There was no time to say more, for the escort was already at the foot of the steps, on each side of which they formed up in a picturesque group, the lanterns they bore lighting up the showy costumes and displaying the rajah in his European uniform.

The two Englishmen advanced into the veranda to receive him, and as he mounted alone, he smiled, and waited to be asked into the room, evidently quite confident of his safety with his guard so near.

As soon as he was seated, he placed his glittering sword against his knee, and his plumed cap beside it, drawing himself up and glancing toward the doorway to make sure that he was in full sight of his guard.

Then, turning to the doctor, he said in English: "Theeee--laidees."

The doctor bowed, and crossed to the inner door, which he threw open, and the prisoners came out looking pale and calm, to be received with smiles and motioned to take their seats, while the gentlemen remained standing.

"Tell them this is only a short visit," said the rajah. "To-morrow shall come, not to return alone. The lady will be with me, and we shall go to the mosque. Then my English wife will return here no more."

The Resident translated the rajah's words, though the task was needless, for all present followed him pretty well.

Then the doctor spoke, as their visitor keenly watched the effect of his words and fixed his eyes upon the shrinking girl before him. Her father's words were much as had been arranged, and the rajah listened to the interpretation patiently enough.

"Yes, yes," he said; "you are her lather. I understand. But you will be rich, and like a prince here. It is a great honour to your child.

Tell him what I say."

Mr Braine repeated the rajah's words formally, and then the visitor rose, bowed and smiled with good-humoured contempt, and ended by drawing a ring from one of his fingers as he rose, walked toward Amy, and placed it upon her hand, after which he made a profound obeisance and moved toward the door.

"One moment, your highness," said the doctor. "We are your old servants and friends. You treat us as prisoners."

"No, no," he said, on Mr Braine repeating the words. "I honour you.

It is a guard for my wife. Not prisoners. After to-morrow, no."

"But our English friend, Murray. Your highness will let him join us?"

The rajah, caught the name Murray, and his face grew black as night, and without waiting for the interpretation, he made an angry gesture in the negative.

"But my son and his young friend," said Mr Braine, watching him narrowly, to ascertain whether the flight was known.

The rajah gave him a meaning look, and laughed.

"After to-morrow," he said, "they will come back."

His face was all smiles once again, and he bowed to Amy, pa.s.sed into the veranda, descended, and the little cortege moved out of the shady grounds. The lights slowly disappeared among the trees, while the doctor dropped the matting hangings over the door to hide the interior of the house from their guard, after which he turned to encounter the pleading face of his wife as Amy threw herself sobbing upon his breast.

Mr Braine stood looking on for a few moments in silence. Then, in a cold, stern voice, he said:

"Go back to the inner room and pray for our success. Then you have sarongs, make yourselves as much like the Malay women as you can."

"Then we shall escape?" cried Amy, joyously.

"Heaven knows!" said the Resident. "We shall try. Ah, thank goodness, here are the Greigs;" and unchallenged by the guards, Mr Greig and his wife came up to the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

TIM'S HAPPY IDEA.

"Come up here, Driscol," said the doctor; and as Tim appeared Frank came to the inner doorway to creep into a corner, where he was in shadow, and could listen to what was said.

"Now, Braine," said the doctor. "We are all waiting, what do you propose?"

"I have nothing to propose. We have a guard of sixteen outside. If we could get by them, we might reach the river in the darkness. Can you tell me how to proceed?" The doctor was silent. "Frank, can you suggest anything?"

"No, father; only to fight."

"Madness, boy. Help would come directly."

"I have an idea," said the doctor, "if it would act. I should do it unwillingly, but it is our only hope that I see. Stop!--Driscol, can you help us?"

"Sure, I've been thinking hard, sor, and all I can get hold of is one idaya, and that's as shlippery as an oysther out of its sh.e.l.l."

"Speak, man, what is it?"

"To wait a bit, and thin go round wid a thick shtick and bate all their heads."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Mr Braine.

"That's what I said to meself, sor, for I saw while I was quieting one, he would make a noise, and--ye see if I could hit all their heads at wance."

"Hush! silence!" said the doctor. "Braine, the only thing I can propose is to fill a vessel with wine and--drug it."

"No," said Mr Braine, sternly. "For one thing they are Mussulmans, and it is forbidden; some would not drink. For another--"

"They'd be suspicious, and would not touch it," said Frank, quickly.

"Quite right, Frank," said his father.

"Then if I medicated some cigars," whispered the doctor.

"Oh, then," said Frank, "they'd roll them in the waists of their sarongs, and save them to cut up and smoke in their hubble-bubbles to-morrow."

"Yes; it is hopeless," said the doctor, despondently; and there was a long silence broken by Tim.

"Whisht! masther dear," he said, "would the rat poison taste much?"

"Poison? No. Who said a word about poison? I should only send them to sleep."

"Oh!" said Tim, "a short slape; not the very long one. Would it taste, sor?"

"No, my man; why?"

"Thin, bedad, I have it. Ye nivver touched the shmall cakes for dinner: put some of the stuff into thim, and I'll shtale out with a whole trayful and a bottle of wine from down below, jist as if it's me being civil to the bastes, and I'll offer 'em the wine, and they won't touch it, but I will, and dhrink of it heartily. They won't think there's anny desait in it then, and I'll offer 'em the cakes, and ate a shpare one or two that I'll kape on one side."

"Tim, you're a scoundrel!" cried Mr Braine, excitedly.

"Sure, that's what my mother always said, sor," replied Tim, modestly; "but, masther dear, ye wouldn't put any rat poi--shlaping stuff, I mane, into the wine."