"Idiot!" exclaimed the Inche Maida, who just, caught the word. "She will not have you when you do go back, for by this time she is someone's wife." "I do not believe you!" cried Hilton, angrily. "You may," she replied, with an angry gesture. "Now listen; I can be generous, but I can be hard as well, and I shall keep you my prisoner. I have brought you here, and I have done with you; I reject you, I would not listen to you now if you went upon your knees to me. I could not bear it, for I should know then it was only false. I say I shall keep you here for my own safety now; but though I have cast you off, I would not have your blood upon my hands. Remember, my people are charged to watch you, and they are Malays--faithful to the death. They would have been faithful to you, my lord, but you have refused. Now listen. My orders will be obeyed, as they were when I said I wish those two English chiefs brought here unhurt. Mind this, then; any attempt at escape will end in your falling by either kris or spear. Now go." She stood there looking very handsome and disdainful, pointing to the door, and the two officers had no alternative but to get up and walk towards the entry. Here, however, Chumbley paused, and turned back to where his imperious captor was standing with flashing eyes. "We are too old friends to quarrel," he said, good-humouredly. "Of course we shall try to escape, and we should do so if you had twice as many people to guard us. You have done a very foolish thing." "No!" she cried. "It was my will." "All the same a very foolish thing in bringing us here. Now, take my advice, as a friend; send us back at once." "No!" she said, fiercely. "Yes; for your own sake." "No," she cried, "leave me." "I promise you," he continued, "that I will do all I can to hush the matter up. You will be reasonable. I should not like to see so brave and good a woman come to grief." "Go! Leave me!" she cried, fiercely. "I will not listen. I am a Malay Princess, and he has insulted and wronged me." "Well: there," said Chumbley. "I'm going. Good-night." He held out his broad white hand, but the Inche Maida raised hers and struck at it angrily, her palm descending in Chumbley's with a loud pat. The young officer only smiled, bent his head, and turned to join Hilton in the other room. As he reached the door, however, he heard a step, a hand was laid upon his arm, and a hoarse voice whispered: "I am sorry--I was angry--forgive." Hilton had strode to the end of his prison, and thrown himself in a dissatisfied frame of mind upon the mats; the door had swung to, and there was a heavy curtain between, so that he did not hear what was said, nor see the hearty pressure of the hand that succeeded before Chumbley left the dining-room and joined his friend; while the Malay princess stood alone, with her hands clasped and her bosom heaving.