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Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Eight.
Murad at Home

The place was very still once more as Helen sat thinking, with her two attendants idling by the window. She had heard the sound of oars, and there had been men’s voices, but nothing more.

She was angry with herself for the ill success of her attempt to escape; but by degrees she calmed down, and her excitement passed off, for there was something inexpressibly comforting in the knowledge that the chaplain was not far away. She succeeded so well at last in recovering her equanimity that she told herself she was ready to crush Murad with the outburst of righteous indignation that would flow from her lips.

There was a calm, dreamy feeling about the place now, and her attendants seemed half asleep. It was intensely hot, and the birds and insects had ceased their whistlings and busy hum. So quiet did it seem in the late afternoon that everything might have been supposed asleep, when once more the sound of voices sent a thrill through Helen, and she began to tremble and feel weak once more, till suddenly there was one voice heard above the others, giving orders, and this voice sent a thrill through her – not of dread, but of anger.

She drew herself up, for the time had come, and, like one who has been for weeks dreading some painful scene, shrinking within herself, but grows brave and ready at the last moment when she is face to face with the difficulty, so Helen Perowne suddenly felt herself firm and ready for the encounter she had to endure.

It was Murad’s voice undoubtedly, giving orders in a sharp, commanding way; and though he spoke in the Malay tongue, she readily recognised the tones that had been used at the station, when he had hung over her ottoman, softened his words to the occasion, and then gazed at her with love-softened eyes.

“Idiot! idiot! weak coquette that I was!” she cried to herself. “Had I no more sense than to lead this savage on for the sake of gaining a little more adoration. Oh! father, it was a curse you gave me, and not a blessing, in those handsome features that all people praised.”

The weak tears rose to her eyes, and it was only by an effort that she kept them back, clenching her teeth and fingers, and striving to be firm.

“It is too late now,” she muttered then. “Oh! Grey Stuart, would to Heaven that you were here!”

Then, with forced composure upon her face and her heart palpitating wildly, she took up one of the Chinese fans that lay by her ottoman, and sat listening as she plainly heard steps ascending the broad ladder to the platform. Then, with her heart beating in unison to the footsteps that came across the adjoining room, she waited till the door was thrown open; the great curtain was hastily drawn aside by the two Malay attendants, who both stood with head reverently bowed and eyes cast down, as if they dared not gaze upon their lord, while Murad entered with a quick imperious step, and stood there, in his semi-European costume.

He gazed sharply from one to the other for a moment or two, and then made an imperious gesture, signing to the two girls to leave the room.

Helen did not move, but sat with her head raised, her eyelids drooped, but watchfully noting everything that went on. She forced down her terrible emotion, and moment by moment gained greater command over herself.

The two girls looked up at their lord appealingly for a moment, but there was so fierce a look directed at them that they crossed their hands deprecatingly upon their breasts, bent their heads, and with their eyes upon the bamboo flooring, passed slowly out.

The time had come. Helen had determined to be brave and to resume her mastery over this savage prince; but in spite of her efforts to be calm, her timid woman’s nature prevailed, and found vent in a quick, short command to the girls.

“No, no,” she cried. “Stay!”

But as she uttered her order they were passing through, the door shut heavily behind them, and the Rajah let the heavy curtain fall back in its place.

Then she felt that she was alone indeed, and for a moment her head swam as she gazed through her long dark lashes at the daring Malay who was the author of this outrage and its cruel sequence.

He was still by the door, standing erect and proud, his head drawn back, one hand resting upon the hilt of his kris, and a mocking smile of triumph upon his face, as if he were rejoicing at the success of his plans.

“You do not rise to welcome me,” he whispered softly. “Are you angry because I have been so long away?”

She did not answer, but nerved herself more and more, and to her great joy she felt that it was anger rather than fear that now filled her breast, though she told herself that perhaps diplomacy might be more successful than threats.

“It is because I have stayed so long,” he said, half mockingly; and then, speaking once more in his low, passionate tones – the tones Helen had thought so musical in the drawing-room of their home at the station – he whispered:

“I could not have hoped for so great a change. You are a thousand times more beautiful than you were before.”

Helen essayed to speak, but her emotion choked her utterance; and always watchful of his slightest movement, she still sat with her eyelids drooping, and he went on in excellent English, but with the metaphorical imagery so loved of Eastern people:

“Always beautiful; but now, robed as a princess of my nation, decked with Malayan flowers, your white skin softened to the sun-kissed nature of a beauty of our land, you shine before me like some star.”

Still she remained silent, and he went on: “They have done their work well, and could you but see your beauty with these eyes of mine, you would not wonder that I should have thought the hours weary that kept me from your side. Helen – beautiful Helen, you used not to hide those eyes from mine. Look up; let me see them once again. We are alone here now. No prying creatures of your English people can see us. I have prayed to Allah that this hour might come, and now that I am here, humble – thy very slave – where is thy look of welcome – where is the tender look? For in thy maiden coyness say what thou wilt; but let thine eyes speak to me of love as they used so often at thy English home.”

“How dare you!” she cried, finding words at last; “how dare you insult me by such a speech!” and she rose imperiously from her seat. “How dare you have me dragged from my home like this, and submitted by your orders to this disgraceful treatment, to make me look like one of your degraded race?”

“If my race be degraded,” he said, quietly, “I try to elevate it by choosing you.”

“I desire – I insist, sir, that you have me taken to my father now – at once.”

The Rajah smiled, and crossed his arms over his breast.

“Let me think,” he said. “Take you back? No; I could not take you back save as my wife. Your English people would have me shot.”

“You were my father’s guest, sir,” continued Helen. “You were admitted to his house as friend, and you have behaved to him with the basest treachery. See! Look at me! It was by your orders I was disfigured thus!”

“Treachery!” he said, quietly. “No, there was no treachery, when I came as a prince and rajah, and said to the English merchant, ‘I love your daughter: I will stoop and make her my wife.’”

“Stoop!” cried Helen, with a flash of her beautiful eyes.

“Yes,” he said, “stoop! She has confessed her love!”

“It is false!” cried Helen.

“Not with words, but with her fierce dark eyes,” he continued. “‘I shall offend my people, but what of that? Love is all-powerful. I will dismiss all my wives, and she shall reign alone.’ I went and said all that, as an English gentleman would have asked your hand, and what followed?”

Helen’s eyes were fixed upon him sternly, and her heart condemned her, but she did not speak.

“I was treated with contempt and insult! I – I, Prince and Rajah here, was shown that I, who had stooped to love a woman of an infidel race, had been mocked and played with by the beautiful English maiden; and at that moment, Helen, had I seen you, I should have killed you with my kris, and then, in my mad rage, I would have done as my people do – run headlong here and there, killing and slaying as I went, my bare kris dripping with the blood I spilt – running amok, my people call it – and killing till they slew me where I ran. I, as a Malay, should have done all this. It is the custom among my people; but your English ways prevailed. I had learned English, and I, as a Prince, after my first wild rage was past, said that I must wait – be patient – and that the time would come when my revenge could be had. I waited patiently – and waited longer, to see if the lady would be kind and gentle to me once again; but she would not while she was among her people; so I said I would bring her amongst mine, where she would soon learn to be gentle and as kind as she was of old.”

“Coward!” she cried, fiercely.

“I knew you would say that,” he replied, mockingly. “I knew that you would assume to be very angry. You coquettes, as you English people call them, always do; and then, when all your angry, cruel things are said, you become tender, and gentle, and sweet. I do not mind.”

Helen stamped her foot with impotent rage, as she felt how justly she had been appraised by this half-savage prince; but she could find no words in reply.

“Your people thought me contented, and that peace was made,” he said, laughing. “I know all. There was a terrible state of fright at first, when you refused my hand. I know all, you see. Your people armed themselves and kept watch. ‘The people of Murad will attack us, and take revenge,’ you said, ‘and we shall be all crushed;’ and so you armed yourselves. Then you all feared to go to the fête lest there should be treachery, and I was watched; but they did not know my ways. I meant to have revenge; but what good would the blood of all your people be to me? That was not the revenge I wanted. I could wait, and I have waited with the result you see. There, is that good English? Do you understand these my words well?”

Helen did not answer, but stood there proud and defiant, though her heart quailed as she listened, and thought of the patient way in which this man had waited his time.

“I have had patience,” he said, with a calm smile of superiority, which changed, to her horror, to one of earnestness, almost of appeal.

“You do not speak,” he continued. “Must I say more – must I tell you how I loved you with all my soul! You made me love you, and were not content until I did. You led me on; you smiled at me, and lured me to your side. Your eyes told me you delighted in the passion you had roused, and you seemed to triumph in making me your slave. Then I asked you to be my wife, and I was cast aside, thrown off to make room for another, and I awoke from my dream to find that I had only been a plaything of your mocking hour. I was only a Malay – a black as your people call me in their contempt – and your father and all your people laughed at my pretensions to an English lady’s hand. You all told me by your looks and treatment that I was presuming on the kindness I had received; but do you think that, though I bent to it then, as if you and yours were right, that I, an Eastern Prince, would bear this treatment at your hands? No; I planted my revenge at once, like some tiny seed, and since have watched it grow hour by hour till it was time to cut it down ripe and ready to my hand.”

“Do you hear my words, sir?” said Helen, contemptuously. “I order you to take me back.”

“The slave orders her master to take her back,” said Murad, quietly. “You English think you have power over all.”

“How dare you call me slave!” she cried.

“I call you what you are,” he said, calmly; “my wife if you will; if not, one of my lowest slaves. I was your slave once, and would have been to the end. Now you are mine.”

Helen shivered, but she mastered her fear, and exclaimed:

“Have you reckoned what your punishment will be for this? Do you suppose my people will let this pass?”

“I have weighed all,” he said, coolly. “But let me talk, for I have much to say yet; I find relief in speaking of it all. Did you think that I was going to submit without resentment to the insult you had put upon me? Oh, no! You did not know what we Malays could do. We take a blow, and perhaps bear it then. It may be wise; but we never forgive the hand that gives that blow. We hide our suffering for a time, but at last we turn and strike. Do you understand me now? The time came at last, and I have turned and struck.”

Helen remained silent, listening to his words, which sounded like a sentence of death; but she still fought hard not to show her terror, and kept up her defiant, half-contemptuous gaze as he went on:

“I hid all my sufferings, and patiently bore with all your cruelty, seeing without a word how you lavished your smiles upon this one and that, and all without making a sign; but all the time I was waiting, and telling myself that some day you should pay me for all this suffering; and when the good time came I said to my people: ‘Take her and carry her to the house in the jungle; let her people think she is dead,’ and it was done.”

“And now that it has been done,” cried Helen, “your plans are known. You have been followed, and you will have to suffer as you deserve – death is the punishment to the cowardly native hand that is raised against an English lady.”

“Nonsense!” he said, laughing. “I have taken my steps better than that;” and his words which followed chilled Helen, as they robbed her of a hope. “No one saw you taken but that dreamy priest of your people, and he has been taken too. He wanders through our jungle finding flowers and plants, forgetting you half his time.”

“It is false!” cried Helen. “He was here to-day.”

“Yes, he was here to-day,” said Murad, coolly, “and he has been taken back. He did not follow you. Do you suppose me so weak that I should let your people know where you had gone?”

“They must – they will know – that it is you who have done this cruel wrong,” she cried, indignantly.

“No,” he said, with a contemptuous laugh. “It it very easy to throw dust in English eyes. I will tell you for your comfort, and to make you settle to your fate, the people at the station think I am their friend, and that I have been helping them with my people to find you. And now you are only living in their hearts.”

“In their hearts?” cried Helen, starting; and her thoughts involuntarily turned to Neil Harley.

“Yes,” he said, quietly; “they think you dead.”

“Dead!” she cried, in spite of her efforts to be calm.

“Yes; they believe you dead, and so you are to them. Helen the Englishwoman is dead, and this a beautiful Malay – my wife.”

“Dead?” she cried again, for his announcement came like a terrible shock.

“Yes; they found a boat down the river far below the station. They think you went with two of your lovers on the water, and that the boat filled and sank, to be washed up on a bank. It was well managed, and Helen and three of her friends or lovers are mourned as dead.”

“Mr Harley is not imprisoned too?” cried Helen.

“No; he is not a lover,” said the Sultan, smiling.

“Oh, Heaven help me!” muttered Helen.

“So you are dead to them,” he said, quietly. “Helen Perowne, the beautiful English girl, is no more, and in her place lives the Malay princess I see before me now. Ah, Helen, no one would know you. It is only I who have the knowledge of the change. What is it to be – my honoured wife or slave?”

“It is horrible!” thought Helen, as now she realised more fully the extent of the iniquitous plot of which she had been made the victim. By Murad’s words the hopes of succour she had nurtured had been swept one by one away, for she did not doubt him in the least, but felt her heart sink as she realised how helpless her position was, for his words seemed to carry truth with them, and she knew that she alone was to blame.

Then she started violently, and shrank back towards the wall, for he had taken a step or two towards her and stretched out his hands.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Nine.
At Bay

The Rajah stopped when Helen shrank away, as if he did not wish to alarm her unduly.

“Why do you shrink from me?” he said, with a laugh. “You were not so timid when I talked with you after dinner, and you invited me with smiles to stay by your side. Did you think when you began to play with my love that it was of the same cold stuff as that of your poor, weak English wooers?”

Helen made no reply, but gazed at him watchfully, meaning to elude his grasp and run to the door should he approach her again.

“Your English wooers’ hearts are like ice, and their love is cold; while that of a Malay, under his calm, quiet demeanour, glows like fire, and once kindled, is never more extinct. Do you hear me, Helen? Once you set it burning with the light of love, his heart flames until it ceases to beat. There, why be angry with me, and try to wither me with those cruel looks? I took you because you made me love you; and as you did make me love you, I shall never believe that you are anything but glad that I forced you to be my wife.”

“Be your wife?” she cried, passionately, in spite of her determination not to speak. “I would sooner die!”

“Yes,” he replied with a contemptuous laugh, “that is what all women say. The girls who waited upon you said just the same. They told me they hated me, and ended by hanging upon my neck and calling me husband and their own. Tell me you hate me!” he cried, with his dark eyes seeming to flash; “tell me you will have me killed for what I have done – tell me you will never look upon my face again, and make those beautiful eyes dart anger at me. It makes me happier than I can tell you, for I know that the storm will pass away; and when the lightning of your eyes and their rain of tears have gone, the sunshine of your love will gladden my heart. Helen, I have waited for you – oh, so long!”

He took another step or two forward, and was about to catch her hand in his, but she avoided his touch and fled to the window.

“Come a step nearer to me,” she panted, her face convulsed with dread, “and I will call for help.”

“Nonsense!” he said, with a smile. “Why should you call? Is it for the birds to hear? The tigers will not awaken till ’tis night. Why should you weary yourself and hurt that sweet-tuned throat? Call for help? Who would hear you call?”

“Your people!” she panted, as her dread increased. “They are here below!”

“Yes,” he said, “they are here below and about the place, but they are deaf. You forget that I am not the poor Malay, looked down upon with disdain by your proud English friends, but Prince and Rajah. You would make my servants and my slaves hear, but not one would stir. You do not understand my power, Helen – the power of the man you scorned! Should one of my people dare to come here ere I summoned him, he would die!”

“It is not true!” cried Helen, with spirit. “Knowing who I am, they would come, and if I appealed to them, protect me.”

Murad laughed a contemptuous, cynical laugh.

“You forget where you are,” he said. “This is one of my homes, and this is my land. I am poor Rajah Murad whom you look upon with contempt at Sindang station; but here I am the people’s Lord. Who dare contradict me or disobey commands? No one. For the life or death of my people rests with me. So you may leave that window and accept your lot.”

Helen did not move.

“There, put away all that silly woman’s play!” he cried. “I tell you it is like my foolish native girls behave. You are an English lady, and should be wiser. Come, let us be friends at once, and I will become more English for your sake. You will forgive me for bringing you away; it was the love I bore you made me act as I did. You will forgive me, will you not? Have I not had you made ten times more beautiful than you were before?”

He made a feint, and then a couple of quick strides towards her, and this time caught her by the wrist; but in her dread and horror she wrenched it away, and struck him sharply across the face as she would have struck at some noxious beast; and as he started back in surprise, she bounded to the door, and tried to wrench it open.

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!”

Helen’s brow grew wrinkled, and her eyes were half-closed as she stood there with clasped hands, asking herself how she should act. She was checked at every double, and the hopelessness of her position had never appeared more strongly to her than it did now. Her eyes wandered to the door, to the window, and then to the Rajah, as he half reclined upon the mats, gazing at her with a smiling, satisfied look, as if watching the feeble efforts made by his captive to escape from his toils.