“If I say I will be your wife, and go with you now back to your place, will you let her go free—where she will?” said the girl.
“Yes,” he said, eagerly. “I will not see her; she may go where she will.”
The girl hesitated for a few moments, and then tried to rise, but the Malay held her tightly by the wrist.
“I shall not try to run,” she said, scornfully. “Loose my arm.”
The Malay hesitated, gazing full in her eyes. He then tossed the girl’s arm lightly from him.
“I will trust you,” he said; and then he looked on curiously, as the Malay girl stooped softly over Helen, and just brushed her hair with her lips so gently that the sleeping girl did not stir. Then, turning to the Malay:
“Are you alone?” she asked.
“Yes: quite. I saw you before; but I did not want to capture you for Murad. Now, is it to be as I say? Will you come?”
The girl glanced once more at Helen; then placing her hand in that of the Malay, she let him lead her a few paces along the bank, and assist her into a seat, where, taking his place in the prow, he silently loosened the boat, guided it softly past the boughs, so that there was not even the rustle of a leaf; then, letting the pole dip into the water, he gave one powerful thrust, and the sampan darted out into mid-stream, and then rapidly glided out of sight, just as the shadows were deepening across the river and an orange glow began to tinge the surface of the leaves.