There was no doubt about this being the case, for door and window were securely fastened, as the girl showed with a smile, becoming very thoughtful directly after, and making impatient gestures every time Helen tried to draw her into conversation.

And so the day wore on, with the prisoner's heart sinking as she saw the approach of night.

It was just at the time when her spirits were at their lowest ebb that the girl turned to her suddenly and caught her by the arm.

"I have been thinking," she said, "and you shall go free."

She spoke in her own tongue, and Helen had great difficulty in comprehending her, but the peril sharpened her understanding; and by making the girl repeat her words, she arrived at a pretty correct interpretation.

"And you will go with me?" whispered Helen, eagerly.

"A little while ago I felt that I could never leave Murad; but he is cruel, and he loves me no longer now. I will go."

Helen's heart throbbed with joy, as she caught the girl to her breast and kissed her pa.s.sionately, loosing her though directly, for the door was suddenly opened, and they saw a group of four women standing there, evidently bearing food.

"Come and fetch it," said one of them to Helen's companion, for they did not attempt to enter the room.

The girl left Helen and went to the door, to return, bringing the materials for a respectable meal, returning again for water and palm wine, with vessels for drinking, and once more returning for the fruit that the women produced.

Helen was watching their movements intently and suspiciously, she hardly knew why, when suddenly, as the girl was taking a bunch of plantains from one of the women, another threw her arms round her neck and clasped her tightly, with the result that the others seized her as well; there was a slight struggle, the door was slammed to, and as Helen ran to it with throbbing heart, she heard the noise of renewed struggling, the excited angry cries of her poor companion, and these seemed to be dying away for a time, and then to suddenly end as if they had been stifled.

Helen Perowne was brave enough in her way; but the sounds of this struggle, the cries, and their sudden ending, coupled with the threats lately uttered by Murad, made her shudder as she turned, wet with the cold perspiration that gathered upon her face.

What did it mean--that sudden silence? Had they suffocated the poor girl, or had they slain her by some more sudden and deadly stroke?

Helen tried hard to maintain her composure; but her dread increased, and she tottered back to the mats that served her for a couch, to sink down, trembling in every limb.

It was a terrible ordeal, and the more she realised the horrors of her position the more deeply she regretted her conduct to Murad.

For evidently beneath his thin veneer of European manners the Rajah was a remorseless Eastern tyrant, ready to do anything--to sacrifice anything to obtain his wishes.

Unknowingly, or rather carelessly, and with her customary indifference, she had made this man her determined pursuer; and as she thought this, she turned faint, feeling that her position was hopeless in the extreme; and for the moment she felt as if she would go mad.

A violent flood of tears relieved her overburdened brain, and at last she sat up, thinking of her chances of escape, and wondering whether she had let her imagination run riot, and the girl was after all only in a fresh place of confinement.

She decided to take this hopeful view of the case; and feeling better, her eyes lit upon the food that had been brought in, and of which she partook, not so much from choice as from a belief in its being necessary for her strength, which she feared might fail her at any time, perhaps in the direst moment of her need.

Seating herself, then, beside the food, she was trying to eat, when the door was again opened, and one of the women entered quietly, bearing a lighted English lamp.

Helen eagerly questioned her respecting her late companion; but the woman either did not or professed not to understand, merely placing the tall lamp upon a mat on the floor, and hurrying away, seeming as it were to disappear in the gloom on the other side of the lamp, and directly after she heard the door close.

She sat listening, but all was very still. The sun had sunk, and the darkness was coming on so rapidly that she felt thankful for the lamp; and then she turned longingly towards the water and wine that had been brought to her, but which she shrank from touching lest they should happen to contain some drug.

Her thirst seemed to increase at the very sight of the drinking-vessels; and the more she tried wrench away her eyes, the more they sought the large native bottles and cups.

"I cannot bear it!" she panted at last, and bending down, she took the vessel containing the water, poured some out, and after tasting it suspiciously, with her throat growing parched with intense longing, she felt satisfied that the water was pure, and drank a long and hearty draught.

She set the cup down with a sigh of pleasure; and then her blood ran cold, for her sigh seemed to be echoed from out of the gloom near the door.

Murad was standing there, leaning against the doorpost, and it was evident to her now that he had entered when the woman brought in the lamp, and that he had been watching her ever since.

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER FIVE.

TRYING FOR A CHANGE.

The days glided rapidly by, and still Hilton and Chumbley remained prisoners. They were well attended to; their diet, though Eastern in character, was admirably prepared: they had wine and cigars, capital coffee, and an abundance of fruit, but no liberty.

The Inche Maida was either away, or else she had taken such deadly offence that she was determined to see her prisoners no more for the present, until they were in a better frame of mind as regarded her wishes.

The slaves who attended upon them were ready to obey their slightest wishes, running eagerly to fetch coffee or fruit, or a kind of sherbet which was _very_ pleasant to drink during the heat of the day.

But there was, with all the attention, a strict watch kept, Chumbley noticing that there was always an ostentatious display of force as if to show the prisoners that it was hopeless to attempt to escape.

Armed men sat about outside the door, and from the window the prisoners could see other armed men sitting about chewing betel, or practising throwing the limbing--the javelin with a blade of razor keenness--which they hurled with such unerring aim that the least skilful would have been certain to strike a man at thirty yards.

But all the same, the hearts of the prisoners were set upon scheming their escape; and they sat and smoked, and made their calculations as to how it was to be compa.s.sed.

"I'm sorry I was so rough with the poor woman," said Hilton one evening, as they sat by the open window sipping their coffee, and gazing at the rich orange glow in the sky above the dark green foliage of the trees.

"Well, you were pretty rough upon her for displaying a remarkable feminine weakness in your favour," replied Chumbley.

"Well, rough or no, I'm tired of this," said Hilton. "It is evident that Harley is making no effort to find us out."

"Perhaps he is, but can't find the place. I've been trying hard to make out where we are."

"So have I, but I'm puzzled. One thing is evident; we are a long way from the river."

"So we cannot be at the Inche Maida's seat."

"No; I suppose this is a sort of private, lodge or hunting-box somewhere away in the jungle."

"Yes; a place of retreat in case of danger."

Then there was a pause, during which the prisoners sat gazing through the bars of the window at the glories of the sky, Chumbley disgusting his friend by continuously spitting.

"The Princess's home is on the right bank of the river," said Hilton, at last.

"Granted, oh! Solomon the wise!"

"_Ergo_" continued Hilton, "we are upon the right bank of the river."

"Unless her ladyship's dominions extend to the other side."

"Take it for granted that they do not," said Hilton.

"What then?"