Mr Perowne shuddered, and Neil Harley recalled the various stories he had heard of crocodiles attacking small boats—stories that he had heretofore looked upon as mythical, though he knew that the reptiles often seized the natives when bathing by the river bank.
“As far as I could judge, sir,” said the sergeant, who, seeing that he gave no offence in speaking out, was most eager to tell all he knew, “it seems as if the officers, sir, had taken the ladies for a row upon the river, when the boat perhaps touched one of the great beasts, and that made it turn and seize it in its teeth. Then it was overset, and—”
The men started and stopped short, for there was a faint cry of horror, and they all turned to see Grey Stuart standing there pale, with her lips apart, and a look of horror in her fixed eyes, as she saw in imagination the overturned boat, and the vain struggles of those who were being swept away by the rapid stream.
The whole scene rose before her eyes with horrible substantiality—all that she had heard or been told of the habits of the great reptiles that swarmed in the river helping to complete the picture. For as she seemed to realise the scene, and saw the struggling figures in the water, there would be a rush and a swirl, with a momentary sight of a dark horny back or side, and then first one and then another of the hapless party would be snatched beneath the surface.
But even then her horror seemed to be veined with a curious sensation of jealous pain, for she pictured to herself Helen floating down the stream with her white hands extended for help, and Hilton fighting his way through the water to her side. Then he seemed to seize her, and to make a brave struggle to keep her up. It was a hard fight, and he did not spare himself, but appeared to be ready to drown that she might live. The water looked blacker and darker where they were, and there was no help at hand, so that it was but a question of moments before they must sink. And as, with dilated, horror-charged eyes, Grey stared before her to where the river really ran sparkling in the sunshine, the imaginary blackness deepened, and all looked so smooth and terrible that she watched for where that dreadful glassiness would be broken by some reptile rising to make a rush at the struggling pair; and—yes, there at last it was! And with the name of Hilton half-formed upon her lips, she uttered another cry, and fell fainting in the Inche’s Maida’s arms.
Volume Two—Chapter Eight.
Danger Ahead.
Grey Stuart lost her cavalier Chumbley soon after supper, for the Princess pointed to a chair beside her, Hilton being very quiet and distant, and in spite of several reproachful glances from his companion’s eyes, proving to be very poor company indeed.