One Maid's Mischief Part 111

Grey's eyes wore a very piteous aspect, but she said nothing, only did battle with a sigh, which conquered and fought its way from her labouring breast.

"But I am trying, Grey, my darling," said the little woman, drying her eyes; "you know how patient I have been, and how I have taken your advice. Not one allusion have I made to the Inche Maida since you talked to me as you did. Now, have I not been patient?"

"You have indeed," said Grey, smiling at her sadly.

"And I'm going to take your advice thoroughly, for I'm beginning to think that the little girl I began by patronising has grown wiser than I. There, you see, I have dried my eyes, and--Bless my heart, here is Mr Stuart, and he will see that I have been crying."

She jumped up and ran out of the room as the little merchant came to the door, and entered without ceremony.

"Well, Grey, my bairnie," he said, as she kissed him affectionately, while, as soon as he had drawn back, he took out his broad kerchief to dab his brow, and seemed to wipe the kiss carefully away.

"You have news, father?" cried Grey, eagerly. "Pray speak!"

"Well, don't hurry me, child," he replied. "I've just come from the landing-stage--and I've seen that Malay fellow, Syed--and he says the expedition is coming back."

"Coming back, father? Oh! why did you not speak before?"

"Syed has just come down with the stream. The water's low and they've got aground a few miles up, but they expected to be afloat soon."

"But is anyone hurt, father? Have they found Helen? Pray--pray speak!"

"Only a few of the men a bit hurt, it seems. Officers all right," said the old man, speaking very coolly, and consequently in excellent English.

"But Helen? Have they found Helen?"

"It seems not, from what the fellow knew," said the merchant, coolly.

"Where's Mrs Bolter?" he said, in a low voice.

Grey's heart seemed to stand still. "Oh! father!" she sighed, "is he hurt?"

"No; he's aboard," replied the merchant. "But where is she?"

"She left the room as you came in; but why do you not speak out?"

"I was thinking o' Mrs Bolter, my dear. Isn't she a bit--you know-- jealous, la.s.sie?"

"Don't ask me such questions, father," cried Grey, in a low voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm thinking she'll be a bit put out if it is as I hear."

"Why, father?" cried Grey, as her mind filled with strange imaginations.

"But tell me quickly," she whispered, "is Mr Chumbley safe?"

"Yes, yes," said old Stuart; "he's safe enough, la.s.sie."

"And--and--"

"The Resident? Yes; he's well."

"But father, you--you have not told me about Captain Hilton."

"Hilton? Oh, ay, he's all well! Hang it if here isn't that Barlow woman! I left her at the landing-place pumping Syed."

As he finished speaking, Mrs Barlow, panting, hot, and excited, half ran into the room.

"No news--no news of poor Mr Rosebury!" she cried; "but oh, my dear Mrs Bolter--my dear Mrs Bolter!"

"What is it--what is it?" cried that lady, opening the door, and entering the room, trembling visibly. "You've brought me some terrible news! I know you have! Speak to me--speak directly!"

"Yes, yes, my dear: but try and bear it with fort.i.tude."

"Yes, I will," she panted. "My brother--is dead!"

"No, no," sobbed Mrs Barlow; "there is no news of him; but the Malay has told me all!"

"All? All what?" cried Mrs Bolter.

"They found Doctor Bolter at the Inche Maida's."

"I knew it!" cried Mrs Bolter, excitedly.

"And he and the Inche Maida have been up one of the little rivers in his boat, and the officers caught them, and brought them back."

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

HELP IN NEED.

If little Mrs Bolter had seen her lord--the quiet, suave medical man, who by his genuine admiration had so late in life won her heart--she would have trembled with the idea that he was about to fall down in a fit of apoplexy. For as he realised who was the showily-dressed Malay who had taken Helen Perowne in his arms, he first turned sallow with the heart-sinking sensation consequent upon seeing his helpless charge in the hands of one who, spite of his a.s.sumption of English manners and customs, remained at heart a fierce and unscrupulous savage.

But the next moment the pallor pa.s.sed away, his face flushed with rage, and as his indignation increased, he became absolutely purple.

He made a furious struggle to escape from those who held him and get to Helen's side; for in those angry moments his English blood was on fire, and little, stout, short-winded, and pretty well exhausted by previous efforts as he was, he forgot everything but the fact that there was a helpless girl--an English lady--in deadly peril, and asking his aid.

Numbers--personal danger--his own want of weapons--all were forgotten; and the little doctor would have attempted anything then that the bravest hero could have ventured to save Helen Perowne from her captors.

But it was not to be: one man, however, brave, when left to his natural strength of arm, is as nothing against a score; and literally foaming now with rage, Doctor Bolter, as he was mastered by the Sultan's men, had nothing left but his tongue for weapon, and this--let him receive justice--he used to the best of his power while Murad remained on deck.

Dog, coward, reptile, contemptible villain, disgrace to humanity, fiend in human form, scoundrel whom he would kick--these and scores of similar opprobrious terms the doctor applied to the Rajah, making the crew of the prahu scowl and mutter, and draw their krisses in a threatening manner, as they looked at Murad for orders to slay the infidel dog who dared revile their chief.

But in his calm triumph Murad stood gazing in a sneering irritating way at the doctor, speaking no word, but seeming to say--so the doctor interpreted it:

"Curse and rail as you will, I have won, and no words of yours can hurt me."

"Will nothing move you, dog that you are?" cried the doctor. "Oh, if I had but my liberty!" and his rage increased to such a pitch that his anger approached the ridiculous, for, failing English terms, he turned round and swore at the Rajah in Latin, in French, and finally rolled out a series of ponderous German oaths garnished with many-syllabled adjectives.

Murad seemed moved at last, and after calmly walking to and fro the bamboo deck, he suddenly turned upon the doctor.