One Maid's Mischief

“I don’t know that,” replied the doctor. “We must get away somewhere. To stay here is to be hunted out and taken.”

He paused to listen, and as he did so the beat of the great oars came loudly; and directly after he sank back in the boat with a look of misery upon his face, for the prahu could be seen once more returning up-stream, and to have attempted to leave their concealment now meant certain capture.

It soon became very evident that the officer in command of the prahu felt sure that they were in hiding somewhere close at hand, for he had his boat steered close in to the opposite shore; and as they glided slowly by, men with poles thrust aside the branches, and keen eyes were evidently peering scrutinisingly amongst the leaves.

The doctor turned angrily in his place, thinking of what he should do; but all thought seemed in vain, and the conclusion was forced upon him that their only chance was to lie quiet and trust to their not being seen.

He was a man, however, of no little activity of mind; and as soon as this was forced upon him he immediately set to work to try and improve their position.

Giving his instructions, then, in a whisper, the sampan was dragged in closer to the shore, and leaves and boughs being reached were dragged over them, the doctor cutting several branches to lay over the boat where it was fixed in its place; and this being done, he made the Malays lie down, he remaining in a kneeling position as he enlaced the boughs above his head till all was to his satisfaction, after which he crouched down and waited.

Poor Doctor Bolter had worked at his task till the perspiration streamed from his face, little thinking that he had closed up every aperture through which danger might enter but one, and that one was plain to anyone in search of the fugitives.

It was very unfortunate, but it never occurred to him. He had broken the branches with the greatest care, turning huge leaves over the broken ends to keep them from looking strange, and he had carefully picked up and laid in the boat every leaf that had been broken off, but still there was a sign visible by which the searchers might detect the hidden party should they use any diligence as they came that way.

The fugitives were not long kept in suspense, for very soon the plash of the prahu’s oars was heard, and then the shadow of the great boat shut out some of the light as she brushed against the branches. Oars and poles beat aside the boughs, and the excitement grew intense as the searchers came nearer and nearer. The two boatmen laid their heads upon their knees, and Dr Bolter placed the gun in the bottom of the boat, gave Helen’s hand a reassuring pressure, and then took up his revolver as being a better weapon for such close quarters.

“They’re in here somewhere,” cried a voice in Malayan; “beat the branches aside; they must be found.”

The crew of the prahu encouraged each other with shouts as they bent aside the boughs; and the boat, after being rowed some little distance past them, was allowed to drift slowly down, some of the men holding on by the branches to keep her from going down-stream too fast.

The fugitives lay quite still, hardly daring to breathe as this went on, the search at one time being so near that they felt that they must be seen. But in spite of the keen searchings of a score or so of piercing eyes, the prahu slowly passed them lower and lower down the stream, till the voices began to grow faint.

“Saved, my dear,” said the doctor, in a whisper. “They will not come back now. Hold up a bit longer, and I will see you safe in your father’s arms.”

In spite of her efforts, Helen could not keep back a passionate burst of tears, her sobs, stifled though they were, becoming so hysterical that the doctor grew alarmed, and tried hard to comfort her.

“Thank goodness!” he muttered at last, as she calmed down; and he was in the act of raising his handkerchief to wipe his streaming face, when he turned cold, for the prahu was being rowed up-stream once more.

There was nothing for it but to lie still and wait, for there was a possibility of the search being ended; but to their agony and despair, the vessel was allowed to come slowly floating back, the search being continued till, as they came nearly opposite, one of the crew uttered a loud shout, and pointed to where, like a silvery patch in the darkness, the sun was shining in upon the doctor’s glistening bald head.

The next minute the prahu’s stem was forced in amongst the bushes and overhanging boughs, and half a dozen Malays dropped from her side right into the boat.

Doctor Bolter made a desperate attempt at defending his charge, but one of the prahu’s crew leaped right down upon his back, jerking his arm so that the first shot from his revolver went into the jungle, the second through the bottom of the sampan, and the third remained in the pistol-chamber, for the trigger was not drawn, the pistol being wrenched from his hand.

The next few minutes were occupied in binding roughly him and his men, and then, in spite of his angry denunciations and threats of the British vengeance, they were hauled into the prahu. Helen was slung up – she being quite prostrate now – and amidst the laughter and chattering of the swarthy Malays, the prahu’s head was turned towards the little river, with the sampan towing behind, and the boats soon after went rushing through the water on their upward way.

“Horrible!” muttered the doctor, as he realised his position. “They will take us up the little river to that scoundrel’s place in the jungle, and I never told a soul where we were going. Was ever anything so unlucky? As for that Murad, once let me get the opportunity, and he shall smart for this – a vile, treacherous scoundrel! Poor Helen, what can I do!”

He drew his breath painfully through his teeth as he uttered these words, for just then a showily-dressed Malay went to where Helen was seated, and going down upon one knee, he raised her head.

“Poor girl, she is fainting!” muttered the doctor. Then his heart seemed to stand still, for Helen uttered a piteous cry for help, and for the first time the doctor saw that the showily-dressed Malay supporting Helen’s head was the Rajah himself!

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty.

Riches Take to Themselves Wings

“Ah, Grey, my child,” said little Mrs Bolter, with a loud burst of sobbing, as soon as they were alone, “if ever you marry, don’t marry a medical man! I try so hard – Heaven knows how hard – not to let such thoughts come into my mind; but I’ve altered terribly, my dear, since I was married. The doctor has made me love him very much; and it’s being so fond of him that has caused this dreadful jealous feeling to spring up; and it finds vent in my being snappish to him, and complaining about all sorts of trifles that are of no consequence at all!”

“But you ought not to let such thoughts come into your mind,” said Grey, reproachfully.

“I know I ought not, my dear,” said the unhappy little body, clinging to her young friend’s hand; “but they will come. It’s just as if I were being tempted by mocking spirits, which keep on pretending to open my eyes when the doctor is out.”

“Open your eyes, dear Mrs Bolter?” said Grey, who found relief for her own sore heart in trying to soothe another’s.

“Yes, my dear. I’m confessing quite openly to you now, my dear; but I know that you will never betray me. They seem to open my eyes to all sorts of things, and make me see the doctor, when he is called in to ladies, taking their bands and feeling their pulses; and oh, my dear, it is very dreadful to sit at home and think that your husband is holding some handsome woman’s hand and wrist, and feeling the beatings of her pulses, and perhaps all the time forgetting that he has a poor, anxious little wife at home thinking he is so long away!”

“When that same husband loves you very dearly, and is most likely longing to be back by your side,” said Grey, reproachfully.

“If one could only feel that,” said Mrs Bolter, “instead of being in such torture and misery, and wishing a hundred times a day that I had never listened to the doctor, and given up our quiet little home!”

“When you have come out to make his life so happy?” said Grey, smiling.

“I try to, my dear; but I can’t help thinking sometimes,” said the poor little woman, pathetically, “that his heart is more devoted to Solomon’s gold – ”

“Oh, Mrs Bolter!”

“And apes.”

“My dear Mrs Bolter!”

“And peacocks,” sobbed the little woman, “than it is to me. Ah, my dear, when you marry – ”

“I shall never marry, Mrs Bolter,” said Grey, with a sad ring in her voice.

“Oh, you don’t know, my child. I used to say so, and think that I was as firm as a rock, and as hard as iron; but, oh, these men – these men – when once you listen to their dreadful, insinuating talk, they seem to get the better of your proper judgment, and end by completely turning you round their finger.”

Grey smiled in her face and kissed her.

“There, there!” cried Mrs Bolter, changing her tone, “I am afraid I have lowered myself terribly in your eyes this morning, my dear. I’m growing into a very, very strange creature, and dreadfully weak! Those torturing thoughts keep suggesting to my foolish heart that the doctor has gone up the river on purpose to see the Inche Maida!”

“Oh, no; he cannot!” said Grey, smiling.

“Well, perhaps not, my dear; but whether or no, if he was to come back now, and confess that he had done so, I feel perfectly certain that, after scolding him well, I should forgive him. I’ve grown to be a very different body to the one you knew when you used to come to us from the Miss Twettenhams’.”

“Now, look here, dear Mrs Bolter,” said Grey, who, in her friend’s trouble, seemed to have changed places with her, and become the elder of the two, “I believe Dr Bolter to be a really good, true man, to whom I should go in trouble and speak to as if he were my father, sure that he would be kind and wise, and help and protect me, whether my trouble were mental or bodily.”

“My dear,” cried Mrs Bolter, gazing at her with admiration, “you talk like a little Solomon! Ah!” she cried impatiently, “I wish there had never been a Solomon at all!”

“Why?” said Grey, wonderingly.

“Because then Harry would never have been always dreaming about gold, and Tarshish and Ophir, and all that stuff!”

“My dear Mrs Bolter,” continued Grey, affectionately, “I feel that I am perfectly right about Doctor Bolter, and I hope you will not be hurt when I tell you that I think you are very hard and unjust to him!”

“Hurt, my darling!” sobbed the little woman, “no, indeed I am very grateful, my dear, and I wish you would scold me well. It would do me good!”

“I am sure, then, without scolding you,” said Grey, smiling, “that the doctor is one of the best of men!”