Five years had passed away before, after a long stay on the China
station, Major Hilton found an opportunity, on the regiment being
ordered home, to land at Singapore, and take his young wife with him
up-country, to pay a long-promised visit to her old schoolfellow at the
Residency at Sindang.
The doctor and Mrs Bolter had gone home the year before, in company
with the chaplain, who longed for the peace of his own country once
more; and letters said that the doctor was going to take a quiet country
practice, where his brother-in-law, still a bachelor, had settled down.
For though Mrs Barlow, in addition to her wealth, had proffered that
style of love-offering known to keepsake-writers as blandishments, the
Reverend Arthur had a sore heart that never healed, and he refused to
listen to the voice of the charmer, but contented himself with a true
friendship for Helen, her husband, old Stuart, and Mr Perowne.
Otherwise there had been but little change at Sindang; the new Rajah
being a quiet, gentlemanly man, growing more European in his ways year
by year.
The Residency looked very bright and charming as the Major and his wife
caught sight of the island from the deck of the steamer; and in spite of
the heat, it was a delightful home, where Helen seemed to lead a life of
calm repose, looking handsomer than ever with her large eyes, dark hair
and delicate creamy complexion; but there was a change visible: she
seemed softened and dreamy, and whenever her husband spoke, there was a
bright, eager look of joy, that lit up her features and told well of her
married life.
The meeting between Helen and Grey was almost pathetic in its warmth;
and for a long time there was no chance for the gentlemen to speak.
Their meeting, too, was wonderfully warm; and while the Resident saw how
broad-chested and sunbrowned the Major had become, Hilton had been
noting how fair Helen's skin remained, in spite of her long stay in a
tropic land; but when she smiled, there was still a faint trace left of
disfigurement at the lower part of her teeth.
As for the Resident, he looked the _beau ideal_ of a middle-aged English
gentleman, and brighter and happier than Hilton had ever seen him
before; while as to the old sore, it was quite healed up; and the
meeting between Hilton and Helen was just that of old friends; nothing
more.
"And now about Chumbley?" said Hilton, as they sat after dinner sipping
their claret in the veranda, watching the fire-flies, and listening to
the plashing of boat or reptile in the placid, rapid-flowing, starlit
stream.
There had been inquiries before, but the time had been so taken up, that
Chumbley's career had been pretty well left out till now; when, as the
two gentlemen sat smoking, an open door showed them the drawing-room
with its shaded lamp, and the faces of the two graceful women--their
wives--as they sat and chatted of old school troubles, and the other
incidents of their career.
"About old Chum?" said the Resident; "oh, I often see him. He should
have been here if I had known you were so close at hand. You know he
came back six months after the company was changed, went straight up to
the Inche Maida's place, brought her back, and they went down to
Singapore, got married, and returned directly."
"And has he repented?" said Hilton.
"Go and see him, and judge for yourself."
The result was, that one fine morning Hilton had himself rowed up to the
Inche Maida's home, at Campong Selah, where, on landing, he found that
he was received with the most profound respect, and conducted to the
palm-tree house, which was now surrounded by a most carefully-cultivated
garden.
On entering the place, he found himself in what might have been a
country gentleman's home, the hall being full of sporting trophies,
arms, and the paraphernalia of an occupant of sporting tastes.
"What. Hilton! never!" cried a bluff voice, and Chumbley, in a
semi-sporting and native costume--wearing puggree, shooting jacket,
sarong, and kris--and looking brown as a native, seized him by the
hands, and nearly shook his arms out of their sockets. "Why, I am glad
to see you, old man!"
"How well you look, Chumbley!"
"Ay! and you too! Why, you dog, you're putting on flesh! But, how's
the little wife? How are you getting on?"
"Capitally! And you: do you like this savage life?"
"Savage, be hanged!" he cried. "Like it, my boy? I should think I do.
By George, sir, she's a splendid woman! Ah, here are the chicks."
As he spoke, a Malay nurse brought in two little dark-eyed,
creamy-complexioned children, who made a rush and a dash as soon as they
were set free, and began to scale Chumbley's knees, not ceasing till
they were standing in his lap, and holding on by his beard.
"Gently! gently! You'll break me! There never was such a pair of vital
sparks on earth before! Now look here, you young limbs, turn round and
talk to this gentleman. Tell him your names."
"Bertie Hilton Chumbley, Rajah of Campong Selah," said the elder--a
handsome little boy in a brilliant silken sarong.
"Grey Stuart Chumbley, pa's own darling pet," lisped the other--a bright
little doll of a girl, whom her father stood up afterwards and proudly
balanced on one of his great hands.
"Like it," continued Chumbley, stretching himself; "I never knew what
life was till I came out here and married the Inche Maida. Ah, here she
is."
Hilton, as he recalled the past, felt a little conscious; but the
Princess, who, in spite of her dark skin, looked quite the European
lady, advanced, holding out her hand so frankly that they were laughing
and chatting the next minute as if they were the oldest of friends,
Hilton quite winning her heart by the way in which he took to her
children.
"You remember what a mistake I made," she said, "and how disappointed I
was when you refused me? I did not know then what fate had in store."
"You are still a fatalist then?" said Hilton, smiling.
"Why not?" she replied, proudly, as she went behind her great lord's
chair, and placed her arm affectionately upon his shoulder. "Has not
fate given me the best and noblest of husbands--a just and true man, who
has become the father of my people, my protector, and my lord?"
"Then you are both very happy?" said Hilton.
"Happy, old boy!" cried Chumbley, glancing affectionately at his wife,
"happy isn't the word for it; we're thoroughly jolly, and in my way I'm
a king."
"But don't you miss European society?"
"Not I, lad. I hunt, and shoot, and drill my subjects, and sit as
judge, and look after the revenues, and my own little parliament. I've
no time to be dull; and do you know, old chap, I don't think I'm quite
so slow as I was. I tell you what it is: if I had known how jolly it is
to be a chief, I should have tried it on years before. But you're going
to stop, of course?"
"I'm going to beg some dinner, and then I'm off back to the Residency,
where my wife is staying with the Harleys."
"Then go back and fetch her--eh, my dear, what do you say?"
"Let us all go together and fetch her," said the Inche Maida, smiling;
and Grey Hilton was fetched to spend a month at Chumbley's home, finding
her old friend affectionate to a degree, while endless were the hunting
and shooting excursions got up by the English Rajah in honour of his
friend.
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The Hiltons have not paid another visit to the palm-tree palace on the
river where Chumbley has his home, but they hear from him occasionally
as well as from the Harleys, and the reports always tell of perfect
happiness in their far-off land.
"I tell you what it is, Grey," says Hilton to his wife, the day after
they had reached England, and she had held up her last little offering
for him to kiss its tiny wet mouth, "I'll bet a five-pound note that old
Chumbley would give something if his youngsters were as fair as that;"
and Grey says that for her part she does not think the colour of the
skin matters so long as the heart is in its right place, to which her
father, who has just come in, says:
"That's a verra good remairk, my dear. Do you know I'm glad to my heart
I've managed to scrape five thousand together out of Perowne's estate,
and the old man has settled it upon his children!"
"Five thousand! a nice little _bonne bouche_ for Harley!" says Hilton.
"A man who thoroughly deserves it," says his wife; "for I'm sure a
truer-hearted gentleman never existed. But I have had a letter from
Helen, and she tells me that Mr Harley is coming to England for a
year's leave. I am to answer to the hotel in Paris. What am I to say?"
"Say?" cried Hilton; "tell her and her husband that we are comfortably
settled here, and as long as there is a roof and a bed, with something
in the way of rations, there will always be a welcome for them both."
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The End.