“No,” he said, with a contemptuous laugh. “It it very easy to throw dust in English eyes. I will tell you for your comfort, and to make you settle to your fate, the people at the station think I am their friend, and that I have been helping them with my people to find you. And now you are only living in their hearts.”
“In their hearts?” cried Helen, starting; and her thoughts involuntarily turned to Neil Harley.
“Yes,” he said, quietly; “they think you dead.”
“Dead!” she cried, in spite of her efforts to be calm.
“Yes; they believe you dead, and so you are to them. Helen the Englishwoman is dead, and this a beautiful Malay—my wife.”
“Dead?” she cried again, for his announcement came like a terrible shock.
“Yes; they found a boat down the river far below the station. They think you went with two of your lovers on the water, and that the boat filled and sank, to be washed up on a bank. It was well managed, and Helen and three of her friends or lovers are mourned as dead.”
“Mr Harley is not imprisoned too?” cried Helen.
“No; he is not a lover,” said the Sultan, smiling.
“Oh, Heaven help me!” muttered Helen.