One Maid's Mischief Part 83

"You have done me a cruel injury, Rajah," she exclaimed, her voice trembling, but becoming firmer with each word she spoke.

"Injury!" he said, smiling; and his eyes glittered at the success that promised to attend his plans. "Oh, no; not injury. It can be no injury to a beautiful woman to make her the wife of a rich Malay prince--one who loves her with all his heart--a rajah who loves your English ways, and who will surround you with everything you wish."

"You will give me my liberty?" said Helen.

"Yes," he said; "whatever my beautiful princess can desire."

She made a gesture full of impatience, and remained silent for a few moments to gather calmness before she spoke again.

"You have spoken of the past, Rajah Murad," she said at last, in a low musical voice.

"Yes," he said, smiling; "that happy past."

"I was very weak and foolish then, Rajah," she said. "I was but a girl, and I fear I loved admiration. It was that which made me act so foolishly and ill. But when I tell you my sorrow for my acts--when I tell you how bitterly I repent it all--you will forgive me, and will take me back."

"For your people to seize and shoot me like a dog?" he said, quietly.

"Oh, no, no!" she cried, "they would not do you harm. You will have taken me back, and for this they shall not do you ill."

"Speak again like that," he cried with his eyes lighting up. "That makes you look more beautiful than you were before."

She started and shuddered, but she went on:

"I ask your forgiveness for the wrong I, in my foolish, girlish wilfulness, did you; and now that you have punished me so severely as you have, you will pardon me, Rajah--the weak, helpless woman who prays you to send her back."

"I punish you!" he cried, with an affectation of surprise. "I would not punish you. To keep you with me it was necessary that you should look like these my people, and I was sorry to give orders that it should be done. I half feared the result; but I do not repent it now that I have seen how it makes you more beautiful than ever."

"But you will take me back to my father?" she pleaded. "I will forgive everything. I will not breathe a word about this outrage. No one shall know that it was Rajah Murad who took me from my home. Only send me back safely, and I will bless you."

He laughed softly.

"There are steps some men take," he said, "that can never be retraced, and this I have done is one of those steps. You are a woman of sense, and know your people. I staked all upon this cast, and I have won. If I give way now, what will the English people, who are so proud of their honour, say to the beauty of their station, who comes back to them darkened like one of us? What will they say to the lady who comes back to them after so many days in Rajah Murad's harem?"

Helen started as if she had been stung, and her eyes flashed their indignation at this cowardly speech.

But she felt directly after that anger would be useless--that she must gain time; and once more trembling in every limb, she forced herself to plead.

"I have some mastery over him," she thought, and determining to retain, and if possible strengthen it, she forced back every semblance of anger, and placed her hands together in supplication.

"You told me once that you loved me," she said softly.

"I told you once? I have told myself I loved you a thousand times," he cried pa.s.sionately.

"Then you would not disgrace me in the eyes of my people?" she pleaded.

"No," he cried. "I would not; I love you far too well."

"Then set me free--send me back to my home."

"That would be to disgrace you, foolish girl," he cried. "Do you not see why I took this step? You made me love you, and when you cast me off, I tell you I made a tow that you should still be mine. I had you brought here. Well, I am as jealous of your honour as you are yourself.

You cannot leave here but as my wife."

A sob of rage and indignation choked Helen's utterance for the moment, but she mastered it once more and turned upon him.

"Is this your love for me," she cried, "to cause me this dreadful pain."

"Pain perhaps now," he said quietly; "but happiness will come for both.

You proud and foolish girl, you do not know what it is to be the wife of a prince such as I am. Let your people go. Mine will do far more honour to their new princess; they will worship you. They must and shall. There, I see you are listening to what I say. You are growing sensible; let this strange feeling wear away. Be gentle to me Helen-- love--and be content to stay!"

Helen's brow grew wrinkled, and her eyes were half-closed as she stood there with clasped hands, asking herself how she should act. She was checked at every double, and the hopelessness of her position had never appeared more strongly to her than it did now. Her eyes wandered to the door, to the window, and then to the Rajah, as he half reclined upon the mats, gazing at her with a smiling, satisfied look, as if watching the feeble efforts made by his captive to escape from his toils.

"Well," he said, laughing, "has the fit of anger pa.s.sed away? If not I can wait."

She did not answer, but stood gazing at him with a piteous look in her eyes--gazing so pleadingly that he sprang to his feet, a change coming over his countenance as he approached her.

Helen's heart gave one great throb of joy, for she read now in his face the power she had over him still. He really loved her, and it was he who was the slave, not she, and she would yet be able to mould him to her will.

But not by anger and reproach: they would only weaken her position. She had found that he was one who might be moved by her woman's grief and tears, and acting upon the impulse of the moment, she waited until he was close at hand, and then, before he could stay her, she sank upon her knees, to clasp his hands in hers, and gazing in his face, burst into a pa.s.sionate flood of tears.

End of Volume Two.

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER ONE.

CHUMBLEY'S IDEA.

"Chumbley," said Bertie Hilton, "your behaviour towards that woman was sickening--almost disgusting! How you could be even civil to her is more than I can understand!"

"Oh, I'm always civil to a woman," drawled Chumbley. "See how affable I always was to Helen Perowne, who--"

"Will you have the goodness to leave Miss Perowne's name out of the conversation?" said Hilton, with asperity.

"Certainly, if you wish it, and subst.i.tute little Stuart's name. See how civil I always was to her."

"A merit certainly," said Hilton, contemptuously. "Who could help being civil to so amiable and good a little body!"

"Here, hang it, Bertie, old man!" cried Chumbley, in mock alarm, "don't monopolise all the nice women. It was Helen Perowne the other day. Now you seem dead on little Stuart!"

"Confound Helen Perowne!" muttered Hilton, bitterly.

"Just as you like; and confound the Inche Maida too--I shan't! Sort of sympathetic pity for woman--weaker vessels, you know."

"Weaker vessel?" laughed Hilton, scornfully; "what, our captor?"

"Well, she isn't a bad sort of woman," replied Chumbley.

"Not a bad sort of woman? Why, she's a modern Jezebel--a Cleopatra--a Semiramis!"