Murad was standing there, leaning against the doorpost, and it was evident to her now that he had entered when the woman brought in the lamp, and that he had been watching her ever since. VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER FIVE. TRYING FOR A CHANGE. The days glided rapidly by, and still Hilton and Chumbley remained prisoners. They were well attended to; their diet, though Eastern in character, was admirably prepared: they had wine and cigars, capital coffee, and an abundance of fruit, but no liberty. The Inche Maida was either away, or else she had taken such deadly offence that she was determined to see her prisoners no more for the present, until they were in a better frame of mind as regarded her wishes. The slaves who attended upon them were ready to obey their slightest wishes, running eagerly to fetch coffee or fruit, or a kind of sherbet which was _very_ pleasant to drink during the heat of the day. But there was, with all the attention, a strict watch kept, Chumbley noticing that there was always an ostentatious display of force as if to show the prisoners that it was hopeless to attempt to escape. Armed men sat about outside the door, and from the window the prisoners could see other armed men sitting about chewing betel, or practising throwing the limbing--the javelin with a blade of razor keenness--which they hurled with such unerring aim that the least skilful would have been certain to strike a man at thirty yards. But all the same, the hearts of the prisoners were set upon scheming their escape; and they sat and smoked, and made their calculations as to how it was to be compassed. "I'm sorry I was so rough with the poor woman," said Hilton one evening, as they sat by the open window sipping their coffee, and gazing at the rich orange glow in the sky above the dark green foliage of the trees. "Well, you were pretty rough upon her for displaying a remarkable feminine weakness in your favour," replied Chumbley. "Well, rough or no, I'm tired of this," said Hilton. "It is evident that Harley is making no effort to find us out." "Perhaps he is, but can't find the place. I've been trying hard to make out where we are." "So have I, but I'm puzzled. One thing is evident; we are a long way from the river." "So we cannot be at the Inche Maida's seat." "No; I suppose this is a sort of private, lodge or hunting-box somewhere away in the jungle." "Yes; a place of retreat in case of danger." Then there was a pause, during which the prisoners sat gazing through the bars of the window at the glories of the sky, Chumbley disgusting his friend by continuously spitting. "The Princess's home is on the right bank of the river," said Hilton, at last. "Granted, oh! Solomon the wise!" "_Ergo_" continued Hilton, "we are upon the right bank of the river." "Unless her ladyship's dominions extend to the other side." "Take it for granted that they do not," said Hilton. "What then?" "Why, we can pretty well tell where the river is."