One Maid's Mischief Part 116

Neil Harley's troubles had of late been great. He had gone on striving to be matter-of-fact and business-like, telling himself that he must be calm and cool; but all the same he suffered bitterly.

It had been a great shock to him, the disappearance of Helen; and though her recovery had followed, it was in such a guise that at times he felt half maddened, and as if his troubles were greater than he could bear.

He had loved her from the first; and though he had laughed at and bantered her, treating her numerous flirtations as trifles unworthy of his notice, at the same time he had suffered a terrible gnawing at the heart, and every glance sent at Hilton--every whispered compliment paid to her by the handsome young captain--caused him acute pain.

Time after time he had striven to tear himself from what he felt was a hopeless, foolish attachment; and when he made the effort, Helen's beautiful face rose before him with a sly, half-mocking, half-reproachful look, and he knew that he was more her slave than ever.

The mishaps that had befallen the various prisoners seemed to recoil upon him, to increase his troubles. He felt, as it were, to blame, and often asked himself if it was not due to his want of clever management that the chaplain had not also been recovered; but for his comfort there were times when he was fain to confess that it would have puzzled the cleverest diplomat to have dealt differently with so wily a Malay as Murad, or with his people, who were ready to hide everything from the English intruders upon their land.

"I ought to be in better heart," he said to himself, as he sat thinking in his cool room at the Residency; "three out of my four lost sheep are back, and I have hopes of the fourth. But Helen?" His face grew contracted and wrinkled as he sat thinking of the swarthy face and disfigured mouth of the belle of the station, and wondered whether, in spite of his declarations to the contrary, there was any attachment left between Hilton and the suffering girl.

"No," he said; "none. Hilton is quite honest. His was but a changing love for the bright, handsome face and deep, dreamy eyes. He does not care for her now. What man would?"

There was a pause here, and he sat dreamily gazing through the open window at the silver s.h.i.+mmering of the river.

"What man would love Helen Perowne now?" he said, softly; "now that she comes back with such a social stigma upon her, just rescued from the hands of this Eastern sensualist--changed! ah! how changed! Poor girl-- poor girl! What English gentleman would hold out his hand to her now, and say to her, 'Helen, love! my own! Will you not be my wife?'"

Another pause, broken only by the loud insect-hum from the blossom-laden trees outside the window.

What man would say this to her now?

"I would!" he cried aloud; "for is mine so mean and paltry a love that it is to be checked and turned aside by her misfortune? No; let her but ask me--as I said she some day would ask me--with look or lip, to come, and I should be at her side--for I so love her, in spite of all, and with my whole heart!"

For a moment the abject, frightened face that he had for a few moments seen shrinking from him before its owner concealed it with her trembling brown fingers, when she was transferred from the Sultan's to his own boat, was there before him; when Helen had uttered a loud, piteous cry as she recognised one of her deliverers. The next moment that scene upon the river, vividly as it was impressed upon his mind, with the swarthy Malays, the prostrate prince, the brilliant suns.h.i.+ne flas.h.i.+ng from the river, even as he could see it now, and the dark shadows of the drooping trees, all had pa.s.sed away, and in place he saw only Helen--the Helen of his love--prostrate upon her bed of sickness, dull of eye, shrunken and thin with fever, suffering and helpless. And as he asked himself, "Did he love her still?" he rested his elbows upon his table, his face went down upon his hands, and with a low moan he felt that he was cruel and wanting in his love for being away from her at a time like this, when he ought to be showing her how true and fervent was his feeling--that it was no light fancy of the young and thoughtless youth, but a strong man's true and lasting love.

He did not hear the matting-screen drawn aside, nor heed the light step of his Chinese servant, as he softly entered the room, and then stopped short, as if afraid to interrupt his master as he slept.

It was an important message, though, that he had to give, and he went up to the table.

"Master," he said, softly; but the Resident did not move.

"Master!" said the man again; but the Resident heard him not, for he was dwelling upon the tidings that he had received an hour before, that Helen's case was utterly hopeless, and that though she might live for days or weeks, her recovery was impossible.

It was on good authority that he received those sad tidings, for they were from Dr Bolter's lips; and he had to listen, with a composed and placid mien, when all the time he had felt as if he could have thrown himself upon the floor, and torn himself in the bitterness of his anguish.

If he could have been allowed to sit at her pillow, holding one poor wasted hand, he told himself that he could have borne it better, and watched her with patient hope. But he was shut out from her resting-place--from her heart! She had never cared for him, and his words to her had been but an empty vaunt. And yet he loved her so well, that as he thought of all the past and the bitter present, he felt that when Helen died he dared not face the empty present, and something seemed to whisper to him, would it not be better to seek in oblivion for the rest that his heart told him he should never know.

"Master!"

Louder now, and a hand was laid upon his arm.

The Resident started up, and gazed angrily at the intruder upon his sacred sorrow--so fiercely that the servant shrank away.

"What is it?" cried the haggard man, harshly. "Is--is she--dead?"

"A messenger, master, from Miss Stuart," said the man, s.h.i.+vering still from the wild face and mien.

"I knew it--" moaned the Resident.

"To say, will you go directly to the doctor's house."

Neil Harley started from his chair; and then he staggered, and caught at the table for support.

"The heat!" he said, huskily--"giddy!--a gla.s.s--water!"

The servant went to a great cooler standing in the draught of the window, and filled and brought a gla.s.s of the clear, cold fluid.

"Thanks!" said the Resident, drinking feverishly, and recovering himself. "Who brought the message?"

"Yusuf, the Malay. His boat waits," replied the man; and making an effort to be calm, the Resident took up his sun-hat, and walked firmly down to the landing-stage, where he was ferried across and then walked up to the doctor's cottage, overtaking Hilton on the way.

"You going there?" he said.

"Yes," replied Hilton. "I was going up to ask how Miss Perowne was now.

Were you going there?"

"Yes," said the Resident, bitterly; "I was going there. Were you sent for too?"

"I? No; it was not likely. Pray disabuse your mind, Harley, of all such thoughts as that! There is nothing between Miss Perowne and me."

"Not now that she is in misery and distress!" retorted the Resident, and his voice sounded almost savage in its reproach.

Hilton flushed angrily.

"Your reproaches are unjust," he said. "You know that Miss Perowne never cared for me, and that I was too weak and vain not to see it earlier than I did. Harley, I will not quarrel, for I esteem you too well. We ought to be good friends."

"And we are," said the Resident. "Forgive me for what I have said!"

He held out his hand, which the other pressed warmly.

"I'm an outsider!" said Hilton, bitterly, in turn. "I'm going to set up for my friend's friend. I shall be best man to Chumbley when he marries Miss Stuart; and so I shall to you, for I believe you will marry Helen Perowne after all."

"Silence, man!" cried the Resident, harshly. "I have been sent for by Miss Stuart. Her friend is dying, I am sure. Perhaps it is best!"

"Dying!" cried Hilton.

"Yes! Are you surprised after what the doctor has said?"

"I am," said Hilton; "for I had hopes after all. Let us make haste."

The Resident glanced at him quickly, for Hilton's words even then caused him a jealous pang; but there was nothing but honest commiseration there; and they walked on hastily to the doctor's door.

Dr Bolter himself met them, looking very grave, and the faint hope that had been struggling in Neil Harley's breast died out.

The doctor saw the question in each of his visitors' eyes, and answered, hastily:

"No; I don't think there is immediate danger, but--She expressed a wish to see you, Harley."