The cries of a woman had little effect there, for beyond bringing out a couple more of the Malay women, Helen’s appeals for help seemed to create no excitement; and she was beginning to feel that her efforts would prove in vain, when she saw a figure come from amongst the trees, and stretching out her hands towards it, she made one last effort to reach what she had looked upon as safety.
For there could be no mistaking that figure. It was the chaplain. At the moment it seemed to her that Arthur Rosebury had been sent there expressly to save her from her terrible position; and half-fainting, panting, and thoroughly exhausted, she tottered on, tripped, and fell.
The effort to escape was vain, for a couple of Malay women seized Helen’s arms and dragged her off, followed by the chaplain, but not for many yards. Before he had gone far he too was seized, and hurried back in the way by which he had come. It was vain to struggle, and he had to resign himself, but it was with feelings mingled with indignation and disgust.
The Malay lady was evidently of superior station by her dress; and that she was ill-used there could be no doubt. His English blood glowed at the thought, and clergyman though he was, and man of peace, he still felt enough spirit to be ready to have undertaken her defence.
He cooled down, though, as he was hurried back through the jungle—cooled in temper, but heated in body; while the faintness and hunger soon increased to such an extent that his adventure with the Malay lady was forgotten.
But not by Helen Perowne, who, once more shut up in her room, rejoiced to think that, though surrounded by enemies, there was one friend near—a true friend whom she could trust—one who would be ready to do anything for her sake, badly as she had behaved to him.
“He cannot be far away,” she said, half aloud, and with the hysterical sobs in her throat. “He is near, and there must be friends with him. He saw me, and he will not lose a minute without bringing help; and then—”
And then she stopped as if paralysed, for the thought came upon her with a flash that, though the Reverend Arthur Rosebury had seen her, he had only gazed upon a tall, swarthy Malay woman, in whom he could not possibly have recognised Helen Perowne.