Again she heard the heart-rending moans. Again the awful dragging silence came as the hatchway was lifted. "Plomp! plomp! plomp! plomp!"

She knew then that four more victims had been cast into the deep. She strained her neck and put her head right out of the port-hole. She saw the dusk of the burning tropic seas and the stars as the vessel kept steadily on its course, leaving the floating bodies in its wake.

The next day the Rajah came into the dismal cuddy several times and spoke to her, but she shrank instinctively from his presence. He noticed her manner and wondered. The girl's uncongenial att.i.tude did not rhyme in with the plans he had so nicely mapped out. But determination was his great virtue. He made many attempts to ingratiate himself. "Why you no liker me now?" he said, as he looked at her. She made no reply. In his excitement he mixed his language up so much that Gabrielle could hardly understand what he said. His mixture of pidgin-English and broken Biblical phrases made a kind of musical potpourri of exotic sensuousness that haunted the girl's ears, reviving vivid memories of her own people and at the same time reminding her how far away she was from their protection.

"Gabri-ar-le, allow me," he murmured in his soft, insinuating voice, as he leaned forward and stuck a small red frangipani blossom in the folds of her hair. It was a bloom from the pots of flowers that swung to and fro from the cuddy ceiling.

Gabrielle looked steadily at the man. A strange gleam was in his eyes.

It was just after sunset. Already the eight members of the crew, who were devout sun-worshippers, had lain p.r.o.ne on the forecastle deck and murmured their dolorous chants to the last gold and purple glow of the departed day.

The stars were shining over the sea. It was almost calm. Every now and again came the m.u.f.fled drum-like sounds of the heavy canvas sails that bellied out to the breath of the sleepy night wind, flopped, and fell loosely as the halyards rattled and the ship rolled to the gla.s.sy swell.

The Rajah had sat down at the low table, right opposite Gabrielle. His turban was tilted rakishly on one side. As he looked sideways, glancing poetically towards the deck roof, his firm, handsome, curved throat was certainly shown to advantage. He looked like some Byronic corsair. There was no denying that he was a handsome man of his type. He leaned gently towards Gabrielle, one hand on chin, continuing to gaze as though in sorrowful reflection over his shortcomings and the white girl's sorrow resulting therefrom.

"Gabri-ar-le, I lover thee. You know not the ocean of my soul, how dark it is since your eyes should be the stars to shine over its darkness.

Wilt love me a little, O white maiden?"

He still had his eyes fixed upon her in rapt admiration, eyes that moved up and down her form.

She looked beautiful indeed as she suddenly rose, stood there in the dim light, attired in her sarong-like bluish robe, the divided sleeves of which revealed her rounded arms. The broad scarlet sash, tied bow-wise at the left hip, fell negligently almost down to her ankle. A hot breath of sleepy wind crept through the cabin doorway, wafting the rich odours of exotic flowers that hung all along by the cuddy port-holes on the starboard side. The ship's black cat suddenly whipped across the saloon, looked up into its master's face with its yellow, burning orbs and then disappeared like a shadow.

Gabrielle trembled as she sought to answer the Rajah's questions. She could faintly hear the tinkle of the weird _zeirung_ as some dark man forward in the forecastle accompanied the mellow voice of someone who was singing a Malayan chantey.

"I felt that I liked you once, but I hate you now!" said Gabrielle impulsively. Then she added: "How could you expect me to like such as you, after all you've done?"

The Rajah gave a grin.

"I want you to take me back to my people," the girl almost sobbed. Then she rose and began stealthily to move away from his presence; she had noticed the flushed, half-wild expression on his handsome face. She saw the fixed look of resolve in his eyes.

He swiftly put forth his hand and, catching hold of her fingers firmly, softly forced her to sit down once more in front of him.

For a moment he looked at her as though he was about to clasp her in his arms. Gabrielle's heart thumped. She noticed that he sat on the side near the open door and so barred her progress should she attempt to make a bolt. She heard the voice of the man at the wheel humming words of an unknown tongue just over her head out on the p.o.o.p. She knew that the Rajah's mate was laid up with fever in the deckhouse amidships, and so she was quite alone with the Rajah.

"I know that I am only Pa-ooan. You no' like me 'cause I dark man, eh?

Wilt lover me, canst thou deny me, O maid of mine heart?"

Gabrielle knew by his lapse into Biblical pidgin-English that he was in an excited, treacherous state of mind; she also realised that it was wiser for her to attempt to mollify him.

"I don't dislike the people of your race at all; it's the wicked way that you kidnapped me that makes me hate you. Won't you take me back to my people?"

Though she spoke with apparent calmness, her heart was thumping so violently that she half fancied he heard it beat. She instinctively knew why the man stared at her so. She noticed that he had not lit the hanging lamp in the usual way, either. Only the faint, flickering glimmers from the lantern that swung by the saloon door and the deck sent its gleams towards them. She could just discern the shadowy-like face of the Rajah sitting opposite her. His voice had become strangely soft and seductive, almost musical: "Do you lover me, one little much, pretty whiter girl?"

"I don't know," she whispered hastily in a hushed, frightened voice, hardly knowing what she _did_ say, as she swiftly glanced around and realised her terrible helplessness in that cabin far away on the coral seas. No escape there for her! The glimmer of the seas outside the port-holes only gave her a deeper sense of loneliness, if that were possible. She heard the tramp! tramp! of the watch walking the p.o.o.p just over their heads as they sat there.

"Let me go to my berth, I'm tired, I want to sleep," she said softly, as she hastily rose to her feet. The state of her feelings was obvious. The Rajah could almost hear the fluttering of the girl's heart in that soft, tremulous voice. Standing there with flushed face and her eyes staring with fright, she looked very beautiful. He put his hand out gently and leaned across the table towards her. In her fright she gripped his extended hand. Her hair had fallen down to her neck and shoulders, tumbling in a golden ma.s.s, as she lifted her hand and glanced wildly about her. It had been loosened from its neat coil by the flowers that the Rajah had stuck in the glossy folds. The heathen corsair's vanity was so profound that he imagined the girl had deliberately made her tresses tumble in luring deshabille for _his_ eyes.

A great fire leapt like a blown flame into the man's eyes. And Gabrielle noticed it. She began to move backwards, very slowly, step by step, in the direction of her cabin door. One of her hands clutched her robe tightly against her trembling figure, as though she would not have him see the way her stealthy feet were moving from his presence. He too had swiftly risen from the cuddy table and was moving with a stealthy, cat-like step towards her. It was like some tragic scene in a drama as she moved backward, her eyes fixed on him, and he followed step by step over the cuddy floor. The girl's pale face and frightened, alert eyes were reflected in the large saloon mirror as she crept round the table.

His taller form sent a monstrous silhouette over the panelled walls, his turbaned head going right across the ceiling. And still she moved on.

Gabrielle had sought to mislead him as to her exact intentions. She made a rush, whipped into her cabin and slammed the door. Not till then did the Rajah realise his mistake in thinking that her tresses had fallen for his benefit.

A look of rage swept across his swarthy face at the way Gabrielle had baffled him. But he knew the way to play the game. In a second he had placed his mouth to the small grating circle that was in the top of her cabin door. "Gabri-ar-le, beloved mine, I do swear not to hurt you; let me comer in," he whispered. "Why you rush away from me like that?" he added in an injured tone. He did not wish to raise his voice. He knew there was a possibility of the girl screaming when she realised the full import of his wishes. He had no desire that the crew should know that he was a rank outsider so far as the white girl's affections were concerned. He had loved to walk the schooner's deck, his chest swelling with that pride that dark men feel when a white woman is theirs; he also knew that his Kanaka crew envied him his saloon quarters, where they knew the lovely white girl dwelt.

"Don't try to come in! You dare not! Leave me alone. I want to sleep,"

replied Gabrielle, as he continued softly and persistently to knock at the cabin door.

He heard the trembling note of appeal in her voice. "I swear by the G.o.ds of my land and the stars of your own that should you open the door and let me kiss your hand no harm shall come to you."

He heard Gabrielle smash something heavy against the door. It was the reply to his appeal. His voice took on a rougher tone, he was evidently getting impatient. "If you don't let me in I'll smash the door down; it's my ship!" he said in a threatening undertone, then swiftly added: "But, sweeter girl, if you let me in I swear to keep my promise."

Gabrielle glanced round her berth. Not a weapon was handy. She was trembling. "Perhaps he speaks the truth," she thought.

"Won't you go? We'll speak to-morrow!" she said softly, as though she would appeal to his heart. Again he swore that he would not harm her.

Gabrielle looked in despair through the port-hole. For a moment she was half inclined to put her head out and scream. Then she thought of the hideous mulatto mate and the fierce Kanaka crew. She shuddered. What hope had she? Even as she realised the hopelessness of her position the Rajah's booted foot crashed at the door.

Gabrielle hardly knew what she was doing as she flung the door open. "I believe you," she said, as she stood there, just inside her cabin and gazed courageously into the man's eyes. For a moment he was taken aback, but in another moment he had responded by hastily stepping forward.

Gabrielle was quite unprepared for his sudden outburst, notwithstanding all that had happened. He took her hand in his own. He pressed warm kisses on the soft white fingers. He became almost incoherent as he talked and told her how he had dreamed of her and seen her image in the great magical lagoons in his native land.

"The G.o.ds said that such as you would be mine. Yes, Gabri-ar-le, long years ago before you were born."

He had seized her in a pa.s.sionate clasp. The terrible magic of his vile personality began to work on the girl's overwrought mind. "Go away! Go away!" she pleaded. But still he wailed on about his old G.o.ds, their magic and the wonders of his country. For a moment he leaned against the frame of the cabin door as though he were about to depart, but he did not go. He leaned forward and began to murmur a weird Papuan chant. His voice was peculiarly mellow and sweet. There was something melodiously caressing in the strain. Just for a moment his eyes softened, as though his heart was influenced by the music of his lips. It was only for a second, though, ere the tiger beast of his nature returned and once more he gazed unabashed at the girl, as only the low order of the dark races can gaze. He touched her fingers. His dark hands had begun to creep in a caressing way up her arms. His burning eyes still stared relentlessly into the terrified eyes of the girl. He would not vary that glance, no, not for one second, as he stared on triumphant, magnetising her soul by the eerie fire of his own.

"My beloved, putih bunga!" he murmured, as he noticed the look of terror fading away from the eyes that had looked up so appealingly into his.

Gabrielle's face, ghastly pale but a moment before, now appeared strangely flushed, almost swarthy-looking. But even the Rajah looked startled as he saw the change in her expression, as she stood there dimly revealed by the light of the stars that gleamed through the little cabin's port-hole. Standing there framed between her bunk and the slanting beam of the bulwark, her tumbled hair about her neck, she looked like some wonderful emblematic figure of spiritual beauty struggling against the temptation of pa.s.sion. But still his hands stole stealthily up her arms and about her: now he softly touched the silky material of her blouse, his face within three inches of her own. His arms curved snake-wise over her shoulders. "Marlino sa wean, placer your lips to mine-quick, quick!" he whispered. His voice was hoa.r.s.e with pa.s.sion as he drew her near to him. "Putih bunga, mine! Ola savoo, beautiful!" he babbled. He felt the sighing heave and fall of her bosom.

Gently but firmly he pressed her head slowly backwards, so that her face should be uplifted to his own. Even in the gloom he noticed that her eyes stared up at him as though in sleep. He leaned half fearfully forward and let his mouth touch her lips.

"Go! Go!" she wailed, as she tried to overcome the darkness that was sweeping her very life away. She fancied that a shadow had slipped out of the night to torture her soul. Again in some terrible rivalship of dark and mystery it sought to strangle her. She fancied she saw strange, wild eyes appealing to her, peering over the Rajah's shoulder; but it was only the Rajah's eyes she really saw.

He saw her eyelids quiver. He felt the wild throb of her bosom still; but he noticed that the limbs had ceased to tremble.

"She hath given herself unto me!" so ran a thought through his mind. He lost control of his acquired civilised astuteness and began to press impa.s.sioned kisses on her upturned mouth. He felt her arms clasp him in a responsive embrace.

"Putih! Mine!" he whispered, his voice hoa.r.s.e with pa.s.sion. Her scented tresses fell about his face. He fiercely pulled the fringe of her bodice open at the neck and pressed burning kisses on the whiteness of her throat.

"Don't! Don't!" she cried softly. But he held her the tighter; it was a merciless grip. She had begun to struggle. He was surprised at her strength as she suddenly put forth her arms, clutched him by the throat with one hand and with the other caught him by the shoulder and pushed.

For a moment he made little effort to ward her off. Slowly, to her delight, she felt him going back, backwards towards her cabin door as she pushed in her frenzy. And still she struggled and still she felt his big form receding till his turbaned head was half-an-inch out of the door. She gave a smothered cry of delight; she was winning in that terrible encounter that was a struggle of life and death to her. Alas!

she had not reckoned with the cunning of that Papuan kidnapper. He almost smiled as he allowed her to force him back yet a little more.

Even she half wondered why she was winning so easily. Then out shot his hand; at last she had enabled him to reach and grip hold of the handle of the cabin-door that opened _outwards_ into the saloon; in a moment he had pulled it to; crash! it went as he slammed it and pushed the bolt!

She and he were alone, shut in the cabin. They stood facing one another in the dusk, like two half-baffled figures. Only the stars faintly visible through the port-hole told of the ocean world outside as Gabrielle looked first at the dark form before her and then out into the night. She could not scream as he seized her in a tight clasp. Only a moment and she had ceased to struggle, was crying softly to herself as he pressed burning kisses on her face and drew her towards him.

He continued his love-making ill far into the night. Although the girl was completely in the Rajah's power, he still showed an unaccustomed restraint. Heathen though he was, he could, when occasion demanded, hold his pa.s.sions in reserve. They would be gratified later, he told himself, as he gloated over the defenceless girl. She would be even more at his mercy in his native coastal village, in his own private dwelling.

And still the stars shone over the wide ocean-way of night. Only the sounds of the swelling sails and their m.u.f.fled flop! flop! broke the silence, as the vessel rose to the swell and rolled like a helpless derelict on the silent tropic seas. Tramp! tramp! went the watch over head. Then someone in the forecastle began to sing; it came faint but distinct, some old Malayan chantey drifting aft as the wide wings of the wind moved across that great world of waters.

It was night-time, and three days after the Rajah's cowardly attack, when Gabrielle heard the Malayan sailors singing one of their weird chanteys in a cheerful voice. She at once looked through the port-hole of her berth, wherein she had made herself a willing prisoner, only allowing the Malayan cabin-boy Tombo to enter with her meals. She stared aloft. The vessel at that very moment was altering its course. She distinctly noticed the apparent movement of the stars as the dark canvas sails veered. Again she heard the gabble and hustle as the helm was put hard over. It looked just as though the moon had given a frightened skid across the sky. They had just let the hatchway down with a bang, had finished pitching the dead victims of the hold overboard. But still the Rajah shouted his orders. He was calling in a strange language. She tried to understand, but not a word was familiar to her. "What's it all mean? Are we there?" she wondered, as she looked round her in despair.