"Yes, of course," said Murray, hurriedly. "The collection of b.u.t.terflies and beetles she showed me is most creditable."

"And it is only natural that, situated as she is, a prisoner in these wilds, she should be much attracted by the companionship of a gentleman of similar tastes, and of wide experience and knowledge."

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" said Murray, fidgeting. "She has been very patient and kind of an evening in listening to me, though I am afraid I have often bored her terribly with my long-winded twaddle about ornithology and botany."

"I can vouch for it you have not, and also that you have caused great disappointment when you have not come and joined us."

"Oh, fancy, my dear sir," said Murray, tugging at his great brown beard, and colouring like a girl; "your imagination."

"It is her father's, her mother's, the Greigs' and my wife's imagination too; and this experiment of hers--commenced directly after you had been telling us all how difficult you found it with your big fingers to manipulate the tiny sun-birds--confirms what we thought."

"My dear sir, what nonsense!" cried Murray, sweeping a bird-skin off the table in his confusion, as he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his pipe, lit it, and began to smoke. "I talked like that because I wanted that idle young scamp, Ned, to devote his fingers to the task. I had not the most remote idea that it would make a young lady commence such an uncongenial pursuit."

"Straws show which way the wind blows."

"Look here, sir," cried Murray, jumping up, and making the bamboo floor creak as he strode up and down. "I am not such a fool or so blind as not to comprehend what you mean. Miss Amy Barnes is a very sweet, amiable young lady."

"Far more so than you think," said Mr Braine, warmly. "She is a good daughter--a dear girl, whom I love as well as if she were my own child.

I shall never forget the way in which she devoted herself to my boy when he came out here, still weak, and a perfect skeleton, and it is my tender affection for the girl that makes me speak as I do."

"Then, then--oh, I am very sorry--very sorry indeed," cried Murray. "I wish to goodness I had never come. It is nonsense, madness, impossible.

I am nearly forty--that is over four and thirty. I am a confirmed bachelor, and I would not be so idiotically conceited as to imagine, sir, that the young lady could have even a pa.s.sing fancy for such a dry-as-dust student as myself. I tell you honestly, sir, I have never once spoken to the lady but as a gentleman, a slight friend of her father, would."

"My dear Murray, we have only known you a few weeks, but that has been long enough to make us esteem and trust--"

"Exactly; and it is preposterous."

"That means, you could never care for the lady well enough to ask her to be your wife?"

"Never--certainly--never--impossible--that is--at least--no, no, no, quite impossible. I am a bookworm, a naturalist, and I shall never marry."

"I am sorry," said Mr Braine, thoughtfully, "for, to be frank, I rather thought there was a growing liking on your part for Amy."

"A mistake, sir--a mistake, quite," said Murray, warmly.

"And it would have been a happy circ.u.mstance for us now, at this rather troublesome time."

"Eh? Troublesome? What do you mean? Is anything more the matter?"

"Yes," said Mr Braine, with his brow full of lines. "I may be wrong-- we may be wrong. We have dreaded something of the kind might happen, but years have gone on, and we have had no occasion to think anything serious till now."

"You startle me. What do you mean?" said Murray, excitedly.

"Well, you see the rajah is a Mussulman."

"Yes, of course. Allah, Mahomet, and so on."

"He has several wives."

"Yes, whom he keeps shut up like birds in a cage. Well, what of that?"

"Last night we were all very much disturbed. It was before you came in."

"Ah! Yes, I noticed you were all very quiet. Why was it?"

"The rajah had sent Amy a present. It was a magnificent specimen of goldsmith's work--a large bangle of great value."

"Well?"

"Gentlemen, especially eastern gentlemen, do not send such presents as that to ladies without having some ulterior object in view."

"What!" roared Murray, in so fierce a tone of voice that Hamet came running in.

"Master call?"

"No, no: go away. Nothing.--Here Braine, you horrify me. That old tyrant dare to--to think--to send her presents--to--oh, it is horrible.

The old scoundrel! He to presume to--oh!"

"We may be mistaken. It may be only a compliment."

"Nothing of the sort, sir. He meant an offer of marriage, which is sure to follow, and--oh, the insolent, tyrannical, old scoundrel!"

Mr Braine looked at Murray with a grave smile.

"This indignation's all real?" he said.

"Real? I could go and horsewhip him."

"Then you do care for Amy Barnes, in spite of your short acquaintance, Murray; and I tell you frankly I am very glad, for it may put a stop to a terrible complication, which might have risked all our lives."

Murray's face was scarlet, and he stood looking at his visitor without a word, for in his heart of hearts he owned that he was right, and that out there, in those wild jungles, he, Johnstone Murray, naturalist, who had never thought of such a thing before, had found his fate.

"Yes," said Mr Braine again, thoughtfully, "a serious complication, which might have risked all our lives."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE WHITE HEN.

Meanwhile Ned and Frank had gone off eagerly to the attack upon the lurking water-dragon, terrible, in its way, as that which Saint George slew, and about half-way to the stockade they caught sight of Tim Driscol, seated under a tree, puffing away at a homemade pipe, composed of a short piece of bamboo with a reed stuck in the side. He had a neatly-made little basket by his knee, and as he saw the lads coming, he tapped the ashes out of his pipe, thrust it in his pocket, and rose to pick up his basket, in which there was evidently something alive.

"Bedad and I began to think ye didn't mane to come," he said, with his eyes twinkling.

"Oh, I should have come, Tim, if he hadn't," replied Frank.

"Av coorse ye would.--No offinse, Mr Murray, but why don't ye have a dress like the young master here? Don't he look fine? I hear you took him for a young rajah."

"You come along, and don't talk stuff!" cried Frank. "Is that the chicken?" and he nodded toward the basket. "Well sor, I'd like to tell the truth when I can."