
"Do you hear my words, sir?" said Helen, contemptuously. "I order you
to take me back."
"The slave orders her master to take her back," said Murad, quietly.
"You English think you have power over all."
"How dare you call me slave!" she cried.
"I call you what you are," he said, calmly; "my wife if you will; if
not, one of my lowest slaves. I was your slave once, and would have
been to the end. Now you are mine."
Helen shivered, but she mastered her fear, and exclaimed:
"Have you reckoned what your punishment will be for this? Do you
suppose my people will let this pass?"
"I have weighed all," he said, coolly. "But let me talk, for I have
much to say yet; I find relief in speaking of it all. Did you think
that I was going to submit without resentment to the insult you had put
upon me? Oh, no! You did not know what we Malays could do. We take a
blow, and perhaps bear it then. It may be wise; but we never forgive
the hand that gives that blow. We hide our suffering for a time, but at
last we turn and strike. Do you understand me now? The time came at
last, and I have turned and struck."
Helen remained silent, listening to his words, which sounded like a
sentence of death; but she still fought hard not to show her terror, and
kept up her defiant, half-contemptuous gaze as he went on:
"I hid all my sufferings, and patiently bore with all your cruelty,
seeing without a word how you lavished your smiles upon this one and
that, and all without making a sign; but all the time I was waiting, and
telling myself that some day you should pay me for all this suffering;
and when the good time came I said to my people: `Take her and carry her
to the house in the jungle; let her people think she is dead,' and it
was done."
"And now that it has been done," cried Helen, "your plans are known.
You have been followed, and you will have to suffer as you deserve--
death is the punishment to the cowardly native hand that is raised
against an English lady."
"Nonsense!" he said, laughing. "I have taken my steps better than
that;" and his words which followed chilled Helen, as they robbed her of
a hope. "No one saw you taken but that dreamy priest of your people,
and he has been taken too. He wanders through our jungle finding
flowers and plants, forgetting you half his time."
"It is false!" cried Helen. "He was here to-day."
"Yes, he was here to-day," said Murad, coolly, "and he has been taken
back. He did not follow you. Do you suppose me so weak that I should
let your people know where you had gone?"
"They must--they will know--that it is you who have done this cruel
wrong," she cried, indignantly.
"No," he said, with a contemptuous laugh. "It it very easy to throw
dust in English eyes. I will tell you for your comfort, and to make you
settle to your fate, the people at the station think I am their friend,
and that I have been helping them with my people to find you. And now
you are only living in their hearts."
"In their hearts?" cried Helen, starting; and her thoughts involuntarily
turned to Neil Harley.
"Yes," he said, quietly; "they think you dead."
"Dead!" she cried, in spite of her efforts to be calm.
"Yes; they believe you dead, and so you are to them. Helen the
Englishwoman is dead, and this a beautiful Malay--my wife."
"Dead?" she cried again, for his announcement came like a terrible
shock.
"Yes; they found a boat down the river far below the station. They
think you went with two of your lovers on the water, and that the boat
filled and sank, to be washed up on a bank. It was well managed, and
Helen and three of her friends or lovers are mourned as dead."
"Mr Harley is not imprisoned too?" cried Helen.
"No; he is not a lover," said the Sultan, smiling.
"Oh, Heaven help me!" muttered Helen.
"So you are dead to them," he said, quietly. "Helen Perowne, the
beautiful English girl, is no more, and in her place lives the Malay
princess I see before me now. Ah, Helen, no one would know you. It is
only I who have the knowledge of the change. What is it to be--my
honoured wife or slave?"
"It is horrible!" thought Helen, as now she realised more fully the
extent of the iniquitous plot of which she had been made the victim. By
Murad's words the hopes of succour she had nurtured had been swept one
by one away, for she did not doubt him in the least, but felt her heart
sink as she realised how helpless her position was, for his words seemed
to carry truth with them, and she knew that she alone was to blame.
Then she started violently, and shrank back towards the wall, for he had
taken a step or two towards her and stretched out his hands.