“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!”

“He is – he is, indeed, my dear!” cried Mrs Bolter; “and I’m sure I’d forgive him anything!”

“And you have nothing to forgive,” said Grey. “I am sure of it; and I hope and pray that you will not be so unjust!”

“Do you think I am unjust, my dear?” said the little lady.

“Unintentionally, yes,” replied Grey; “and it is such, a pity that there should be clouds in such a happy home!”

“You – you are – a dear little angel of goodness, Grey!” sobbed Mrs Bolter; “and you seem to come like sunshine into my poor, weak, foolish heart; and I’ll never be suspicious or unkind to him again! He’s only studying a little up the river of course; and I’m – as you’ve shown me – a weak, foolish, cruel – ”

“Affectionate, loving wife,” interrupted Grey, who felt herself crushed the next moment in little Mrs Bolter’s arms.

“Bless you, my dear!” she cried. “I’ll – ”

“Hush!” whispered Grey. “Here is my father!” The little lady hastily wiped her eyes as she glanced through the veranda, and saw the bent, thin, dried-up figure of the old merchant coming through the burning sunshine past the window, and then he stopped and tapped at the door.

“May I come in?” he said. “I’m not a patient.”

“Yes, yes, come in!” cried Mrs Bolter, cheerfully.

“How do – how do?” he cried, on entering. “Weel, Grey bairnie, how is it with ye?”

He kissed her in his dry fashion, smiling slightly as he smoothed his child’s fair hair, and bending down to kiss her.

“I’m verra hot, and verra dry and parched up like, so I thought I’d joost step in and ask for a glass of watter, and joost a soospeeshun of the doctor’s bad whuskee to kill the insects.”

“Which I’m sure you shall have, Mr Stuart,” cried little Mrs Bolter, eagerly.

“Weel, Grey, my bairnie, ye look red in your een and pale, when you ought to be verra happy to think things are all so pleasant and smooth for you.”

“Indeed, I try to be very happy and contented, father,” she said, with a slight catching of the breath.

“Try,” he cried, “try? Why, it ought to want no trying; you ought to be as happy as the day is long.”

“For shame, Mr Stuart,” cried Mrs Bolter, handing him the large cool tumbler of water with the whiskey already in. “Would you have her show no sympathy for people who are all in trouble? It’s a weary, miserable world, and I wonder you can look as happy as you do.”

“Hoot – toot, Madam! weary miserable world! Here are you with the best of husbands. You ought to be ready to jump for joy.”

“But I’m not,” said the little woman, passionately. “But I’m not so miserable as I was.”

“That’s a comfort,” said the little merchant, drily; and he took a sip from his tumbler – a goodly sip – as if he intended to finish all that was there. “Hech! madam, ye didna forget the whuskee.”

“Is it too strong, Mr Stuart? Let me put in a little more water.”

“Mair watter! nay; ye’d spoil a verra decent drink for a hot day.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Hah! ye ought to be verra happy indeed, wumman, for the doctor’s a good man, and a trusty fren’. Hah! that’s good whuskee,” he added, with a sigh of satisfaction after a deep draught. “Life would be but a sore lookout in these parts wi’-out joost a soop o’ whuskee to take the taste o’ the crocodiles out o’ the watter.”

“It is very hot out of doors, is it not, father?” said Grey, who was wondering what he meant to say.

“Ay, it’s hot enough,” he replied. “An’ so ye’re not verra happy, Mrs Bolter? Ay, but ye ought to be, and so ought my child Grey here, wi’ every comfort in life except extravagances, which I don’t hold with at all. She lives well, and dresses quietly, as a young lady should, and her father has not set up a grand house to flash and show in, and then have to give it up, and go and live in one that’s wee.”

“I don’t quite understand you,” said Mrs Bolter, colouring slightly, and looking indignant. “But if you are hinting at the doctor being extravagant, I cannot sit here without resenting it, for a more careful man never lived.”

“Ay, but he is a sad dog, the doctor,” said old Stuart, with a twinkle full of malice in his eye.

“How dare you say such a thing to me – his wife!” cried Mrs Bolter, indignantly.

“Hoot! wumman; dinna be fashed!” exclaimed old Stuart, who seemed delighted to have roused a spirit of opposition in his friend’s wife. “But I’ll say this o’ him,” he continued, gradually growing more Scottish of accent; “he does keep gude whuskee. Ay, I was na’ speaking o’ him when I talked aboot lairge and sma’ houses, but o’ poor Perowne. Ay, but it’s a bad job.”

“What, about poor Helen?” said Mrs Bolter. “Ay, and his affairs. I suppose ye ken a’?”

“His affairs?” exclaimed Mrs Doctor. “What do you mean?”

“Oh! I thought a’ Sindang knew he’d failed. Sax hundred pounds o’ my money goes with the rest. But there, puir mon, he’s in trouble enough wi’ the loss o’ his daughter, and I’ll never say a word about it more.”

“Is Mr Perowne in fresh trouble then, father?” said Grey, eagerly.

“Weel, my lassie there’s naught fresh about it, for he must have expected it for a year or two. He’s been going down-hill a lang time, and noo he’s recht at the bottom.”

“Has he failed, father?”

“Joost ruined and bankrupt, my lassie, and Helen won’t have a penny to call her own – a proud, stuck-up – ”

“Hush, father! I cannot bear it,” cried Grey, with spirit. “Helen Perowne is my friend and schoolfellow, and surely she is in trouble enough to ask our sympathy and not our blame!”

“Why, how now, lassie!” cried the old man angrily. “Ay, but ye’re quite right,” he said, checking himself. “We ought to pity them, and not jump upon ’em when they’re down. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my bairnie – quite recht.”

“Oh, Mr Stuart, how shocking; and just when he is so ill and cast down! Grey, my child, I must go and see if I can be of help to him. Will you stay with your father?”

“Ay, she’ll stay, and you may too, Mrs Bolter, for Perowne has gone across to the Residency, and before now they’re awa’ up the river to try and find his poor lassie. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my child; and if they find her and bring her back, stop wi’ her and comfort her, and do the best ye can. I’m sorry for them, for we’re none o’ us pairfect. But this is verra gude whuskee, Mrs Bolter. When do ye expect the Doctor home?”

“I don’t know, Mr Stuart,” she said, sadly. “Soon, I hope; but when he does come back he’ll have to go after the expedition. It’s very sad to be a doctor’s wife.”

“To be wife to some doctors,” said old Stuart, laughing; “but not to our Bolter. Eh, but ye’re a lucky wumman to get him. If ye hadn’t taken him, I believe I should have made him marry my lassie here. There, I must be for going though, for my hands are full. I’m trying to save a few hundreds for poor Perowne out of the wreck.”

“When shall I see you again, father?” said Grey, clinging to him affectionately.

“Oh, heaps o’ times, my bairnie, when ye don’t expect it. I’m always looking out after ye, but I know ye’re all recht wi’ Mrs Bolter here, so do all ye can.”

He nodded and smiled as he went out of the room, but looked in again directly.

“Ye needna be uneasy you two,” he said, “for I’m having a watch kept over ye both, though ye don’t ken it; so go on joost as usual. If I hear of the doctor coming, Mrs Bolter, I’ll let ye know.”

They heard his steps in the veranda, and directly after saw his bent, thin figure out in the scorching sun, with no further protection than a bit of muslin round his old straw hat, and looking as if he were not worth fifty pounds in the world, and the last man to be the father of the graceful little maiden sitting holding Mrs Bolter’s hand.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty One.
The Fire Burns Again

Days of anxiety and watching, with no news of the expedition which had started directly after Grey Stuart’s father had crossed over to the island. The English community at Sindang were extremely uneasy, for it struck them that the Malays were keeping aloof, and that their servants looked ill-conditioned and sulky.

A strange silence seemed to reign in the place, with an almost utter absence of trade. No boats came down with flowers and fruit, and no cheerful intercourse was carried on as heretofore. Nothing had been seen of the Inche Maida, and Murad was quite an absentee; while not a word had been brought down the river relating to the doings of the expedition.

In accordance with the Resident’s secretly-issued orders, every European left stood in readiness to flee to the Residency island, where the little garrison, under the care of a subaltern, kept strict watch and ward, and held themselves prepared to go to the aid of the merchants and their families, should there be need.

But day after day glided by, and still no doctor – no news.

“Poor Mr Perowne!” said Mrs Bolter one afternoon, as she sat talking to Grey Stuart, and discussing the terrible state of his affairs, of which the merchant made no secret; “it will be a sad downfall for them; but there, there, merchants fall and rise again very quickly, and let’s hope all will come right in the end – Wasn’t that the doctor’s step, my dear?”

“No,” said Grey, quietly, as she tried to look free from uneasiness.

“I wish we could get some news, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter.

“All in good time,” said Grey, looking happier than she felt. “We shall hear soon.”

“I – I hope so, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter; “but it is very sad to be a wife, waiting as I wait.”

“But with patience now,” said Grey, smiling. “You are happy now in your mind?”

“Ye-s! Oh! yes I am now, my dear; and I will never let such thoughts gain an entrance again.”

“I know you will not,” said Grey, leaning towards her to lay her hand upon the little lady’s arm, in token of gentle sympathy, for the tears were in Mrs Bolter’s eyes, and she showed in pallor how deeply she was feeling the absence of husband and brother.

That day the little station appeared as it were asleep in the hot sunshine, and the silence was oppressive in the extreme. One of the Malays, who seemed to take an interest in Mrs Bolter, consequent upon his having been cured by the doctor of a very dangerous complaint, had been started up the river in his boat, to see if he could learn any news of the party, and this messenger was anxiously expected back.

“I can’t help it, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, turning to Grey, after some hours’ silence, “I can’t help thinking that something serious is wrong. Oh! how shocking it would be to be deprived of our protectors!”

“But Dr Bolter has been away for longer at a time than this, has he not?” said Grey, as she sat there, wondering whether the officers of the expedition were safe – above all, Captain Hilton.

“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, with a sigh; “he has been away longer before now; but no news of my brother – no news of him – it is very hard to bear.”

“No, no, no,” whispered Grey, passing a soft arm round her neck; “try and be patient – try and think hopefully of everything. We must be patient at a time like this.”

“But you cannot feel as I do, my dear,” cried Mrs Bolter. “You have friends away, but not one whom you dwell upon as I do.”

Grey’s eyes wore a very piteous aspect, but she said nothing, only did battle with a sigh, which conquered and fought its way from her labouring breast.

“But I am trying, Grey, my darling,” said the little woman, drying her eyes; “you know how patient I have been, and how I have taken your advice. Not one allusion have I made to the Inche Maida since you talked to me as you did. Now, have I not been patient?”

“You have indeed,” said Grey, smiling at her sadly.

“And I’m going to take your advice thoroughly, for I’m beginning to think that the little girl I began by patronising has grown wiser than I. There, you see, I have dried my eyes, and – Bless my heart, here is Mr Stuart, and he will see that I have been crying.”

She jumped up and ran out of the room as the little merchant came to the door, and entered without ceremony.

“Well, Grey, my bairnie,” he said, as she kissed him affectionately, while, as soon as he had drawn back, he took out his broad kerchief to dab his brow, and seemed to wipe the kiss carefully away.

“You have news, father?” cried Grey, eagerly. “Pray speak!”

“Well, don’t hurry me, child,” he replied. “I’ve just come from the landing-stage – and I’ve seen that Malay fellow, Syed – and he says the expedition is coming back.”

“Coming back, father? Oh! why did you not speak before?”

“Syed has just come down with the stream. The water’s low and they’ve got aground a few miles up, but they expected to be afloat soon.”

“But is anyone hurt, father? Have they found Helen? Pray – pray speak!”

“Only a few of the men a bit hurt, it seems. Officers all right,” said the old man, speaking very coolly, and consequently in excellent English.

“But Helen? Have they found Helen?”

“It seems not, from what the fellow knew,” said the merchant, coolly. “Where’s Mrs Bolter?” he said, in a low voice.

Grey’s heart seemed to stand still. “Oh! father!” she sighed, “is he hurt?”

“No; he’s aboard,” replied the merchant. “But where is she?”

“She left the room as you came in; but why do you not speak out?”

“I was thinking o’ Mrs Bolter, my dear. Isn’t she a bit – you know – jealous, lassie?”

“Don’t ask me such questions, father,” cried Grey, in a low voice. “What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking she’ll be a bit put out if it is as I hear.”

“Why, father?” cried Grey, as her mind filled with strange imaginations. “But tell me quickly,” she whispered, “is Mr Chumbley safe?”

“Yes, yes,” said old Stuart; “he’s safe enough, lassie.”

“And – and – ”

“The Resident? Yes; he’s well.”

“But father, you – you have not told me about Captain Hilton.”

“Hilton? Oh, ay, he’s all well! Hang it if here isn’t that Barlow woman! I left her at the landing-place pumping Syed.”

As he finished speaking, Mrs Barlow, panting, hot, and excited, half ran into the room.

“No news – no news of poor Mr Rosebury!” she cried; “but oh, my dear Mrs Bolter – my dear Mrs Bolter!”

“What is it – what is it?” cried that lady, opening the door, and entering the room, trembling visibly. “You’ve brought me some terrible news! I know you have! Speak to me – speak directly!”

“Yes, yes, my dear: but try and bear it with fortitude.”

“Yes, I will,” she panted. “My brother – is dead!”

“No, no,” sobbed Mrs Barlow; “there is no news of him; but the Malay has told me all!”

“All? All what?” cried Mrs Bolter.

“They found Doctor Bolter at the Inche Maida’s.”

“I knew it!” cried Mrs Bolter, excitedly.

“And he and the Inche Maida have been up one of the little rivers in his boat, and the officers caught them, and brought them back.”

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two.
Help in Need

If little Mrs Bolter had seen her lord – the quiet, suave medical man, who by his genuine admiration had so late in life won her heart – she would have trembled with the idea that he was about to fall down in a fit of apoplexy. For as he realised who was the showily-dressed Malay who had taken Helen Perowne in his arms, he first turned sallow with the heart-sinking sensation consequent upon seeing his helpless charge in the hands of one who, spite of his assumption of English manners and customs, remained at heart a fierce and unscrupulous savage.

But the next moment the pallor passed away, his face flushed with rage, and as his indignation increased, he became absolutely purple.

He made a furious struggle to escape from those who held him and get to Helen’s side; for in those angry moments his English blood was on fire, and little, stout, short-winded, and pretty well exhausted by previous efforts as he was, he forgot everything but the fact that there was a helpless girl – an English lady – in deadly peril, and asking his aid. Numbers – personal danger – his own want of weapons – all were forgotten; and the little doctor would have attempted anything then that the bravest hero could have ventured to save Helen Perowne from her captors.

But it was not to be: one man, however, brave, when left to his natural strength of arm, is as nothing against a score; and literally foaming now with rage, Doctor Bolter, as he was mastered by the Sultan’s men, had nothing left but his tongue for weapon, and this – let him receive justice – he used to the best of his power while Murad remained on deck.

Dog, coward, reptile, contemptible villain, disgrace to humanity, fiend in human form, scoundrel whom he would kick – these and scores of similar opprobrious terms the doctor applied to the Rajah, making the crew of the prahu scowl and mutter, and draw their krisses in a threatening manner, as they looked at Murad for orders to slay the infidel dog who dared revile their chief.

But in his calm triumph Murad stood gazing in a sneering irritating way at the doctor, speaking no word, but seeming to say – so the doctor interpreted it:

“Curse and rail as you will, I have won, and no words of yours can hurt me.”

“Will nothing move you, dog that you are?” cried the doctor. “Oh, if I had but my liberty!” and his rage increased to such a pitch that his anger approached the ridiculous, for, failing English terms, he turned round and swore at the Rajah in Latin, in French, and finally rolled out a series of ponderous German oaths garnished with many-syllabled adjectives.

Murad seemed moved at last, and after calmly walking to and fro the bamboo deck, he suddenly turned upon the doctor.

“Silence, English dog!” he hissed; “or my men shall kris you, and throw you out!”

“Dog yourself!” roared the doctor. “Oh! if I had you sick in bed for twenty-four hours! I’d – ”

“Silence!” roared Murad, fiercely, for he noted the ominous looks of his men, and felt that if he did not resent these insults he would be losing caste amongst them; and as he spoke he struck the doctor – bound and helpless as he was as to his hands, and held by a couple of the prahu’s crew – a violent blow across the mouth.

The doctor’s lip was cut, and the blood trickled down his chin as the Rajah turned contemptuously from him, and then staggered head first, and finally fell prone upon his face. For it was the only retaliation in Doctor Bolter’s power, and he took it: as the Rajah turned, the doctor threw all the strength he had left into one tremendous kick, as a scoundrel should be kicked, and the above was the result.

Furious with rage the Rajah struggled to his feet, whipped out his kris and dashed at the prisoner; but just then there was a warning shout, and a small sampan that had been coming rapidly down-stream hitched on to the prahu, and one of the occupants climbed on board.

He ran to the Rajah, and said something in a low voice which made Murad turn colour; and hastily thrusting his kris back in its sheath, he began to issue orders to his crew.

“I’m glad he didn’t kill me,” muttered the doctor; “I’m glad for Mary’s sake; but I’m not sorry I kicked the villain all the same. What are they about to do now?”

He soon learned, for the Sultan’s orders resulted in the prahu’s crew imitating his boatmen’s manoeuvre, running her close into the bank and under the shelter of the broad, overhanging boughs, the place being so well suited that even the large naga was entirely concealed.

As soon as these plans were being carried out, the doctor had been hurried – in spite of some resistance – into the after-part of the boat, where he was roughly thrown down upon the deck; but he knew from what was being done that help must be close at hand – and help of a substantial nature, or else the occupants of this large and well-armed craft would not have hidden and left the river clear.

“Perhaps,” he thought, “it may be meant as an ambush, and some of our friends are running the risk of capture.”

He felt lightened though at heart, and lay perfectly still – not in obedience to his captors, but to listen as he gazed straight up at the leaves and boughs above his head.

The time went on, and from being red hot with passion the doctor began to cool down; his heart had ceased to bound, and the burning sensation in his temples became less painful. He wondered where they had placed Helen, then whether there was any boat coming down the river; and at last, so still was everybody, so silent the leafy arcade, that the doctor’s natural history proclivities began to be even then aroused.

For as he lay there upon his back, first one and then another brilliant fly came and darted about through the network of sunrays; while soon after there was a beautiful bird perched upon a twig not ten feet from his face, where he could see the varied tinting of its feathers. Then, as it flew off, he saw what had alarmed it, and that it was not the crew of the boat, but first one and then another, till there were quite half a dozen monkeys of an extremely rare kind climbing and playing about in the branches of one of the biggest trees. Then came close to him a wonderfully-tinted parroquet, and then a lustrous sunbird began to dart about in an open space.

“If I only had my gun,” muttered the enthusiast; and then he was listening intently to the beat of oars.

The doctor’s thoughts were interrupted the next moment by some one kneeling down beside him, and he saw the gleaming eyes and white teeth of Murad, who drew the doctor’s attention to a bare kris which he held in his hand, and then pointed at his prisoner.

“Look!” he whispered; “if you make a sound while that boat goes by, I shall kill you as I would a dog!”

“Thankye,” said the doctor, quietly; and he lay still thinking.

There was help coming – help for him and for the poor girl whom he had sworn to protect. If he let that help go by he would be resigning Helen Perowne to a fate worse than death; and growing enthusiastic as he thought, he mused on, telling himself that he was an Englishman and very brave, and that he’d die sooner than not make an effort to save the poor girl in his charge.

Then he shuddered as he thought of death, and felt that he would like to live longer at any cost, and that he dare not risk his life; but directly after he began comforting himself with the idea that if matters came to the worst, and he did call for help, the chances were great against Murad striking him in a vital place.

“And I can cure a wound,” he muttered; “and as to poison on those krisses, it’s an old woman’s tale.”

All this time the sound of the oars had come nearer and nearer, till to the doctor they seemed to be just abreast.

But no; they were still coming nearer, and his heart began to beat furiously, as, taking advantage of Murad’s head being turned, the doctor freed his hands from their bonds and then lay thinking.

Should he risk it? Should he give it up?

Life was very sweet. So was honour; and that poor girl had claimed his protection.

“And how could I look her father in the face if I did not try my best to save her?” he thought.

Still the sound of oars came nearer —beat, beat – beat, beat; and now he knew that the boat must be nearly abreast – so plainly did the plashing sound.

He looked up at Murad, who, kris in hand, was listening and watching together. He glanced at the dull-hued wavy blade, and saw its keen point and edge, thinking with a kind of curiosity how wide a wound it would make in him as he recollected how many he had cured for the men who had been in engagements; and then he asked the question again:

“Should he risk his life for Helen’s sake?”

The sound of the oars was louder than ever; and now he knew that the boat must be really abreast – and an English one too – otherwise why this hiding and the Rajah’s anxious look?

“Not only for Helen’s sake, but as an Englishman’s duty,” he said to himself; and he drew a long breath.

“Help!” he roared, “help! boat ah!”

He would have said “Ahoy!” but with a snarl like that of a wild cat, Murad threw himself upon his prisoner, striking savagely at his breast with the keen weapon, to pin him to the naga’s bamboo deck.

But with the effort of a man striving to save his life, the doctor managed to wrench himself a little on one side, and the keen kris passed between his breast and arm as he seized the Rajah by the throat.

The struggle that followed was almost a matter of moments, before Doctor Bolter went over the side, plunging down into deep water, and rising outside the screen of leaves, to swim vigorously towards the English boat, which was coming rapidly towards where the Rajah’s naga lay.

A spear splashed into the water by the doctor’s head, but the boughs prevented the thrower from taking a good aim; and almost directly after the swimmer was hauled on board, and the Rajah’s naga was seen to be trying to steal out some fifty yards ahead.

A call to surrender was answered by a shout of defiance, and the Malays began to manfully ply their oars; but a volley from the soldiers’ pieces seemed to quell their ardour and to cause confusion, in the midst of which the English boat dashed alongside, and Hilton, Chumbley, the Resident, and a score of the soldiers poured over the side, driving the spear-armed crew below, the Rajah going down from a cut over the forehead from the Resident’s sword.

The naga was mastered; and the doctor, hunting out where Helen had been placed, she was soon afterwards sobbing in her father’s arms.