One Maid's Mischief

Murad’s love appeared to turn in a moment to furious hate; his eyes darkened and seemed to emit a lurid light; his teeth appeared between his lips, which were drawn apart like those of some wild beast, and the man’s savage nature blazed out in a moment under the affront. In an instant his hand sought the hilt of his kris, and tearing the weapon from its sheath, he pursued his prisoner as she fled from him shrieking round the room.

Helen fled from him but for a few moments, and then she stopped short and faced him, offering herself to his blow.

This brave act disarmed him, checking his rage, which seemed to have flashed out, and his English education began to tell. Muttering impatiently, he thrust the kris back into its sheath, and uttered a forced laugh.

“Foolish girl!” he cried, “why did you strike me? It is folly! It makes me angry. A Malay never forgives a blow; but you have made me English, and I forgive you because – because you make me fond. But it was wild and foolish. I give you my love, you play with me and strike me a blow. A woman should not strike the man she loves.”

Helen did not reply, but rushed to and tore furiously at the door.

“Why do you tire yourself?” he cried, with a contemptuous laugh. “What good can you do? I tell you once again my people dare not stir to help you, even if you wished; and I know enough of woman’s nature to tell that, from such a finished coquette as you have always been, this is but a false show of dread.”

Helen’s despair grew deeper as she listened to the Rajah’s words, and reading her thoughts aright, he went on calmly enough:

“I do not mind. You know I love you, and at heart I believe you love me. But what matter if you do not? You will when you are my wife. You will be quite contented here, and very soon forget your own people and their ways. It will be a change for an English beauty to become a Malay princess, and you shall even have a new name. Still angry? There, pray calm down. It is because I had you fetched so suddenly away; for I know you, Helen. You are not weeping for any other lover. Out of so many you could care for none more than for me.”

Still Helen did not reply, but stood at bay, her eyes dilated, and backing from him whenever he made as if to approach her, till, with a scornful laugh, he gave up the pursuit and threw himself carelessly upon one of the divans.

“Why should I weary myself by running after you?” he said, with a mocking laugh. “That is all past, and you must plead to me. Foolish girl, how could you return even if you wished! They think you dead, and who would know Helen Perowne in you?”

She started a little here, and he noted it and smiled.

“I have waited and can wait still, for I know that as soon as this fit is over you will creep to my feet like any other slave I have. I know what you are thinking – that you will escape.”

“And mark my words, I shall!” cried Helen, impetuously.

“Don’t try it,” he said, smiling. “Don’t try it, for your own sake as well as mine. It sounds cruel, but it is a custom of this country to spear a slave who is seen to run away; and if my people fail to take you, and I do not think they would, the tigers would prove less merciful. You must have heard them when the night has come; they roam about this place, and the more I kill them the more they seem to come.

“What!” he said, laughing, “you would rather trust to the tender mercies of the beasts than trust to me! I read it in your scornful eyes, but that is not true, or a time back you would not have looked tenderly in mine and sighed and pressed my hand at parting.”

He laughed aloud as he saw her shrink and cower away in her abasement for very shame. She was reaping now the fruits of her career of folly; and if ever woman bitterly repented her weakness and the trifling of which she had been guilty in her love of admiration, that woman was Helen Perowne, as she stood there shamefaced and crushed as it were by the thoughts of the past.

“That is right,” he said, quietly. “You are thinking of the past. But never mind; that is all gone now. It was English Helen who was so weak; it is Malay Helen who will become strong. My people have done well, and how it becomes you! Your friends would never know you now.”

What should she do?

Helen’s hands closed, and her fingers were tightly enlaced as she tried to find a way out of her difficulties. She knew that threats would be in vain, and supplication to him to set her free like so many wasted words. There was no way out but by gaining the mastery over her enemy once more. Her enemy! But he must be treated like a friend. Only a few brief months back, and this man, at whose mercy she now was, seemed the veriest slave. Well, why not once again? she asked herself. She was as young and beautiful as ever they said. He loved her – he must love her – and why should she not sway him by this love? It was her only hope, and she grasped at it to try.

“Well,” he said, smiling mockingly, “will you not find a place here by my side?”

She was silent for a few moments, and then, making an effort:

“You have done me a cruel injury, Rajah,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling, but becoming firmer with each word she spoke.

“Injury!” he said, smiling; and his eyes glittered at the success that promised to attend his plans. “Oh, no; not injury. It can be no injury to a beautiful woman to make her the wife of a rich Malay prince – one who loves her with all his heart – a rajah who loves your English ways, and who will surround you with everything you wish.”

“You will give me my liberty?” said Helen.

“Yes,” he said; “whatever my beautiful princess can desire.”

She made a gesture full of impatience, and remained silent for a few moments to gather calmness before she spoke again.

“You have spoken of the past, Rajah Murad,” she said at last, in a low musical voice.

“Yes,” he said, smiling; “that happy past.”

“I was very weak and foolish then, Rajah,” she said. “I was but a girl, and I fear I loved admiration. It was that which made me act so foolishly and ill. But when I tell you my sorrow for my acts – when I tell you how bitterly I repent it all – you will forgive me, and will take me back.”

“For your people to seize and shoot me like a dog?” he said, quietly.

“Oh, no, no!” she cried, “they would not do you harm. You will have taken me back, and for this they shall not do you ill.”

“Speak again like that,” he cried with his eyes lighting up. “That makes you look more beautiful than you were before.”

She started and shuddered, but she went on:

“I ask your forgiveness for the wrong I, in my foolish, girlish wilfulness, did you; and now that you have punished me so severely as you have, you will pardon me, Rajah – the weak, helpless woman who prays you to send her back.”

“I punish you!” he cried, with an affectation of surprise. “I would not punish you. To keep you with me it was necessary that you should look like these my people, and I was sorry to give orders that it should be done. I half feared the result; but I do not repent it now that I have seen how it makes you more beautiful than ever.”

“But you will take me back to my father?” she pleaded. “I will forgive everything. I will not breathe a word about this outrage. No one shall know that it was Rajah Murad who took me from my home. Only send me back safely, and I will bless you.”

He laughed softly.

“There are steps some men take,” he said, “that can never be retraced, and this I have done is one of those steps. You are a woman of sense, and know your people. I staked all upon this cast, and I have won. If I give way now, what will the English people, who are so proud of their honour, say to the beauty of their station, who comes back to them darkened like one of us? What will they say to the lady who comes back to them after so many days in Rajah Murad’s harem?”

Helen started as if she had been stung, and her eyes flashed their indignation at this cowardly speech.

But she felt directly after that anger would be useless – that she must gain time; and once more trembling in every limb, she forced herself to plead.

“I have some mastery over him,” she thought, and determining to retain, and if possible strengthen it, she forced back every semblance of anger, and placed her hands together in supplication.

“You told me once that you loved me,” she said softly.

“I told you once? I have told myself I loved you a thousand times,” he cried passionately.

“Then you would not disgrace me in the eyes of my people?” she pleaded.

“No,” he cried. “I would not; I love you far too well.”

“Then set me free – send me back to my home.”

“That would be to disgrace you, foolish girl,” he cried. “Do you not see why I took this step? You made me love you, and when you cast me off, I tell you I made a tow that you should still be mine. I had you brought here. Well, I am as jealous of your honour as you are yourself. You cannot leave here but as my wife.”

A sob of rage and indignation choked Helen’s utterance for the moment, but she mastered it once more and turned upon him.

“Is this your love for me,” she cried, “to cause me this dreadful pain.”

“Pain perhaps now,” he said quietly; “but happiness will come for both. You proud and foolish girl, you do not know what it is to be the wife of a prince such as I am. Let your people go. Mine will do far more honour to their new princess; they will worship you. They must and shall. There, I see you are listening to what I say. You are growing sensible; let this strange feeling wear away. Be gentle to me Helen – love – and be content to stay!”