The faint lapping of the river and the plash of oars had died away, and the silence and heat were painful enough to draw a low sigh from the sleeper, just as the bedroom door was softly opened, and a dark figure glided in, crept over the matting floor without making a sound, and bent over the bed. For the moment it seemed as though he was there upon some errand of ill; and one who watched would have been ready to raise an alarm, the insecurity of the station life being sufficient to warrant such a supposition; but the idea of the dark figure being bent on an evil errand was at once destroyed, for after waiting for a moment, he cried, softly: "Master--master!" The Resident started lip with the sudden awakening of a man accustomed to suspect peril at every turn, and his hand darted beneath his pillow even as he raised himself, to be withdrawn grasping the butt of a loaded revolver. "Ah, you Ling," he said, with a sigh of relief, as he lowered his hand. "What is it? Someone ill?" "Mr Perowne has come across in his boat, sir." "Mr Perowne? at this time! what does he want?" "To see you, sir." "Tell him I'll be there directly." The Chinese servant glided away as silently as he had come, and the Resident hastily dashed some water in his face to clear away the sleepy feeling. "I hope nothing serious!" he muttered. "Has Helen been taken ill?" A pang shot through him at the thought, and the reckless behaviour of the night, that had stung him again and again during the course of the evening, was forgiven. "Poor child!" he muttered. "I believe she loves me, and bird-like, is fluttering and timorously striving to escape from the string that holds her." He glanced at his watch as it hung upon a stand. "Two o'clock. I have not been in bed above an hour. What can be wrong?" The next minute he was in the dining-room, where he found Mr Perowne agitatedly walking up and down; but as soon as the Resident entered he advanced and caught him fiercely by the arm. "Harley, do you know anything of this?" he cried. "Of this? Of what?" "Helen! Where is she?" "Helen? In bed and asleep I hope. What do you mean?" "I missed her somewhere about eleven. I have not seen her since." The Resident looked curiously at Mr Perowne, whose flushed face and excited manner seemed to suggest that he had been playing the host too freely during the evening, and to his own deterioration in balance. "Tired, and gone to bed. A bit peevish with weariness," suggested the Resident, who drove back a curious sense of uneasiness that troubled him. "No," said Mr Perowne, hoarsely; "she has not gone to bed, and the house and the gardens have been searched again and again. Do you know anything of this?" "I? Absurd! I left in good time. I bade her good-night when she was talking to the chaplain; he was trying to persuade her to let him cover her shoulders with the shawl he carried."