One Maid's Mischief Part 54

"No," said Grey, quietly, "she is not staying away. See: here she comes, with her servants. I think she has arrived to offer her services in this time of trouble."

Grey Stuart was right, for directly after the Malay princess entered the large drawing-room, eager with her offers of help, as her English friend had said.

"I did not know till a messenger came in," she exclaimed, excitedly. "I was home late, and I was asleep. When I heard of the trouble at the station, I came and brought my servants. What shall I do?"

She was most affectionate and full of pity for Mr Perowne. To the Resident she was friendly in the extreme, and in a frank, genial way, utterly free from effusiveness; while to Grey Stuart she was tenderness itself, kissing her and talking to her in a low voice of the trouble, and keeping her all the time at her side.

"Henry," said little Mrs Bolter, suddenly.

"Yes, my dear."

"I don't trust these black people a bit. They are very friendly and full of offers of service, but I cannot help thinking that they are at the bottom of all this trouble. Do you hear?"

"Yes, my dear, I hear," said the doctor; "but I cannot say that you are right. It's as puzzling as the real site of Ophir; but I hope it will all come right in the end."

Suspicious as Mrs Bolter felt, she did not show her feelings, but joined in the conversation; and she was obliged to own that the conduct of the Inche Maida seemed to be quite that of an English lady eager to help her friends in a terrible time of trial.

In the midst of the conversation that ensued there was the sound of voices outside, and the Resident, closely followed by Mr Perowne and the Rajah, hurried out to see if there was any news.

One of the sergeants, with a private of Hilton's company, had just arrived on the lawn, these being two of the men who had gone down the river in a sampan.

"Ah! Harris," exclaimed the Resident, eagerly, on seeing something in the sergeant's face which told of tidings, "what news?"

The sergeant glanced at Mr Perowne in rather a troubled manner, and hesitated.

"Speak out, my man, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed the latter, "and let me know the worst."

"It mayn't be the worst, sir," replied the sergeant, with rough sympathy. "I hope it isn't, sir; but we found a boat, sir--one of our own boats--left by the 'Penguin' for our use at the island."

"Yes--yes, I know!" exclaimed Mr Perowne.

"Quick! speak out, Harris. What of her?" cried the Resident.

"She was lying bottom up, sir, on a bit of sandbank, a dozen miles down the river, sir; and this was twisted round one of the thwarts--the sleeve just tied round, sir, to keep it in its place."

As he spoke he held up a light coat, saturated with water, and muddy and crumpled, where it had dried on the way back.

Neil Harley took the coat and examined it carefully. Then laying it down, he said, slowly:

"It looks like Chumbley's; but I cannot feel sure."

"I made sure it was one of the lieutenant's coats, sir," said the sergeant, respectfully.

"Let us see the boat," said Mr Perowne. "Where is it?"

"Down at your landing-stage, sir, and--"

He stopped short, as if afraid he should say too much.

"What is it, Harris? Speak out," said the Resident, sternly.

"She seems to have been laid hold of, sir, by one of them great river beasts. There's a lot of teeth marks, and a bit ripped out of her side."

Mr Perowne shuddered, and Neil Harley recalled the various stories he had heard of crocodiles attacking small boats--stories that he had heretofore looked upon as mythical, though he knew that the reptiles often seized the natives when bathing by the river bank.

"As far as I could judge, sir," said the sergeant, who, seeing that he gave no offence in speaking out, was most eager to tell all he knew, "it seems as if the officers, sir, had taken the ladies for a row upon the river, when the boat perhaps touched one of the great beasts, and that made it turn and seize it in its teeth. Then it was overset, and--"

The men started and stopped short, for there was a faint cry of horror, and they all turned to see Grey Stuart standing there pale, with her lips apart, and a look of horror in her fixed eyes, as she saw in imagination the overturned boat, and the vain struggles of those who were being swept away by the rapid stream.

The whole scene rose before her eyes with horrible substantiality--all that she had heard or been told of the habits of the great reptiles that swarmed in the river helping to complete the picture. For as she seemed to realise the scene, and saw the struggling figures in the water, there would be a rush and a swirl, with a momentary sight of a dark h.o.r.n.y back or side, and then first one and then another of the hapless party would be s.n.a.t.c.hed beneath the surface.

But even then her horror seemed to be veined with a curious sensation of jealous pain, for she pictured to herself Helen floating down the stream with her white hands extended for help, and Hilton fighting his way through the water to her side. Then he seemed to seize her, and to make a brave struggle to keep her up. It was a hard fight, and he did not spare himself, but appeared to be ready to drown that she might live.

The water looked blacker and darker where they were, and there was no help at hand, so that it was but a question of moments before they must sink. And as, with dilated, horror-charged eyes, Grey stared before her to where the river really ran sparkling in the sunshine, the imaginary blackness deepened, and all looked so smooth and terrible that she watched for where that dreadful gla.s.siness would be broken by some reptile rising to make a rush at the struggling pair; and--yes, there at last it was! And with the name of Hilton half-formed upon her lips, she uttered another cry, and fell fainting in the Inche's Maida's arms.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER EIGHT.

DANGER AHEAD.

Grey Stuart lost her cavalier Chumbley soon after supper, for the Princess pointed to a chair beside her, Hilton being very quiet and distant, and in spite of several reproachful glances from his companion's eyes, proving to be very poor company indeed.

In fact, as soon as he could with decency give up what was to him a tiresome duty, Hilton left the Malay Princess's side, making the vacancy that was filled up by Grey, while soon after the Rajah came and took a chair upon the other side of the Scottish maiden, chatting to her with a slight hesitancy of speech, but pleasantly and well.

"Do you enjoy--this party?" he said.

"Oh! so much!" replied Grey. "It is so different from anything at home."

"At home?" queried the Prince, who knew the simplicity of old Stuart's household.

"I mean at home in England."

"Oh! yes, I see. At home in England," said the Prince musingly. "I must go and see at home in England. I should like to go."

"You would be much pleased, I am sure," said Grey, smiling; "but it is a very bad climate."

"That is why you English come to our beautiful land. I see!" exclaimed the Prince. "But you enjoy yourself--this party?"

"Oh! very much!" cried Grey; but a shadow crossed her countenance as she spoke.

"I have said I will try and pa.s.s you all," said the Prince, laughing.

"I mean mine to be the greatest of the _fetes_. It must be; for if I do not make mine a grander party than all, my people will look down upon me, and say, 'See how weak and poor he is compared to the English!' I must make mine very brave and good."

"I hear what you are saying," exclaimed the Inche Maida; "but I will excel you; for I will give another party, greater, and brighter, and more beautiful still. Miss Stuart will help me with good advice, and mine shall be more English than yours. We will not be beaten."

"No, no!" said the Rajah, laughing; "do not help her, Miss Stuart; help me, and I will be so grateful. It is so easy to say I will give a grand party, but it is hard to make it so that it will please these English gentlemen and ladies."

"Ladies and gentlemen, Prince," said the Inche Maida.