When he was able to think a little more clearly, he began to ask himself
what he should do to help his companion in distress; and of course,
ignorant of the fact that he might prove in his humble way a greater
safeguard than either of her other admirers, there he stuck fast. What
was he to do to help Helen?
No answer came to this question, so there he paused, meditating hour
after hour, until he found himself unbound, and free to gaze about him
in a pleasant-looking room, whose window opened upon a fairly-kept
garden, full of such a profusion of strange and beautiful plants,
shining in the heavy morning dew, that, as the Rev Arthur Rosebury
rested his forehead against the bamboo bars, and looked out, he forgot
his present troubles in the glories of a rich botanic feast.
He was interrupted by a hand touching him on the shoulder; and turning,
he found a couple of tall, well-armed Malays standing at his side, one
of whom pointed to a breakfast arranged upon a clean mat upon the floor,
and signed to him that he should eat.
The Reverend Arthur sighed, paused, and asked where was Miss Perowne;
receiving for answer a shake of the head, and a fresh intimation that he
should eat.
This, after a moment's hesitation, he sat down and began to do,
evidently in a very abstracted mood.
At the end of a minute he rose, beckoned to one of his guards, led him
to the window, and pointing out through the open bars to a very
beautiful form of convolvulus he took out his penknife, opened it, and
placed it in the Malay's hand, signing to him that he should go out and
cut one of the long twining strands.
The man looked at him in a puzzled manner for a few moments, but ended
by comprehending; and after saying a few words to his companion, he went
out and came round to the window where the Reverend Arthur was watching,
and ready to point to the plant, a portion of which the Malay cut, and
also a spray of a large jasmine, and brought in.
The prisoner took the plants and his knife, and sat down crosslegged to
his breakfast, which became a prolonged meal, full of enjoyment; for
between every two mouthfuls there was a long pause, and sections had to
be made of the flowers and seed vessels, while notes were made in the
notebook the chaplain always carried in his breast-pocket.
Altogether that was a very pleasant meal; and the two Malay guards
stared to see how calm and contented their prisoner seemed to be.
Then came a period of depression, during which the chaplain questioned
the Malays, making use of all the words that he had studied up during
the voyage and since his stay; but they either could not or would not
give him any information respecting the object of his inquiry; and he
walked dreamily to the window, and stood gazing out once more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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