“That is right,” he said, quietly. “You are thinking of the past. But never mind; that is all gone now. It was English Helen who was so weak; it is Malay Helen who will become strong. My people have done well, and how it becomes you! Your friends would never know you now.”
What should she do?
Helen’s hands closed, and her fingers were tightly enlaced as she tried to find a way out of her difficulties. She knew that threats would be in vain, and supplication to him to set her free like so many wasted words. There was no way out but by gaining the mastery over her enemy once more. Her enemy! But he must be treated like a friend. Only a few brief months back, and this man, at whose mercy she now was, seemed the veriest slave. Well, why not once again? she asked herself. She was as young and beautiful as ever they said. He loved her—he must love her—and why should she not sway him by this love? It was her only hope, and she grasped at it to try.
“Well,” he said, smiling mockingly, “will you not find a place here by my side?”
She was silent for a few moments, and then, making an effort:
“You have done me a cruel injury, Rajah,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling, but becoming firmer with each word she spoke.
“Injury!” he said, smiling; and his eyes glittered at the success that promised to attend his plans. “Oh, no; not injury. It can be no injury to a beautiful woman to make her the wife of a rich Malay prince—one who loves her with all his heart—a rajah who loves your English ways, and who will surround you with everything you wish.”
“You will give me my liberty?” said Helen.
“Yes,” he said; “whatever my beautiful princess can desire.”
She made a gesture full of impatience, and remained silent for a few moments to gather calmness before she spoke again.