It was night before Helen again woke, and her first thought was of escape; but as she softly rose to a sitting posture, she felt that one of the girls was by her side, and as she listened to her regular breathing, and tried in the darkness to collect her thoughts and to recall exactly where the door and window lay, the black night seemed a little less black just in one particular part of the room, and she realised that the window must lie there.

“If I could get past that window!” thought Helen, with throbbing brain. “I know it would be hard, but still I might make my way to the river and find someone who would be my friend. There must be paths through the jungle.”

Then with a strange aching sense of misery she thought of how little she had done since she had been out there. No one could be more ignorant of the nature of the jungle than she. She remembered that someone had called it impenetrable; but she knew that Dr Bolter went on expeditions to discover gold, and that the Reverend Arthur Rosebury sometimes wandered there.

“Poor Mr Rosebury?” she said, half aloud. “What he could do sorely I could,” and then the blood in her veins seemed to freeze, and a shudder ran through her, for from out of the darkness came a deep, hoarse, snarling roar that she recognised at once as that of some tiger on the prowl.

She was very ignorant of the jungle and its dangers, but she knew that if she should attempt to leave the building where she was imprisoned now, the result would be that she would encounter a foe of whose savage nature the station was full of tales.

The stories of her childhood came back to her then, and she laughed bitterly as she recalled the faith she had once had in the legend of Una and the lion, and familiar histories of how the helpless had been befriended by the savage creatures of the forest. Then, as she thought of her defenceless state, she once more shuddered, and asked herself whether it would not be better to trust herself to the jungle than stay where she was, to encounter one whom she dreaded far more than the creature whose cry she had just heard.

In a fit of desperate energy as her thoughts were fixed upon Murad and the possibility that he might at any time now present himself, Helen softly glided from her couch and began to cross the uneven floor, stepping cautiously from bamboo lath to lath, and shivering as one gave a crack from time to time.

It seemed darker now, and for guide towards the window there was nothing but the faintly-felt sensation of the dank jungle air coming cool against her cheek; but she kept on, thinking nothing of the way she should turn or how she should escape; all that animated her now was the one great idea that she must steal away beyond the power of these two Malay women to recall her. If she could now do that, the rest might prove easy. Something would no doubt offer itself.

“I must, I will escape,” she half wailed, in a whisper that startled her as it fell upon her ear, so full was it of helpless misery and despair.

She paused to listen, for one of the girls had moved, and then, as she stood in the darkness, there was a very faint rustling noise, and Helen felt that her gaoler had risen and was cautiously stealing towards her. So sure was she of this, that she held up one hand to keep her enemy at a distance; but though the sound continued, no one touched her, and the soft rustling came no nearer to where she stood.

She uttered a sigh of misery at her own dread and overwrought imagination, as she now realised the fact that the soft rustling was that of leaves as the night wind stirred them when it passed, for the soft, heavy breathing of the sleepers came regularly to her ear.

It was very strange and confusing, though, for now in that intense darkness she seemed to have lost herself, and she could not tell exactly from which side the heavy breathing came.

Once, as she listened intently, it seemed to grow so loud that it struck her it was the breathing of some monster of the jungle that had stopped by the open window; but soon she recovered herself sufficiently to feel that she was wrong; it was but the regular sleep of her companions, and laying her hand upon her breast to stay the throbbings of her heart, she gathered up the loose sarong that interfered with her progress, and stepped on cautiously towards where she believed the door to be.

Once more the yielding bamboos bent beneath her weight, creaking loudly, and as they cracked at every step the more loudly now that she was walking beyond the rugs, the sounds were so plain in the still night that she tremblingly wondered why her companions did not wake.

At last one gave so loud a crack that she stood perfectly still, afraid to either advance or recede; but to her great comfort the regular breathing of the two Malay girls rose and fell, as it were, like the pulses of the intensely hot night.

With the feeling that any attempt at haste must result in failure, Helen stood there listening as the low hum of the night-flying insects reached her ear; and somehow, in spite of the peril in which she stood, thoughts of the past came back, and the hot-breathed gloom seemed to suggest those summer nights at the Miss Twettenham’s when the sun-scorched air lingered in the dormitories, and they used to sit by the open windows, enjoying the sweetness of the soft night, reluctant to go to bed. Those were the times when, filled with romantic thoughts, they listened to the nightingales answering each challenge from copse to copse, and making the listeners think of subjects the Misses Twettenham never taught – subjects relating to love, with serenades, cavaliers, elopements, and other horrors, such as would have made the thin hair of those amiable elderly ladies stand on end. For there was something very witching in those soft summer nights, an atmosphere that set young hearts dream of romantic futures. Helen Perowne had perhaps had the wildest imagination of any dreamer there, but in her most exalted times she had never dreamed so wild a life-romance as that of which she had become the heroine; and as she stood there with her throat parched, listening to the hum of mosquitoes and the breathing of her companions, everything seemed so unreal that she was ready to ask herself whether she slept – whether she did not dream still – and would awake to find herself back in the conventual seclusion of the old school.

Then once more came the shudder-engendering roar of the prowling tiger, apparently close at hand, and in its deep, strange tones seeming to make the building vibrate.

Helen shivered, and the cold, damp perspiration gathered on her face, as she felt now the propinquity of the tiger to such an extent that she was ready to sink down helpless upon the floor.

There it was again – that low, deep, muttering roar, ending in a growling snarl, and so close below the window that she trembled, knowing as she did that there were only a few frail bamboo laths between her and the most savage creature that roamed the jungle.

Was it real, she asked herself once more, that she, Helen Perowne, was here in this wild forest, surrounded by beasts of prey, and none of her friends at hand; or had she lost her senses, and would she awaken some day calm and cool at home, with a faint, misty recollection of having suffered from some fever that had attacked her brain.

Yes, it was real; she was alone and helpless in that terrible place, and there, in the pulsating furnace-like heat of the dark night, was the cry of the tiger once again.

There was no doubt of its being one of these huge catlike creatures, for she had heard it frequently by night in the neighbourhood of the settlement, where during the past few years more than one unfortunate Chinese servant had been carried off. But when she had listened to the low, muttered, guttural roar, ending in an angry snarl, she had been at the window of her own home, surrounded by protectors; and awesome as the sound had seemed, it had never inspired her with such dread as now when she had determined to risk everything in her attempt to escape, and expose herself to the tender mercies of such creatures as this now wandering about the place.

Again and again came the cry, now seemingly distant, now close at hand, till at last Helen’s knees refused to support her, and she sank down trembling, for the creature’s breathing could be plainly heard beneath where she stood, the lightly-built house being, like all in the Malay jungle, raised upon stout bamboo or palm posts for protection from wild beasts and flood.

Singularly enough, as the first horror passed away, Helen felt her courage return.

“It will not hurt me,” she said, hysterically; but she crouched there trembling as she listened to the snuffling noise beneath her, and then there was a dull thud as of a heavy leap.

Helen shuddered as she listened, and by some strange mental process began to compare the feline monster, excited by the scent of human beings close at hand, to Murad; and after listening till all seemed still once more – till the muffled cry of the tiger arose now some distance away, she rose cautiously, and made her way towards the door.

A kind of nervous energy had seized upon her now, and she stepped forward lightly to touch the woven walls.

Sweeping her hand over them, she recognised her position now by the hangings, and the darkness-engendered confusion to some extent passed away. She found the door, and the great curtain rustled as she drew it aside to get at the fastening, her hands feeling wet and cold, while her face was burning, and her heart kept up a heavy, dull beat.

There was a faint sound apparently from behind her now, and she stood listening, but it was not repeated. The low hum of the nocturnal insects rose and fell, and once more the soft rustling of the leaves stirred by the night wind came through the window close at hand, and from very far off now, and so faint as to be hardly perceptible, there was the tiger’s growl. There was nothing more but the heat, which seemed in its intensity to throb and beat upon her brain.

But still Helen dared not move for a time, trembling the while lest the first touch she gave the door should awaken her gaolers. At last, though, she nerved herself once more, and tried to find out how the door was fastened. There was no lock, no bolt, such as those to which she was accustomed, and though she passed her hands over it in every direction it was without result.

The time was gliding on, and in her ignorance of how long she might have slept, she felt that morning would at any time be there; so with a weary sigh of misery she left her futile task and crept cautiously to the window.

It did not seem so dark now, or else her eyes were more accustomed to the want of light, for she found the window directly; and as she took hold of the bamboo bars, the hot night air came in a heavy puff against her face, fierce and glowing, as if it were some watching monster’s breath.

She listened as she stood there, and the breathing of the two girls seemed to have ceased. There was the tiger’s cry once more, but sounding now like a distant wail, and her spirits rose as she felt that one of the perils likely to assail her was passing away.

Again she listened, and once more the breathing of her companions reached her ear, the Malay girls seeming to be sleeping heavily, as with nervous fingers Helen now strove to move one of the bars, or to loosen it so that it could be thrust up or down, but without avail; then she strove to draw one of them sufficiently aside to allow her to pass through, but her efforts were entirely in vain, although she kept on striving, in total ignorance of the fact that it would have taken a strong man armed with an axe to have done the work she adventured with her tender fingers alone.

Just as she let her aching arms fall to her side and a weary sigh of disappointment escaped her breast, she felt herself caught tightly by the wrist, and with a sensation of horror so great as to threaten the overthrow of her reason, she snatched herself away, and clung to the bars of the window with all her remaining strength.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Five.
A Desperate Appeal

It was some few moments after she had been seized again, and this time held by two hands stronger than her own, that Helen Perowne realised the fact that it was the Malay girl that had shown her the most compassion who had taken her by the arm.

“What are you doing here?” was whispered in a low, angry voice.

Helen made no reply, and as she clung to the window, the girl went on:

“You were trying to get away, but it is of no use. Murad knew that when they brought you here. If you could get out of this place you could not go far through the jungle before the tigers would tear you down. No one kills them here. He has them kept that he may hunt them; but when the time for hunting them comes, Murad is away with the English people, or he is not well, or he has no elephants, so the tigers are never touched. They would tear you down, I say, and when Murad’s men searched for you, they would only find your bones. I remember two girls escaping to the jungle, but they were both killed.”

“Better that than stay here,” said Helen, in a low, excited voice. “Listen to me,” she continued, striving hard to make herself understood; “you do not like me – you do not want me here.”

“No!” said the girl, fiercely. “I wish you had not come – that you would go and be killed; but if you were to escape, Murad would kill us all; and I do not want to die – no – not yet.”

“No, no; he would not be so cruel,” whispered Helen, who trembled with hope and excitement, as she felt that a chance for escape had at last come. “Help me to get away – to get back to my friends!” she cried, appealingly. “Let me escape, and I will reward you – I will give you what you like. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I know what you say,” replied the girl, “but I do not believe it. You are the English lady who made the Rajah love you because he was so handsome. We know all here; and now that he has brought you, what is this you tell me – that you want to go away? Oh, no! it is like a little child. I do not believe one word!”

“But it is true!” whispered Helen. “Speak lower, or you will waken her,” said the girl; “and she hates you more than I!”

“I will obey you in anything,” whispered Helen, restraining her voice, and sinking down and clutching the girl’s knees, “only help me to escape, and my father will fill your hands with gold.”

“What use would it be to me?” said the girl with a quiet little laugh.

“I will give you anything you ask!” panted Helen excitedly, as she seemed to see a faint chance of the girl yielding.

“Do you not understand what would happen if I helped you to go?” said the girl, quietly.

“No; I cannot tell,” replied Helen, “but I will not mind the danger.”

“There is more danger for me than for you,” was the answer, with a little laugh. “I will tell you: Murad would be angry and fierce; he would forget that he loved me once, and brought me here to be one of his wives. He would make his men take me to the river, and force me to kneel down, when I should be krissed and thrown into the water for the crocodiles to eat.”

“Oh, no; it is too horrible!” whispered Helen, as her excited imagination conjured up the dreadful scene.

“It is true,” said the girl, simply. “He had one wife krissed like that because she ran away twice – because she ran away to the boy she loved before she was taken from her home. Murad is Sultan, and he will be obeyed. He is very cruel sometimes!”

Helen shuddered as she thought that if this were true, she could not ask for help at such a price.

“I should have gone away before now,” said the girl, thoughtfully, as her hands played with Helen’s hair; “for I have someone else who followed me here that he might be near me; but I dare not go! Murad would kill me. It would not hurt much, and I don’t think I should mind; but he would kill someone else, and I could not bear that!”

“Go, then,” said Helen quickly. “Leave me to myself. Let me escape without your help!”

“He would kill me and her all the same,” said the girl, sadly; “and if I let you get out, what could you do? You would wander in the jungle till the beasts seized you, or you died. You must have a boat to escape from here; and if you could get a boat you could not row.”

“I would escape along the jungle-paths,” whispered Helen, excitedly.

“No,” said the girl, “you could not do that. There is only one path through the jungle, and that goes from this house to the river. That is all. You cannot escape; why do you try?”

Helen rose from her knees, and clutched the girl’s arms fiercely.

“I can escape, and I will!” she panted excitedly. “How dare he seize an English lady and insult her like this!”

“Because he is Sultan here, and he is stronger and greater than we are,” said the girl. “Murad is a mighty prince, and all the people here are his slaves and have to obey. You must obey him too.”

“I!” cried Helen.

“Yes, you; and you will be happy, for he loves you more than all. He used to come from Sindang here, and talk to us, and praise you, and tell us that you would come and be our mistress here. He loves you very much, and you will be quite happy soon.”

“Happy? With him?” cried Helen, in horror.

“Yes, happy. You have won his love from us, and we here are only like your slaves. It is you who take away our happiness, and I ought to hate you; but I do not, for you are so young. Do you love someone else?”

“Yes – no, no!” panted Helen, excitedly.

“But you love Murad?”

“Oh, no, no!” cried Helen.

“I am sorry – I am sorry,” said the girl, thoughtfully.

“Then help me – pray help me!” whispered Helen, prayerfully, and she flung her arms round the swarthy girl, and held her to her breast. “Help me to get away, for I do not love Murad, and you do!”

The girl started and thrust Helen away, but only to cling to her in turn after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, I think I love him,” she said, softly, “though he is very cruel to me now.”

“And you hate me – very much – because – because Murad loves me?” whispered Helen, with a shudder.

“I don’t think I hate you very much,” said the girl, softly.

“You need not hate me – indeed you need not!” whispered Helen, and her voice, her very ways were changed now. The old pride was entirely gone, and she spoke with winning, womanly sweetness, full of tenderness and caress, as she nestled closer and closer to the girl. “You need not hate me,” she repeated, “for I detest this Murad – I loathe him! I love some one else! Help me, then, to get back to my own people – to escape from Murad. Help me, or I shall die!”

The girl was silent.

“Oh,” moaned Helen, “she does not understand anything I say!”

“Yes,” said the girl, softly, “I understand.”

“Then you pretended you could not!” cried Helen, wrathfully.

“Murad ordered me to pretend that I only knew my own tongue,” said the girl. “But no, I cannot help you, and you will not die. I thought so once; but we do not die because we are taken from our homes and people. Murad makes us love him, and then we forget the past, for we know that it is our fate.”

Helen’s heart sank as she listened to the girl’s words, so full of patient resignation, and she wondered whether she would ever be like this. There was not a ray of hope now in her utterances, and for the moment, in the horror of the despair that came upon her, she felt frantic.

Thrusting her companion from her, she made a dash for the entrance, beating and tearing at it in her madness, as she uttered a series of loud hysteric cries. She shook the door fiercely, but her efforts were in vain; and as she strove to reach the window her fit of excitement seemed to pass, leaving her weak and despairing, heart-sick too, as she felt how lowering her acts must be in the sight of her companions; for the second girl had now sprung up, and she felt herself dragged back to her couch, and there compelled to stay.

They both joined in scolding her angrily; and feeling her helplessness, a strange feeling of weakness came over the prisoner, and she lay there at last a prey to despair, as she realised now more fully how slight was her prospect of escape – how much slighter was the chance of Neil Harley coming to her help, however earnestly he might have searched.

Before morning, when her companions had once more sunk to sleep, in spite of the hope that she felt of perhaps after all winning one of them to her side, so terribly had her misery of feeling increased, that as she pondered on her state, she found herself praying that Neil Harley might never look upon her face again.