One Maid's Mischief Part 125

Their meeting, too, was wonderfully warm; and while the Resident saw how broad-chested and sunbrowned the Major had become, Hilton had been noting how fair Helen's skin remained, in spite of her long stay in a tropic land; but when she smiled, there was still a faint trace left of disfigurement at the lower part of her teeth.

As for the Resident, he looked the _beau ideal_ of a middle-aged English gentleman, and brighter and happier than Hilton had ever seen him before; while as to the old sore, it was quite healed up; and the meeting between Hilton and Helen was just that of old friends; nothing more.

"And now about Chumbley?" said Hilton, as they sat after dinner sipping their claret in the veranda, watching the fire-flies, and listening to the plas.h.i.+ng of boat or reptile in the placid, rapid-flowing, starlit stream.

There had been inquiries before, but the time had been so taken up, that Chumbley's career had been pretty well left out till now; when, as the two gentlemen sat smoking, an open door showed them the drawing-room with its shaded lamp, and the faces of the two graceful women--their wives--as they sat and chatted of old school troubles, and the other incidents of their career.

"About old Chum?" said the Resident; "oh, I often see him. He should have been here if I had known you were so close at hand. You know he came back six months after the company was changed, went straight up to the Inche Maida's place, brought her back, and they went down to Singapore, got married, and returned directly."

"And has he repented?" said Hilton.

"Go and see him, and judge for yourself."

The result was, that one fine morning Hilton had himself rowed up to the Inche Maida's home, at Campong Selah, where, on landing, he found that he was received with the most profound respect, and conducted to the palm-tree house, which was now surrounded by a most carefully-cultivated garden.

On entering the place, he found himself in what might have been a country gentleman's home, the hall being full of sporting trophies, arms, and the paraphernalia of an occupant of sporting tastes.

"What. Hilton! never!" cried a bluff voice, and Chumbley, in a semi-sporting and native costume--wearing puggree, shooting jacket, sarong, and kris--and looking brown as a native, seized him by the hands, and nearly shook his arms out of their sockets. "Why, I am glad to see you, old man!"

"How well you look, Chumbley!"

"Ay! and you too! Why, you dog, you're putting on fles.h.!.+ But, how's the little wife? How are you getting on?"

"Capitally! And you: do you like this savage life?"

"Savage, be hanged!" he cried. "Like it, my boy? I should think I do.

By George, sir, she's a splendid woman! Ah, here are the chicks."

As he spoke, a Malay nurse brought in two little dark-eyed, creamy-complexioned children, who made a rush and a dash as soon as they were set free, and began to scale Chumbley's knees, not ceasing till they were standing in his lap, and holding on by his beard.

"Gently! gently! You'll break me! There never was such a pair of vital sparks on earth before! Now look here, you young limbs, turn round and talk to this gentleman. Tell him your names."

"Bertie Hilton Chumbley, Rajah of Campong Selah," said the elder--a handsome little boy in a brilliant silken sarong.

"Grey Stuart Chumbley, pa's own darling pet," lisped the other--a bright little doll of a girl, whom her father stood up afterwards and proudly balanced on one of his great hands.

"Like it," continued Chumbley, stretching himself; "I never knew what life was till I came out here and married the Inche Maida. Ah, here she is."

Hilton, as he recalled the past, felt a little conscious; but the Princess, who, in spite of her dark skin, looked quite the European lady, advanced, holding out her hand so frankly that they were laughing and chatting the next minute as if they were the oldest of friends, Hilton quite winning her heart by the way in which he took to her children.

"You remember what a mistake I made," she said, "and how disappointed I was when you refused me? I did not know then what fate had in store."

"You are still a fatalist then?" said Hilton, smiling.

"Why not?" she replied, proudly, as she went behind her great lord's chair, and placed her arm affectionately upon his shoulder. "Has not fate given me the best and n.o.blest of husbands--a just and true man, who has become the father of my people, my protector, and my lord?"

"Then you are both very happy?" said Hilton.

"Happy, old boy!" cried Chumbley, glancing affectionately at his wife, "happy isn't the word for it; we're thoroughly jolly, and in my way I'm a king."

"But don't you miss European society?"

"Not I, lad. I hunt, and shoot, and drill my subjects, and sit as judge, and look after the revenues, and my own little parliament. I've no time to be dull; and do you know, old chap, I don't think I'm quite so slow as I was. I tell you what it is: if I had known how jolly it is to be a chief, I should have tried it on years before. But you're going to stop, of course?"

"I'm going to beg some dinner, and then I'm off back to the Residency, where my wife is staying with the Harleys."

"Then go back and fetch her--eh, my dear, what do you say?"

"Let us all go together and fetch her," said the Inche Maida, smiling; and Grey Hilton was fetched to spend a month at Chumbley's home, finding her old friend affectionate to a degree, while endless were the hunting and shooting excursions got up by the English Rajah in honour of his friend.

The Hiltons have not paid another visit to the palm-tree palace on the river where Chumbley has his home, but they hear from him occasionally as well as from the Harleys, and the reports always tell of perfect happiness in their far-off land.

"I tell you what it is, Grey," says Hilton to his wife, the day after they had reached England, and she had held up her last little offering for him to kiss its tiny wet mouth, "I'll bet a five-pound note that old Chumbley would give something if his youngsters were as fair as that;"

and Grey says that for her part she does not think the colour of the skin matters so long as the heart is in its right place, to which her father, who has just come in, says:

"That's a verra good remairk, my dear. Do you know I'm glad to my heart I've managed to sc.r.a.pe five thousand together out of Perowne's estate, and the old man has settled it upon his children!"

"Five thousand! a nice little _bonne bouche_ for Harley!" says Hilton.

"A man who thoroughly deserves it," says his wife; "for I'm sure a truer-hearted gentleman never existed. But I have had a letter from Helen, and she tells me that Mr Harley is coming to England for a year's leave. I am to answer to the hotel in Paris. What am I to say?"

"Say?" cried Hilton; "tell her and her husband that we are comfortably settled here, and as long as there is a roof and a bed, with something in the way of rations, there will always be a welcome for them both."

The End.