"Oh, that's absurd, of course!" cried Chumbley; "but she has pitched you over, old man, and you now belong to the ranks of the unblessed."

"I cannot quarrel with you, Chumbley," said Hilton, cooling down, "because I know you to be too good a fellow to slight; but will you talk sense?"

"Yes, dear boy, of course I will; but I wish you'd try this tobacco.

This is sense that I am going to say now. I feel sure that we have been kidnapped so that our new friends may get a nice little sum for us out of the British Government."

"Well, it is likely," said Hilton, whose anger had been of a fleeting nature. "But if they do not get the ransom--what then?"

"That's an unpleasant emergency that it is not worth while to consider until we know that negotiations have failed. It is unpleasant, dear boy, because I suppose we should then get a taste of kris, applied in a dexterous manner peculiar to the Malays, through the hollow of the left shoulder. But that would only be a _dernier ressort_, and a thousand things might happen in the meantime. It will all come right in the end."

Seeing that Chumbley was determined to make the best of their position, Hilton gradually began to take somewhat of the same tone; and agreeing with his friend that at present any attempt at escape would be folly, he partook heartily of the excellent second meal provided for them, questioned their guard, but obtained no information whatever as to where they were and why they had been brought, and ended by seating himself by the open window and listening to the weird noises of the jungle as darkness fell.

Feeling weary at last, Hilton sought his couch, and lay thinking once more of Helen, wondering where she was, but with less excitement than of old; and somehow the sweet, earnest face of Grey Stuart rose like a pleasant picture before him, as he fell asleep, thinking that if Helen, with her beauteous face, had only had the sweet disposition of her schoolfellow and companion, what a lovable woman she would have been.

Chumbley was dropping off to sleep at the same time, and he too was thinking of Helen Perowne, and that nature was guilty of making a great mistake in sending such girls abroad upon the earth.

"In fact," said Chumbley, who was in a drowsy state of content with the rest, good meals, wine and coffee--"in fact, old fellow, I begin to think that women are a great mistake altogether, and I for one am perfectly cured."

Sleep spread her drowsy wings over his eyes at this point, and his heretical notions had no farther play, for his slumber was dreamless, and he like his friend pa.s.sed a calm and pleasant night.

They awoke early, and breakfasted in keeping with their time of rising; after which, finding themselves quite alone, and seeing that they were not watched, they had a good quiet investigation of the place, doing what Chumbley called, "a bit of engineering."

"Don't seem feasible at present," said Chumbley at the end of the look round.

"Unless we could bribe the guards," replied Hilton.

"Yes, it would only be throwing away energy just at present. Let's bide a wee, as old Stuart would say. I say, old chap, talk about old Stuart, why don't you marry his pretty little la.s.sie?"

"Why don't you keep that Solomon-like intellect of yours to bear on the subject in hand?" retorted Hilton. "I've done with women."

"So have I," said Chumbley. "I'd turn monk if I were offered a nice cell with good shooting and fishing."

"You're a queer fish yourself, Chum," said Hilton, laughing; "but seriously, we must get away from here. It is perfectly absurd!

Kidnapped, and nothing else!"

"Quite a romance," replied Chumbley; "but never mind. We shall know what our ransom is to be to-night."

"I wonder whether Harley is taking steps to find us?"

"Sure to be, unless he thinks we are drowned," replied Chumbley.

"There's no knowing. I believe my hat went floating down the river."

"I hope not," said Hilton. "If he thought that he would not search for us."

"Not till he heard about the ransom. I say, old fellow, I'm tired of smoking, I wonder whether they have a billiard table, or chess?"

"Pshaw."

"Well, then, a pea-rifle to pot the birds."

"Very likely," said Hilton, drily, as they sat by the open window, looking out at the soft shadows of the coming night.

"I'd give something to know really why we are boxed up here," said Chumbley, after a long silence. "It can't be anything connected with the station, or I should be in a terrible fidget. It must be something to do with us alone."

"Yes," replied Hilton; "but it is all darkness at present."

For the moment it was; but the light came all at once as they sat there having a similar conversation on the evening of the third day, after vainly trying to get some information from their guard, for just before sunset the door was thrown open, and looking very handsome and picturesque, and evidently as if she had paid great attention to her toilet, the Inche Maida entered; and as the two officers started up, she walked straight towards Hilton with extended hand.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

AT FAULT AGAIN.

"They'll find out the value of that woman now," said Dr Bolter to himself; "and if I haven't done wisely in marrying her, I'm a Dutchman!

Why, it's the very thing! Here am I, Henry Bolter, a duly qualified medical man, physician and surgeon in one, ready to afford bodily relief; and here is Mary Bolter, my wife--fine sound about that," he said, smiling with satisfaction--"my wife--my little wife--no, my wife is best; it sounds more dignified--my wife, ready to afford mental relief wherever it is needed; and here she is."

For just then the quick, pattering step of the little lady was heard, and, reticule on arm, she came in bustling, hot, and red-faced.

"Well, my little woman, how are you getting on?" he said cheerily, as he placed his arm round the buxom little waist, and led her to an easy-chair, proceeding afterwards, with all a youth's tenderness, to take off her broad hat and light scarf, which he carefully laid down for fear of being called to account.

"Oh, don't ask me, Henry," she sighed. "My heart is nearly broken with trouble, and I am doing no good at all."

"Ahem!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the doctor, taking her hand and feeling the pulse.

"Don't be foolish, Henry, dear," she exclaimed.

"Foolish? No, my dear, certainly not. Hum! Hah! Much fever and exhaustion. Recipe vin Xeres, cochleare magnum. Brisk osculation after the medicine."

"What?" exclaimed Mrs Bolter.

"You are suffering from weariness and exhaustion, my dear," said the little doctor; "and I have prescribed for you a drop of sherry, and something to take after it."

"Not sugar, Henry? and really I would rather not have the wine."

"Doctor's orders, my dear. There," he said, pouring the sherry into a tumbler, and filling it up with cold water, "I have made it as refreshing as I could."

Mrs Bolter drank off the draught, and made a wry face, holding out her hand.

"Where is the stuff for me to take afterwards?"

"There, my dear," said the doctor, kissing her very tenderly.

"For shame, Henry!" she cried, blushing like a girl. "Suppose anyone had seen you?"

"Well, it would have been like his or her impudence to look; and if it had been talked about afterwards, really, Mary, my dear, I have grown to be such a hardened sinner over that sort of thing that I shouldn't care a bit."

"Really, Henry," said the little lady, "anyone would think you were a boy, instead of being a middle-aged man."