Captain Mayne Reid (continued 8)

The Maroon paused in his reflections; and kept his eye sharply bent upon the shadowy form that, like a spirit of darkness, was silently flitting through the corridor. He was in hopes that the Jew would soon retire to his chamber.

So long as the latter remained outside, there was not the slightest chance for Cubina to communicate with the occupant of the hammock without being observed. Worse than that, the Maroon was now in danger of being himself seen. Exposed as he was upon the cocoa—with nothing to shelter him from observation but its few straggling fronds—he ran every risk of his presence being detected. It was just a question of whether the Jew might have occasion to look upwards; if so, he could scarce fail to perceive the dark silhouette of a man, outlined, as it was, against the light blue of the sky.

That would be a discovery of which Cubina dreaded the consequences, and with reason. It might not only frustrate the intended interview with the young Englishman, but might end in his own capture and detention—the last a contingency especially to be avoided.

Under this apprehension the Maroon stirred neither hand nor foot; but kept himself silent and rigid. In this attitude of immobility he looked like some statue, placed in a sedentary posture upon the summit of a Corinthian column—the crushed crocus represented by the fronds of the palm-tree.

Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Six.

A Mission for the Man-Hunters.

Cubina for some time preserved his constrained position. He dared not derange it; since the Jew still stayed in the shadowy corridor—sometimes moving about; but more generally standing at the head of the wooden stairway, and looking across the courtyard, towards the gate through which he had come in. It seemed as if he was expecting some one to enter after him.

This conjecture of Cubina’s proved correct. The great gate was heard once more turning on its hinges; and, after a word or two spoken by the black porter outside, and answered by a voice of different tone, two men were seen stepping inside the court.

As they passed under the moonlight, Cubina recognised them. Their lithe, supple forms, and swarthy angular lineaments, enabled him to identify the Cuban caçadores.

They walked straight up to the stairway, at the bottom of which both stopped.

The Jew, on seeing them inside the gate, had gone back into a room that opened upon the verandah.

He was gone but for an instant; and, coming out again, he returned to the top of the stairway.

One of the Spaniards, stepping up, reached out, and received something from his hand. What it was Cubina could not have told, but for the words of the Jew that accompanied the action.

“There’sh the flashk,” said he; “it ish the besht brandy in Shamaica. And now,” he continued, in an accent of earnest appeal, “my goot fellish! you hashn’t a minute to shpare. Remember the big monish you’re to gain; and don’t let thish runaway eshcape!”

“No fear about that, Señor Don Jacob,” replied he who received the flask. “Carrai! he’ll have long legs to get out of our way—once we’re well on the trail of him.”

And without further dialogue or delay, the caçador descended the stair, rejoined his comrade, and both hurriedly re-crossing the courtyard, disappeared through the door by which they had entered.

“An expedition after some poor slave!” muttered Cubina to himself. “I hope the scoundrels won’t catch him, anyhow, and I pity him if they do. After all, they’re no great hands at the business, spite of their braggadocio.”

With this professional reflection, the Maroon once more bent his eyes upon the form that remained in the shadow of the verandah.

“Surely,” conjectured he, “the old John Crow will now go to his roost? Or has he more of the like business on hand? Till he’s out of that I can’t make a move. I durstn’t stir, not for the life of me!”

To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that moment stepped back into his chamber—the door of which had been left standing open.

“Good!” mentally ejaculated the Maroon; “I hope he’ll stay in his hole, now that he’s in it. I don’t want to see any more of him this night. Crambo!”

As the exclamation indicated, the congratulatory speech was cut short by the re-appearance of the Jew; not in his blue body-coat, as before, but wrapped in a sort of gabardine, or ample dressing-gown, the skirts of which fell down to his feet. His hat had been removed—though the skull-cap, of dirty whitish hue, still clung around his temples; for it was never doffed.

To the consternation of Cubina he came out, dragging a chair after him: as if he meant to place it in the verandah and take a seat upon it.

And this was precisely his intention, for, after drawing the chair—a high-backed one—out into the middle of the gallery, he planted it firmly upon the floor, and then dropped down into it.

The moment after, Cubina saw sparks, accompanied by a sound that indicated the concussion of flint and steel. The Jew was striking a light!

For what purpose?

The smell of burning tobacco borne along the gallery, and ascending to Cubina’s nostrils upon the summit of the palm, answered that question. A red coal could be seen gleaming between the nose and chin of the Israelite. He was smoking a cigar!

Cubina saw this with chagrin. How long would the operation last? Half-an-hour—an hour, perhaps? Ay, maybe till daybreak—now not very distant.

The situation had changed for the worse. The Maroon could not make the slightest move towards the awakening of Herbert. He dared not shift his own position, lest his presence should be betrayed to the Jew. He dared not stir upon the tree, much less come down from it!

He saw that he was in a fix; but there was no help for it. He must wait till the Jew had finished his cigar: though there was no certainty that even that would bring the séance to a termination.

Summoning all the patience he could command, he kept his perch, silent and motionless, though anxious, and suffering from chagrin.

For a long hour, at least, did he continue in this desperate dilemma—until his limbs ached underneath him, and his composure was well-nigh exhausted. Still the Jew stuck to his chair, as if glued to the seat—silent and motionless as Cubina himself.

The latter fancied that not only a first cigar, but a second, and, perhaps, a third, had been lighted and smoked; but in the sombre shadow, in which the smoker sat, he could not be certain how many. More than one, however, from the time spent in the operation; for during the full period of an hour a red coal could be seen glowing at the tip of that aquiline proboscis.

Cubina now perceived what troubled him exceedingly—the blue dawn breaking over the tops of the trees! By slightly turning his head he could see the golden gleam of sunlight tinting the summit of the Jumbé Rock!

“Crambo! what was to be done?” so ran his reflections.

If he stayed there much longer he might be sure of being discovered. The slaves would soon be starting to their work—the overseer and drivers would soon be out and about. One or other could not fail to see him upon the tree! He would be lucky now to escape himself, without thinking any longer of the hammock or him who slept within its tight-drawn meshes.

While considering how he might slip unperceived from the tree he glanced once more towards the occupant of the chair. The gradually brightening dawn, which had been filling him with apprehension, now favoured him. It enabled him to perceive that the Jew was asleep!

With his head thrown back against the sloping upholstery, Jessuron had at last surrendered to the powerful divinity of dreams. His goggles were off; and Cubina could see that the wrinkled lids were closed over his sunken orbs.

Undoubtedly he was asleep. His whole attitude confirmed it. His legs lay loosely over the front of the chair—his arms hung down at the sides: and the blue umbrella rested upon the floor at his feet. This last evidence of somnolency was not even counterbalanced by the stump of a cigar, burnt close, and still sticking between his teeth!

End of Volume Two.

Volume Three—Chapter One.

A Startling Summons.

On the part of Cubina it was now a struggle between prudence and a desire to carry out his original programme—whether he should not go off alone, or still try to communicate with the sleeper in the hammock.

In the former case he could return to the glade, and there await the coming of Herbert Vaughan as at first fixed. But, by so doing, at least two hours would be lost; and even then, would the young Englishman be punctual to his appointment?

Even against his inclination something might occur to cause delay—a thing all the more probable, considering the circumstances that surrounded him; considering the irregularity of events in the domicile where he dwelt.

But even a delay of two hours! In that interval, Loftus Vaughan might have ceased to live!

These thoughts coursed quickly through the mind of the Maroon—accustomed as it was to perceptions almost intuitive. He saw that he must either go by himself to Mount Welcome, or awake the sleeper at once.

Perhaps he would have decided on the former course, but that he had other motives for an interview with Herbert Vaughan, almost as immediate in their necessity as that which related to the safety of the Custos. He had as yet no reason to believe that the peril in which the planter stood was so proximate as it really was: for it never occurred to him that the departure of the two Spaniards had any other object than that which related to their calling—the capture of some runaway slave.

Had he suspected the design of the two ruffians—had he known the mission of murder on which the slave-merchant had dispatched them—he would scarce have stayed for aught else than to have provided the means of intercepting their design.

In the dark about all this, he did not believe there was such necessity for extreme haste; though he knew something was on foot against the Custos which would not allow of much loss of time.

At that moment the occupant of the hammock turned over with a yawn.

“He is going to awake!” thought Cubina; “now is my time.”

To the disappointment of the Maroon, the limbs of the speaker again became relaxed; and he returned to a slumber profound as before.

“What a pity!” murmured the Maroon; “if I could only speak a word. But no. Yonder John Crow is more like to hear it than he. I shall throw something down into the hammock. Maybe that will awake him?”

Cubina drew out his tobacco-pipe. It was the only thing he could think of at the moment; and, guiding his arm with a good aim, he pitched it into the hammock.

It fell upon the breast of the sleeper. It was too light. It awoke him not.

“Crambo! he sleeps like an owl at noontide! What can I do to make him feel me? If I throw down my macheté, I shall lose the weapon; and who knows I may not need it before I’m out of this scrape? Ha! one of these cocoa-nuts will do. That, I dare say, will be heavy enough to startle him.”

Saying this, the Maroon bent downward; and extending his arm through the fronds beneath him, detached one of the gigantic nuts from the tree.

Poising it for a moment to secure the proper direction, he flung the ponderous fruit upon the breast of Herbert. Fortunately the sides of the hammock hindered it from falling upon the floor, else the concussion might also have awakened the sleeper in the chair.

With a start, the young Englishman awoke, at the same time raising himself upon his elbow. Herbert Vaughan was not one of the exclamatory kind, or he might have cried out. He did not, however; though the sight of the huge brown pericarp, lying between his legs, caused him considerable surprise.

“Where, in the name of Ceres and Pomona, did you rain down from?” muttered he, at the same time turning his eyes up for an answer to his classical interrogatory.

In the grey light he perceived the palm, its tall column rising majestically above him. He knew the tree well, every inch of its outlines; but the dark silhouette on its top—the form of a human being couchant, and crouching—that was strange to him.

The light, however, was now sufficiently strong to enable him to distinguish, not only the form, but the face and features of his ci-devant entertainer under the greenwood tree—the Maroon captain, Cubina!

Before he could say a word to express his astonishment, a gesture, followed by a muttered speech from the Maroon, enjoined him to silence.

“Hush! not a word, Master Vaughan!” spoke the latter, in a half whisper, at the same time that he glanced significantly along the corridor. “Slip out of your hammock, get your hat, and follow me into the forest. I have news for you—important! Life and death! Steal out; and, for your life, don’t let him see you!”

“Who?” inquired Herbert, also speaking in a whisper.

“Look yonder!” said the Maroon, pointing to the sleeper in the chair.

“All right! Well?”

“Meet me in the glade. Come at once—not a minute to be lost! Those who should be dear to you are in danger!”

“I shall come,” said Herbert, making a motion to extricate himself from the hammock.

“Enough! I must be gone. You will find me under the cotton-tree.”

As he said this, the Maroon forsook his seat, so long and irksomely preserved—and, sliding down the slender trunk of the palm, like a sailor descending the mainstay of his ship, he struck off at a trot, and soon disappeared amid the second growth of the old sugar plantation.

Herbert Vaughan was not slow to follow upon his track. Some disclosures of recent occurrence—so recent as the day preceding—had prepared him for a somewhat bizarre finale to the fine life he had of late been leading; and he looked to the Maroon for enlightenment. But that strange speech of Cubina stimulated him more than all. “Those who should be dear to you are in danger!”

There was but one being in the world entitled to this description. Kate Vaughan! Could it be she?

Herbert stayed not to reflect. His hat and cloak hung in the chamber close by; and in two seconds of time both were upon him. Another second sufficed to give him possession of his gun.

He was too active, too reckless, to care for a stairway at that moment, or at that height from the ground—too prudent to descend by that which there was in front, though guarded only by a sleeper!

Laying his leg over the balustrade, he leaped to the earth below; and, following the path taken by the Maroon, like him was soon lost among the second growth of the ruinate garden.

Volume Three—Chapter Two.

Blue Dick.

In making his hurried departure from the Happy Valley, Herbert Vaughan narrowly escaped observation. A delay of ten minutes longer would have led to his design being interrupted; or, at all events, to his being questioned as to the object of his early excursion; and, in all probability, followed and watched.

He had scarce passed out of sight of the penn, when he heard the jangling tones of a swing bell—harshly reverberating upon the still air of the morning.

The sounds did not startle him. He knew it was not an alarm; only the plantation bell, summoning the slaves to enter upon their daily toil.

Knowing that it must have awakened the sleeper in the chair, he congratulated himself on his good luck at getting away, before the signal had been sounded—at the same time that it caused him to quicken his steps towards the rendezvous given by the Maroon.

Cubina, though from a greater distance, had also heard the bell, and had in a similar manner interpreted the signal, though with a greater degree of uneasiness as to the effect it might have produced. He, too, had conjectured that the sounds must have awakened the sleeper in the chair.

Both had reasoned correctly. At the first “ding-dong” of the bell, the Jew had been startled from his cat-like slumber, and, rising erect in his seat, he glanced uneasily around him.

“Blesh my soul!” he exclaimed, spitting out the bit of burnt cigar that clung adheringly to his lips. “It ish broad daylight. I musht have been ashleep more ash two hours. Ach! theesh are times for a man to keep awake. The Cushtos should be on his road by thish; and if theesh Spanish hunters do their bishness as clefferly as they hash promise, he’ll shleep sounder thish night ash effer he hash done before. Blesh my soul!” he again exclaimed, with an accent that betokened a change in the tenor of his thoughts. “Supposhe they make bungle of the bishness? Supposhe they should get caught in the act? Ha! what would be the reshult of that? There ish danger—shtrike me dead if there ishn’t! Blesh me! I neffer thought of it,” continued he, after some moments spent in reflection of an apparently anxious kind. “They might turn King’sh evidence, and implicate me—me, a shustice! To save themselves, they’d be likely to do ash much ash that. Yesh; and eefen if they didn’t get taken in the act, still there ish danger. That Manuel hash a tongue ash long ash his macheté. He’sh a prattling fool. I musht take care to get him out of the Island—both of them—ash soon ash I can.”

In his apprehensions the Jew no longer included Chakra: for he was now under the belief that the dark deed would be accomplished by the Spanish assassins; and that to steel, not poison, would the Custos yield up his life.

Even should Cynthia have succeeded in administering the deadly dose—a probability on which he no longer needed to rely—even should the Custos succumb to poison, the myal-man was not to be feared. There was no danger of such a confederate declaring himself. As for Cynthia, the Jew had never dealt directly with her; and therefore she was without power to implicate him in the hellish contract.

“I musht take some shteps,” said he, rising from his chair, and making a feint towards retiring to his chamber, as if to adjust his dress. “What ish besht to be done? Let me think,” he added, pausing near the door, and standing in an attitude of reflection; “yesh! yesh! that’s it! I musht send a messensher to Mount Welcome. Some one can go on an excushe of bishness. It will look strange, since we’re such bad neighboursh of late? No matter for that. The Cushtos is gone, I hope; and Rafener can send the message to Mishter Trusty. That will bring ush newsh. Here, Rafener!” continued he, calling to his overseer, who, cart-whip in hand, was moving through the court below, “I wan’t ye, Mishter Rafener!”

Ravener, uttering a grunt to signify that he had heard the summons, stepped up to the stairway of the verandah; and stood silently waiting to know for what he was wanted.

“Hash you any bishness about which you could send a messenger to Mishter Trusty—to Mount Welcome, I mean?”

“Humph! There’s business a plenty for that. Them consarned hogs of the Custos has got into our corn-patch up the valley, and played pitch and toss with the young plants. Ye must get damages for it.”

“That ish right—that ish right.”

“Humph! You won’t say it’s right when once you’ve seen the mess they’ve made. We’ll have a sorry show at crop time, I tell ye.”

“Neffer mind that—we’ll have an action. Ishe not let it pass; but joosh now I hash other bishness on hand. You send a messensher to Mishter Trusty, and tell him about it. And, harksh you, Mishter Rafener! I want this messensher to be dishcreet. I want him to find out whether the Cushtos ish at home—without making a direct ashking about it. I have heard that he ish going on a shourney; and I want to know if he hash set out yet. You undershtands me?”

“All right,” replied Ravener, with an air that betokened comprehension, “All right! I’ll send a fellow that’ll get an answer to that question without asking it. Blue Dick can do that.”

“Ah! true, Blue Dick ish the one! And, harksh you, Mishter Rafener! tell him to try if he can see the mulatta wench, Cynthy.”

“What is he to say to her?”

“He ish to tell her to come ofer here, if she hash an opportunity. I wants to shpeak with her. But, mind ye, Mishter Rafener! Dick ish to be careful what he saysh and doesh. He musht talk with the girl only in whishpers.”

“I’ll instruct him in all that,” replied the overseer, in a tone of confidence. “You want him to go now?”

“Thish minute—thish very minute. I hash a reason for being in a hurry. Send him off as soon ash you can.”

Ravener, without further parley, walked off to dispatch his messenger; and a few minutes after he had gone out of the court, that yellow “complected” Mercury, known by the sobriquet of “Blue Dick,” was seen “streaking” it along the path which conducted from the Jew’s penn to the mansion of Mount Welcome.

Volume Three—Chapter Three.

The Mysterious Absence.

The brief conversation between Jessuron and his overseer had taken place sotto voce: as it was not desirable that it should be overheard by any one—much less by the nephew of him who was its chief subject, and who was supposed to be suspended in a hammock not ten paces from the spot.

The hammock, however, was not visible from the front stairway—being hung in that part of the verandah that extended along the other side of the house.

On the departure of Ravener from his presence, the Jew proceeded with his original intention—to put his person in order for the day.

His toilette did not take long. After a very brief absence within his room, he reappeared on the gallery in the same pocketed blue coat, breeches, and tops, that served him for all purposes and occasions. The coat was buttoned over his breast, the whitey-brown beaver once more upon his head, and the goggles adjusted on the knife-back ridge of his nose. It was evident he intended a stroll. This was all the more certain as he had regained the umbrella—which had dropped from him during sleep—and, holding it in his grasp, stood by the top of the stairway, as if on the eve of setting forth.

Whither was he going? For what purpose, so early?

His muttered soliloquy declared his design.

“It musht be to-day—yesh, I musht get them married thish very day; and before any newsh can come. The report of the Cushtos’ death might shpoil all my plans. Who knowsh what the young man might do, if he hash only a hint of hish goot luck? After all, may be, Shoodith ish not so shure of him? She hash said something last night. Ha! it musht be thish day. It is no ushe going to the rector of the parish. He ish the Cushtos’ friend, and might make some obsheckshun. That won’t do—s’help me, no! I musht go to the other. Hee’sh poor, and won’t sthand shilly-shally. Besides, hish knot would be shoost as hard to looshe as if it wash tied by the Bishop of Shamaica. He’ll do; and if he won’t, then I knowsh one who will—for monish; ay, anything for monish!”

After this soliloquy he was about setting foot upon one of the steps with the intention of descending, when a thought appeared to strike him; and turning away from the stair, he walked with shuffling gentleness along the gallery, towards that part of the verandah where the hammock was suspended.

“I supposhe the young shentleman is shtill ashleep. Shentleman, indeed! now he ish all that, or will be the next time he goesh to shleep. Well, if he ish, I mushn’t dishturb him. Rich shentlemen mushn’t have their shlumbers interrupted. Ach!”

The exclamation escaped from his lips, as, on rounding the angle of the verandah, he came within sight of the hammock.

“’Tish empty, I declare! He’sh early astir! In hish room, I supposhe?”

Sans cérémonie, the Jew kept on along the gallery, until he had arrived in front of his book-keeper’s private apartment. There he stopped, looking inward.

The door was ajar—almost wide open. He could see the greater portion of the interior through the door; the rest of it through the jalousies. There was no one in the room—either sitting, standing, or moving about!

“Mashter Vochan! Are you there?”

The interrogatory was put rather by way of confirming his observation: for he saw there was no one inside.

“Where are you, Mashter Herbert?” continued he, repeating the interrogatory in an altered form—at the same time craning his neck into the apartment, and glancing all around it. “Ash I live, it’sh empty, like the hammock! He musht have gone out. Yesh. Hish hat’s not here—his cloak ish not here; and I see no gun. He alwaysh kept hish gun joosh there. How hash he passed me without my hearing his foot? I shleeps so ash I can hear a cat shtealin’ over the floor! Hash he gone by the shtairway at all? Ash I live, no! Blesh my soul! there is a track where somebody musht have shumped over the railing down into the garden! S’help me, it ish his track! There’sh no other but him to have made it. What the deffil ish the young fellow after this morning? I hope there ish nothing wrong in it.”

On missing the young Englishman out of his hammock and room, the penn-keeper felt at first no particular uneasiness. His protégé had, no doubt, gone out for a stroll in the woods. He had taken his gun along with him, to have a shot at some early bird looking for the early worm. He had done so many a time before—though never at so early an hour.

The hour, however, was not enough of itself to cause any surprise to his patron; nor even the fact of his having leaped over the verandah railing. He might have seen the owner of the house asleep in his chair near the head of the stairway; and, not wishing to disturb him, had chosen the other mode of exit. There was nothing in all this to cause uneasiness.

Nor would the Jew have thought anything of it had it not been for some other circumstances which quickly came under his notice—guiding him to the suspicion that something might be amiss.

The first of these circumstances was that Herbert, although having taken his gun along with him, had left behind his shot-belt and powder-flask! Both were there in his room, hanging upon their peg. They did not escape the sharp glance of the Jew, who at once began to draw conclusions from their presence.

If the young man had gone out on a shooting excursion, it was strange that he did not take his ammunition along with him!

Perhaps, however, he had seen some sort of game near the house, and, in his hurry to get a shot at it, had gone off hastily—trusting to the two charges which his gun contained. In that case he would not go far, and in a few minutes might be expected back.

A few minutes passed, and a great many minutes—until a full hour had transpired—and still nothing was heard or seen of the book-keeper, though messengers had been dispatched in search of him, and had quartered all the ground for half a mile around the precincts of the penn.

Jessuron—whose matutinal visit to the minister had been postponed by the occurrence—began to look grave.

“It ish shtrange,” said he, speaking to his daughter, who had now arisen, and was far from appearing cheerful; “shtrange he should go abroad in thish fashion, without shaying a word to either of ush!”

Judith made no reply: though her silence could not conceal a certain degree of chagrin, from which she was evidently suffering. Perhaps she had even more reason than the “rabbi” to suspect there was something amiss?

Certainly, something disagreeable—a misunderstanding at least, had arisen between her and Herbert on the preceding day. Her speech had already given some slight hint of it; but much more her manner, which, on the night before, and now unmistakably in the morning, betrayed a mixture of melancholy and suppressed indignation.

It did not add to the equanimity of her temper, when the house wench—who was unslinging the hammock in which Herbert had slept—announced it to contain two articles scarce to be expected in such a place—a cocoa-nut and a tobacco-pipe!

The pipe could not have belonged to Herbert Vaughan: he never smoked a pipe; and as for the cocoa-nut, it had evidently been plucked from the tree standing near. The trunk of the palm exhibited scratches as if some one had climbed up it, and above could be seen the freshly-torn peduncle, where the fruit had been wrenched from its stalk!

What should Herbert Vaughan have been doing up the palm-tree, flinging cocoa-nuts into his own couch?

His unaccountable absence was becoming surrounded by circumstances still more mysterious. One of the cattle-herds, who had been sent in search of him, now coming in, announced a new fact, of further significance. In the patch of muddy soil, outside the garden wall, the herd had discovered the book-keepers track, going up towards the hills; and near it, on the same path, the footprint of another man, who must have gone over the ground twice, returning as he had come!

This cattle-herd, though of sable skin, was a skilled tracker. His word might be trusted.

It was trusted, and produced an unpleasant impression both on Jessuron and Judith—an impression more unpleasant as time passed, and the book-keeper was still unreturned.

The father fumed and fretted; he did more—he threatened. The young Englishman was his debtor, not only for a profuse hospitality, but for money advanced. Was he going to prove ungrateful? A defaulter?

Ah! little had that pecuniary obligation to do with the chagrin that was vexing the Jew Jessuron—far less with those emotions, like the waves of a stormy sea, that had begun to agitate the breast of his daughter; and which every slight circumstance, like a strong wind, was lashing into fury and foam.

Blue Dick came back. He had executed his errand adroitly. The Custos was gone upon a journey; he had started exactly at the hour of daybreak.

“Goot!” said Jessuron; “but where is hish nephew?”

Blue Dick had seen Cynthia; and whispered a word in her ear, as the overseer had instructed him. She would come over to the penn, as soon as she could find an opportunity for absence from Mount Welcome.

“Goot!” answered the Jew. “But where is Mashter Vochan? where hash he betaken himshelf?”

“Where?” mentally interrogated Judith, as the noonday sun saw the black clouds coursing over her brow.

Volume Three—Chapter Four.

A Shadowed Spirit.

The sun was just beginning to re-gild the glittering flanks of the Jumbé Rock, his rays not yet having reached the valley below, when lights streaming through the jalousied windows of Mount Welcome proclaimed that the inmates of the mansion were already astir.

Lights shone through the lattices of several distinct windows—one from the Custos’ sleeping room, another from the apartment of Lilly Quasheba, while a brilliant stream, pouring through the jalousies in front, betokened that the chandelier was burning in the great hall.

From Smythje’s chamber alone came no sign either of light or life. The windows were dark, the curtains close drawn. Its occupant was asleep.

Yes, though others were stirring around him, the aristocratic Smythje was still sleeping as soundly and silently as if dead, perhaps dreaming of the fair “cweeole queetyaws,” and his twelve conquests now happily extended to the desired baker’s dozen, by the successful declaration of yesterday.

Though a light still burned in the sleeping apartment of the Custos, and also in that of Kate, neither father nor daughter were in their own rooms. Both were in the great hall, seated by a table, on which, even at this early hour, breakfast had been spread. It was not the regular matutinal meal, as certain circumstances showed. Mr Vaughan only was eating; while Kate appeared to be present merely for the purpose of pouring out his coffee, and otherwise attending upon him.

The costume in which the Custos appeared differed from his every-day wear. It was that of a man about to set forth upon a journey—in short, a travelling costume. A surtout, of strong material, with ample outside pockets; boots reaching above his knees; a belt, with pistol holsters, around his waist—a guard against any chance encounter with runaway negroes; a felt hat, lying on a chair beside him, and a camlet cloak, hanging over the back of the same chair—all proclaimed the purpose of a journey, and one about to be entered upon within a few minutes of time.

A pair of large silver spurs buckled over his boots, told also the mode of travel intended. It was to be on horseback.

This was further manifested by the fact that two horses were at that moment standing at the bottom of the stone stairs outside, their forms dimly visible through the blue dawn. Both were saddled, bridled, and equipped, with a black groom by their side, holding them in hand—himself in travelling toggery.

Valises, buckled upon the croup, and saddlebags suspended across the cantle, showed that the travellers were to carry their luggage along with them.

The object of the intended journey is already known. Mr Vaughan was about to put into execution a design long delayed—to perform a duty which he owed to his daughter, and which, if left unaccomplished, would seriously imperil the prosperity and happiness of her future life. He was about proceeding to the capital of the Island, to obtain from the Assembly that special act of grace, which they alone could give; and which would free his daughter from those degrading disabilities the Black Code had inflicted upon all of her unfortunate race. Six lines from the Assembly, with the governors signature attached, though it might not extinguish the taint, nor the taunt of malevolent lips, would, nevertheless, remove all obstacles to hereditament; and Kate Vaughan could then become the heiress to her own father’s property, without fear of failure.

To sue for this act and obtain it was the purpose of that journey upon which Loftus Vaughan was on the eve of setting forth. He had no apprehension of a failure. Had he been only a book-keeper or small tradesman, he might have been less sanguine of success; but, Custos of an important precinct, with scores of friends in the Assembly, he knew that he would only have to ask and it would be given him.

For all that, he was not setting out in very high spirits. The unpleasant prospect of having such a long and arduous journey to make was a source of vexation to him: for the Custos liked an easy life, and hated the fatigue of travel.

But there was something besides that dispirited him. For some days past he had found his health giving way. He had lost appetite, and was rapidly losing flesh. A constant and burning thirst had seized upon him, which, from morning to night, he was continually trying to quench.

The plantation doctor was puzzled with the symptoms, and his prescriptions had failed in giving relief. Indeed, so obstinate and death-like was the disease becoming, that the sufferer would have given up his intention of going to Spanish Town—at least, till a more fitting time—but for a hope that, in the capital, some experienced physician might be found who would comprehend his malady and cure it.

Indulging in this hope, he was determined to set forth at all hazards.

There was still another incubus upon his spirits, and one, perhaps, that weighed upon them more heavily than aught else. Ever since the death of Chakra—or rather, since the glimpse he had got of Chakra’s ghost—a sort of supernatural dread had taken possession of the mind of Loftus Vaughan. Often had he speculated on that fearful phenomenon, and wondered what it could have been. Had he alone witnessed the apparition, he might have got over the awe it had occasioned him: for then could he have attributed it to an illusion of the senses—a mere freak of his imagination, excited, as it was at the time, by the spectacle on the Jumbé Rock. But Trusty had seen the ghost, too! and Trusty’s mind was not one of the imaginative kind. Besides, how could both be deluded by the same fancy, and at the same instant of time?

Turn the thing in his own mind as he might, there was something that still remained inexplicable—something that caused the heart of the Custos to tingle with fear every time that he thought of Chakra and his ghost.

This intermittent awe had oppressed him ever since the day of his visit to the Jumbé Rock—that day described; for he never went a second time. Nor yet did he afterwards care to venture alone upon the wooded mountain. He dreaded a second encounter with that weird apparition.

In time, perhaps, the fear would have died out, and, in fact, was dying out—the intervals during which it was not felt becoming gradually more extended. Loftus Vaughan, though he could never have forgotten the myal-man, nor the terrible incidents of his death, might have ceased to trouble himself with the oughts about Chakra’s ghost, but for a circumstance that was reported to him on the day that Smythje sank into the dead-wood.

On the afternoon of that day, as Quashie was making his way homeward through the forest and over the hills, the darkey declared that, on passing near a noted spot called the Duppy’s Hole, he had “see’d de gose ob ole Chakra!”

Quashie, on reaching home, announced the fact, with chattering teeth, and eyes rolling wildly in their sockets; and, though the loutish boy was only laughed at by his fellow-slaves, the statement made a most painful impression on the mind of his master—restoring it to the state of habitual terror that had formerly held possession of it, and from which it had become only partially relieved.

The circumstance related by Quashie—still fresh in the thoughts of the Custos—had contributed not a little to increase that feeling of dejection and discouragement, under which he suffered at the moment of setting out upon his proposed expedition.

Volume Three—Chapter Five.

The Stirrup-Cup.

If Loftus Vaughan was in low spirits, not more joyful seemed his daughter, as she assisted at that early déjeuner.

On the contrary, a certain sadness overspread the countenance of the young Creole; as if reflected from the spirit of her father.

A stranger to the circumstances that surrounded her might have fancied that it was sympathy—at seeing him so dull and downcast—mingled with the natural regret she might have at his leaving home, and fop so lone: an absence. But one who scrutinised more closely could not fail to note in those fair features an expression of sadness that must have sprung from a different and deeper source.

The purpose of her father’s journey may, in part, explain the melancholy that marked the manner of the young Creole. She knew that purpose. She had learnt it from her father’s lips, though only on the evening before.

Then, for the first time in her life, was she made acquainted with those adverse circumstances that related to her birth and parentage: for up to that hour she had remained ignorant of her position, socially as well as legally. Then, for the first time, was fully explained to her her own true status in the social scale—the disabilities and degradation under which she suffered.

It was to remove these disabilities—and wipe out, as it were, the degradation—that her father was now going forth.

The young girl did not fail to feel gratitude; but perhaps the feeling might have been stronger had her father taken less trouble to make her sensible of the service he was about to perform—using it as a lever to remove that reluctance to the union with Smythje which still lingered.

During the few minutes that Mr Vaughan was engaged in eating his breakfast, not many words passed between them. The viands, luxurious enough, were scarce more than tasted. The intended traveller had no appetite for the solids with which the table was spread, and seemed to care only for drink.

After quaffing off several cups of coffee, solely from a desire to quench thirst, and without eating bread or anything else along with it, he rose from the table, and prepared to take his departure.

Mr Trusty entering, announced that the horses and the attendant groom were ready, and waiting outside.

The Custos donned his travelling hat, and with the assistance of Kate and her maid Yola, put on his sleeved cloak: as the air of the early morning was raw and cold.

While these final preparations were being made, a mulatta woman was seen moving about the room—at times acting as an attendant upon the table, at other times standing silently in the background. She was the slave Cynthia.

In the behaviour of this woman there was something peculiar. There was a certain amount of nervous agitation in her manner as she moved about; and ever and anon she was seen to make short traverses to different parts of the room—apparently without errand or object. Her steps, too, were stealthy, her glances unsteady and furtive.

All this would have been apparent enough to a suspicious person; but none of the three present appeared to notice it.

The “swizzle” bowl stood on the side-board. While breakfast was being placed on the table, Cynthia had been seen refilling the bowl with this delicious drink, which she had mixed in an outside chamber. Some one asked her why she was performing that, her diurnal duty, at so early an hour—especially as master would be gone before the time of swizzle-drinking should arrive: usually during the hotter hours of the day.

“P’raps massr like drink ob swizzle ’fore he go,” was the explanatory reply vouchsafed by Cynthy.

The girl made a successful conjecture. Just as the Custos was about to step outside for the purpose of descending the stairway, a fit of choking thirst once more came upon him, and he called for drink.

“Massr like glass ob swizzle?” inquired Cynthia, stepping up to his side. “I’ve mixed for massa some berry good,” added she, with impressive earnestness.

“Yes, girl,” replied her master. “That’s the best thing I can take. Bring me a large goblet of it.”

He had scarce time to turn round, before the goblet was presented to him, full to the rim. He did not see that the slave’s hand trembled as she held it up, nor yet that her eyes were averted—as if to hinder them from beholding some fearful sight.

His thirst prevented him from seeing anything, but that which promised to assuage it.

He caught hold of the goblet, and gulped down the whole of its contents, without once removing it from his lips.

“You’ve overrated its quality, girl,” said he, returning her the glass. “It doesn’t seem at all good. There’s a bitterish taste about it; but I suppose it’s my palate that’s out of order, and one shouldn’t be particular about the stirrup-cup.”

With this melancholy attempt at appearing gay, Loftus Vaughan bade adieu to his daughter, and, climbing into the saddle, rode off upon his journey.

Ah! Custos Vaughan! That stirrup-cup was the last you were ever destined to drink! In the sparkling “swizzle” was an infusion of the baneful Savannah flower. In that deep draught you had introduced into your veins one of the deadliest of vegetable poisons!

Chakra’s prophecy will soon be fulfilled. The death-spell will now quickly do its work. In twenty-four hours you will be a corpse!

Volume Three—Chapter Six.

The Horn Signal.

Cubina, on getting clear of the penn-keeper’s precincts, lost little time in returning to the glade; and, having once more reached the ceiba, seated himself on a log to await the arrival of the young Englishman.

For some minutes he remained in this attitude—though every moment becoming more fidgetty, as he perceived that time was passing, and no one came. He had not even a pipe to soothe his impatience: for it had been left in the hammock, into which he had cast it from the cocoa.

Before many minutes had passed, however, a pipe would have been to little purpose in restraining his nervous excitement; for the non-appearance of the young Englishman began to cause him serious uneasiness.

What could be detaining him? Had the Jew been awakened? and was he by some means or other, hindering Herbert from coming out? There was no reason, that Cubina could think of, why the young man should be ten minutes later than himself in reaching the ceiba. Five minutes—even the half of it—might have sufficed for him to robe himself in such garments as were needed; and then, what was to prevent him from following immediately? Surely, the appeal that had been made to him—the danger hinted at to those dear to him, the necessity for haste, spoken in unmistakable terms—surely, all this would be sufficient to attract him to the forest, without a moment’s hesitation!

Why, then, was he delaying?

The Maroon could not make it out: unless under the disagreeable supposition that the Jew no longer slept, and was intercepting his egress.

What if Herbert might have lost his way in proceeding towards the rendezvous? The path was by no means plain, but the contrary. It was a mere cattle-track, little used by men. Besides, there were others of the same—scores of them trending in all directions, crossing and converging with this very one. The half-wild steers and colts of the penn-keeper ranged the thickets at will. Their tracks were everywhere; and it would require a person skilled in woodcraft and acquainted with the lay of the country, to follow any particular path. It was likely enough that the young Englishman had strayed.

Just then these reflections occurred to Cubina. He chided himself for not thinking of it sooner. He should have stayed by the penn—waited for Herbert to come out, and then taken the roads along with him.

“Not to think of that! Crambo! how very stupid of me!” muttered the Maroon, pacing nervously to and fro: for his impatience had long since started him up from the log.

“Like enough, he’s lost his way?

“I shall go back along the path. Perhaps I may find him. At all events, if he’s taken the right road, I must meet him.”

And as he said this, he glided rapidly across the glade, taking the back track towards the penn.

The conjecture that Herbert had strayed was perfectly correct. The young Englishman had never revisited the scene of his singular adventure, since the day that introduced him to the acquaintance of so many queer people. Not but that he had felt the inclination, amounting almost to a desire, to do so; and more than once had he been upon the eve of satisfying this inclination, but, otherwise occupied, the opportunity had not offered itself.

Not greatly proficient in forest lore—as Cubina had also rightly conjectured—especially in that of a West-Indian forest, he had strayed from the true path almost upon the instant of entering upon it; and was at that very moment wandering through the woods in search of the glade where grew the gigantic cotton-tree!

No doubt, in the course of time, he might have found it, or perhaps stumbled upon it by chance, for—made aware, by the earnest invitation he had received, that time was of consequence—he was quartering the ground in every direction, with the rapidity of a young pointer in his first season with the gun.

Meanwhile the Maroon glided rapidly back, along the path leading to the penn, without seeing aught either of the Englishman or his track.

He re-entered the ruinate fields of the old sugar estate, and continued on till within sight of the house, still unsuccessful in his search.

Proceeding with caution, he stepped over the dilapidated wall of the old orchard. Caution was now of extreme necessity. It was broad day; and, but for the cover which the undergrowth afforded him, he could not have gone a step further without the risk of being seen from the house.

He reached the ruin from which he had before commanded a view of the verandah; and, once more stealing a glance over its top, he obtained a full view of the long rambling corridor.

Jessuron was in it—not as when last seen, asleep in his armchair, but on foot, and hurrying to and fro, with quick step and excited mien.

His black-bearded overseer was standing by the stair, as if listening to some orders which the Jew was issuing.

The hammock was still hanging in its place, but its collapsed sides showed that it was empty. Cubina could see that, but no signs of its late occupant—neither in the gallery nor about the buildings.

If still there, he must be in some of the rooms? But that one which opened nearest the hammock, and which Cubina conjectured to be his bedroom, appeared to be unoccupied. Its door stood ajar, and no one seemed to be inside.

The Maroon was considering whether he should stay a while longer upon the spot, and watch the movements of the two men, when it occurred to him that if the young man had gone out, and up the right path, he must have crossed a track of muddy ground, just outside the garden wall.

Being so near the house—and in the expectation of seeing something there to explain Herbert’s delay—he had not stayed to examine this on his second approach.

Crouching cautiously among the trees, he now returned to it; and, almost at the first glance, his eye revealed to him the truth.

A fresh footprint was in the mud, with its heel to the house, and its toe pointing to the path! It was not his own: it must be that of the young Englishman!

He traced the tracks as far as they could be distinguished; but that was only to the edge of the damp earth. Beyond, the ground was dry and firm—covered with a close-cropped carpet of grass, upon which the hoof of a horse would scarcely have left an impression.

The tracks, however, on leaving the moist ground, appeared as if trending towards the proper path; and Cubina felt convinced that, for some distance at least, the young Englishman had gone towards the glade.

That he was no longer by the house was sufficiently certain; and equally so that he had kept his promise and followed Cubina into the woods. But where was he now?

“He may have reached the glade in my absence, and be now waiting for me!” was the reflection of the Maroon.

Stimulated by this, as well as by the chagrin which his mischances or mismanagement were causing him, he started back along the path at a run—as if struggling in a match against time.

Far quicker than before he reached the glade, but, as before, he found it untenanted! No Englishman was under the ceiba—no human being in sight.

As soon as he had fairly recovered breath, he bethought him of shouting. His voice might be of avail in guiding the wanderer to the glade; for Cubina now felt convinced that the young Englishman was straying—perhaps wandering through the woods at no great distance from the spot. His shouts might be heard; and although the stranger might not recognise the voice, the circumstances were such that he might understand the object for which it was put forth.

Cubina shouted, first at a moderate pitch, then hallooed with all the strength of his lungs.

No answer, save the wood echoes.

Again and again: still no response.

“Crambo!” exclaimed he, suddenly thinking of a better means of making his presence known. “He may hear my horn! He may remember that, and know it. If he’s anywhere within a mile, I’ll make him hear it.”

The Maroon raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, loud blast—then another, and another.

There was a response to that signal; but not such as the young Englishman might have been expected to make. Three shrill bugle blasts, borne back upon the breeze, seemed the echoes of his own.

But the Maroon knew they were not. On hearing them, he let the horn drop to his side, and stood in an attitude to listen.

Another—this time a single wind—came from the direction of the former.

“Three and one,” muttered the Maroon; “it’s Quaco. He needn’t have sounded the last, for I could tell his tongue from a thousand. He’s on his way back from Savanna-la-Mer—though I didn’t expect him to return so soon. So much the better—I may want him.”

On finishing the muttered soliloquy, the Maroon captain stood as if considering.

“Crambo!” he muttered after a pause, and in a tone of vexation. “What has become of this young fellow? I must sound again—lest Quaco’s horn may have misled him. This time, lieutenant, hold your tongue!”

So saying, and speaking as if the “lieutenant” was by his side, he raised the horn once more to his lips, and blew a single blast—giving it an intonation quite different from the others.

After an interval of silence, he repeated the call in notes exactly similar, and then, after another pause, once again.

To none of these signals did the “tongue” of Quaco make reply; but shortly after, that worthy responded to the original summons by presenting himself in propria persona.

Volume Three—Chapter Seven.

Quaco’s Queer Encounter.

Quaco came into the glade carrying a large bundle upon his back—under which he had trudged all the way from Savanna-la-Mer.

He was naked to the breech-cloth—excepting the hog-skin greaves upon his shanks, and the old brimless hat upon his head. This, however, was all the costume Quaco ever wore—all, indeed, that he owned; for, notwithstanding that he was the lieutenant, his uniform was no better than that of the meanest private of the band.

His captain, therefore, exhibited no surprise at the scantiness of Quaco’s clothing; but what did surprise Cubina was the air with which he entered the glade, and some other circumstances that at once arrested his attention.

The skin of the colossus was covered with a white sweat that appeared to be oozing from every pore of his dark epidermis. This might have been occasioned by his long walk—the last hour of it under a broiling sun, and carrying weight, as he was: for the bag upon his back appeared a fifty-pounder, at least, to say nothing of a large musket balanced upon the top of it.

None of these circumstances, however, would account for that inexplicable expression upon his countenance—the wild rolling of his yellow eyeballs—the quick, hurried step, and uncouth gesticulations by which he was signalising his approach.

Though, as already stated, they had arrested the attention of his superior, the latter, accustomed to a certain reserve in the presence of his followers, pretended not to notice them. As his lieutenant came up, he simply said:—

“I am glad you are come, Quaco.”

“An’ a’m glad, Cappin Cubina, I’ve foun’ ye har. War hurryin’ home fass as my legs cud carry me, ’spectin’ to find ye thar.”

“Ha!” said Cubina; “some news, I suppose. Have you met anyone in the woods—that young Englishman from the Jew’s penn? I’m expecting him here. He appears to have missed the way.”

“Han’t met no Englishman, Cappin. Cussos Vaughan am that—I’se a met him!”

“Crambo!” cried Cubina, starting as he uttered the exclamation. “You’ve met Custos Vaughan? When and where?”

“When—dis mornin’. Where—’bout fo’ mile b’yond the crossin’ on the Carrion Crow road. That’s where I met him.”

The emphasis upon the last word struck upon the ear of Cubina. It seemed to imply that Quaco, on his route, had encountered others.

“Anybody else, did you meet?” he inquired, hurriedly, and with evident anxiety as to the answer.

“Ya-as, Cappin,” drawled out the lieutenant, with a coolness strongly in contrast with his excited manner on entering the glade. But Quaco saw that his superior was waiting for the coming of the young Englishman, and that he need not hurry the communication he was about to make. “Ya-as, I met ole Plute, the head driver at Moun’ Welcome. He was ridin’ ’longside o’ the Cussos, by way o’ his escort.”

“Nobody else?”

“Not jess then,” answered Quaco, evidently holding back the most interesting item of news he had to communicate. “Not jess then, Cappin Cubina.”

“But afterwards? Speak out, Quaco! Did you meet anyone going on the same road?”

The command, with the impatient gesture that accompanied it, brought Quaco to a quicker confession than he might have volunteered.

“I met, Cappin Cubina,” said he, his cheeks bulging with the importance of the communication he was about to make, while his eyes rolled like “twin jelly balls” in their sockets—“I met next, not a man, but a ghost!”

“A ghost?” said Cubina, incredulously. “A duppy, I sw’ar by the great Accompong—same as I saw before—the ghost of ole Chakra!”

The Maroon captain again made a start, which his lieutenant attributed to surprise at the announcement he had made.

Cubina did not undeceive him as to the cause.

“And where?” interrogated he, in hurried phrase. “Where did you meet the ghost?”

“I didn’t zackly meet it,” answered Quaco. “I only seed it on the road afore me—’bout a hundred yards or tharaway. I wor near enuf to be sure o’ it—and it was Chakra’s ghost—jess as I seed him t’other day up thar by the Duppy Hole. The old villain can’t sleep in his grave. He’s about these woods yet.”

“How far was it from where you met Mr Vaughan?”

“Not a great way, Cappin. ’Bout a quarrer o’ a mile, I shed think. Soon as it spied me, it tuk to the bushes, and I seed no more on it. It was atter daylight, and the cocks had crowed. I heard ’em crowing at ole Jobson’s plantation close by, and, maybe, that sent the duppy a-scuttlin’ into the river.”

“We must wait no longer for this young man—we must be gone from here, Quaco.”

And as Cubina expressed this intention, he appeared about to move away from the spot.

“Stop, Cappin,” said Quaco, interrupting with a gesture that showed he had something more to communicate; “you han’t heard all. I met more of ’em.”

“More of whom?”

“That same queer sort. But two mile atter I’d passed the place where I seed the duppy o’ the ole myal-man, who dye think I met nex’?”

“Who?” inquired Cubina, half guessing at the answer.

“Them debbil’s kind—like enough company for the duppy—them dam’ Spaniards of de Jew’s penn.”

“Ah! maldito!” cried the Maroon captain, in a voice of alarm, at the same time making a gesture as if a light had suddenly broken upon him. “The Spaniards, you say! They, too, after him! Come, Quaco, down with that bundle! throw it in the bush—anywhere! there’s not a moment to be lost. I understand the series of encounters you have had upon the road. Luckily, I’ve brought my gun, and you yours. We may need them both before night. Down with the bundle, and follow me!”

“Stop and take me with you,” cried a voice from the edge of the glade; “I have a gun, too.”

And at the same moment the young Englishman, with his gun upon his shoulder, was seen emerging from the underwood and making towards the ceiba.

Volume Three—Chapter Eight.

An Uncle in Danger.

“You appear to be in great haste, Captain Cubina,” said Herbert, advancing in double-quick time. “May I know what’s the matter? Anything amiss?”

“Amiss, Master Vaughan? Much, indeed. But we shouldn’t stand to talk. We must take the road to Savannah, and at once.”

“What! you want me to go to Savannah? I’m with you for any reasonable adventure; but my time’s not exactly my own, and I must first have a reason for such a journey.”

“A good reason, Master Vaughan. Your uncle, the Custos, is in trouble.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the young Englishman, with an air of disappointment. “Not so good a reason as you may think, Captain. Was it he you meant when you said, just now, one who should be dear to me was in danger?”

“It was,” answered Cubina.

“Captain Cubina,” said Herbert, speaking with a certain air of indifference, “this uncle of mine but little deserves my interference.”

“But his life’s in danger!” urged the Maroon, interrupting Herbert in his explanation.

“Ah!” ejaculated the nephew, “do you say that? If his life’s in danger, then—”

“Yes,” said the Maroon, again interrupting him, “and others, too, may be in peril from the same enemy—yourself, perhaps, Master Vaughan. Ay, and maybe those that might be dear to you as yourself.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Herbert—this time in a very different tone of voice, “you have some evil tidings, Captain! pray tell me all at once.”

“Not now, Master Vaughan, not now! There’s not a moment to be wasted in talk; we must take the route at once. I shall tell you as we go along.”

“Agreed, then,” cried Herbert. “If it’s a life and death matter, I’m with you—even to Savannah! No book-keeping to-day, Master Jessuron, and—” (the speaker only mentally pronounced the name) “Judith may well spare me for one day—especially for such a purpose as the saving of lives. All right; I’m with you, Captain Cubina.”

“Vamos!” cried the Maroon, hastily moving off. “For want of horses we must make our legs do double-quick time. These skulking scoundrels have sadly got the start of us.”

And saying this, he struck into the up-hill path, followed by Herbert—the taciturn lieutenant, no longer embarrassed by his bundle, keeping close in the rear.

The path Cubina had chosen appeared to conduct to Mount Welcome.

“You are not going there?” inquired Herbert, in a significant way, at the same time stopping, and appealing to his conductor for an answer.

It had just occurred to the nephew that a visit to his uncle’s house might place him in a position both unpleasant and embarrassing.

“No!” answered the Maroon; “there is no longer any need for us to go to the house: since the Custos has left it long hours ago. We could learn nothing there more than I know already. Besides, it’s half a mile out of our way. We should lose time; and that’s the most important of all. We shall presently turn out of this path, into one that leads over the mountain by the Jumbé Rock. That’s the shortest way to the Savannah road. Vamos!”

With this wind-up to his speech, the Maroon again moved on; and Herbert, his mind now at rest, strode silently after.

Up to this time the young Englishman had received no explanation of the object of the journey he was in the act of undertaking; nor had he asked any. The information, though as yet only covertly conveyed—that those dear to him were in danger—was motive enough for trusting the Maroon.

Before long, however, it occurred to him that he ought to be informed of the nature of that danger; over whom it impended; and what was the signification of the step they were now taking to avert it.

These questions he put to his conductor, as they hastened together along the path.

In hurried phrase the Maroon made known to him much, though not all, of what he himself knew of the position of affairs—more especially of the peril in which the Custos appeared to be placed. He gave an account of his own descent into the Duppy’s Hole; of the conversation he had overheard there; and, though still ignorant of the motives, stated his suspicions of the murderous plot in which Herbert’s own employer was playing a principal part.

It is needless to say that the young Englishman was astounded by these revelations.

Perhaps he would have been still more astonished, but that the development of these wicked dealings was only a confirmation of a whole series of suspicious circumstances that for some days before had been constantly coming under his notice, and for which he had been vainly seeking an explanation.

From that moment all thoughts of returning to dwell under the roof of Jacob Jessuron vanished from his mind. To partake of the hospitality of such a man—a murderer, at least by intent—was completely out of the question. He at once perceived that his fine sinecure situation must be given up; and, despite the scandal his desertion might bring about, he could never again make his home in the Happy Valley. Even the fascinations of the fair Judith would not be strong enough to attract him thither.

Cubina listened to these resolves, and apparently with great satisfaction. But the Maroon had not yet made known to Herbert many other secrets, of which he had become the depository; and some of which might be to the young Englishman of extremest interest. The communication of these he reserved to a future opportunity—when time might not be so pressing.

Herbert Vaughan, now apprised of the peril in which his uncle stood, for the time forgot all else, and only thought of pressing onward to his aid. Injuries and insults appeared alike forgotten and forgiven—even that which had stung him more sharply than all—the cold, chilling bow at the Smythje ball.

Beyond the Jumbé Rock, and at no great distance from the by-path by which they were travelling, lay the proper country of the Maroons. By winding a horn, it might have been heard by some of the band; who at that hour would, no doubt, be engaged in their usual occupation—hunting the wild hog.

Cubina knew this; and, on arriving at that point on the path nearest to his town, he halted, and stood for a moment reflecting.

Then, as if deeming himself sufficiently strong in the companionship of the robust young Englishman and the redoubtable lieutenant, he gave up the idea of calling any of them to his assistance; and once more moved forward along the route towards the Savannah road.

Volume Three—Chapter Nine.

An Equestrian Excursion.

Throughout the day the penn-keeper kept to his penn. The unexplained absence of his protégé rendered it prudent to postpone his proposed visit to the minister: besides, Cynthia was expected.

From the mulatta he hoped to obtain much information. Her knowledge of events must be fresher than even that of Chakra—else would he have gone up to the Duppy’s Hole to consult the oracle of Obi. Cynthia would be likely to know all. She could at least tell him whether the spell had been administered—how, and when.

These were facts worth knowing, and Jessuron stayed at home to await the advent of Cynthia.

Not so Judith. Devoured by spleen, inaction was too irksome. She could not content herself in the house; and resolved to seek outside, if not solace, at least distraction to her thoughts. Shortly after breakfast she ordered her steed to be saddled, and prepared to set forth.

Strange it was that he should absent himself on that day above any other! Just after his uncle had departed on a journey! That was strange!

Judith summoned the herdsman who had discovered the tracks in the mud.

“You are sure it was the track of young Master Vaughan you saw?”

“Sartin sure, Missa Jessuron—one ob ’em war.”

“And the other? What was it like? Was it also the track of a man?”

“Ya, missa; ’twar a man’s track—leastwise, I nebber seed a woman track big as dat ’ere. Sartin de sole dat make it wor de fut ob a man, though it wa’n’t the boot ob a gen’l’man like young Massa Vaughan.”

Whip in hand, the Jewess stood reflecting.

A messenger might it be? From whom, if not from Kate Vaughan? With whom else was he acquainted? Such strange conditions of relationship! The mysterious mode by which the messenger must have approached him: for fresh mud upon the bark of the tree told that he who had climbed up must have been the same who had made the footmarks by the garden wall. The articles found in the hammock had been flung down to awake and warn the sleeper.

Clearly a secret message, delivered by a crafty messenger! Clearly a surreptitious departure!

And the motive for all this? No common one?—it could not be. No errand after game. The fowling-piece was gone; but that was no evidence of an intention to spend the day in sporting. Herbert was in the habit of taking his gun, whenever he strolled out into the fields or forest. But the other and necessary paraphernalia had been left behind! A shooting excursion? Nothing of the sort!

A messenger with a love message—a summons willingly accepted—promptly responded to!

“Oh, if it be!” cried the proud, passionate woman, as she sprang upon the back of her steed; “if it be, I shall know it! I shall have revenge!”

The horse came in for a share of this jealous indignation. A spiteful cut of the whip, and a fierce “dig” from her spurred heel, set the animal in rapid motion—his head towards the hills.

Judith Jessuron was a splendid equestrian, and could manage a horse as well as the best breaker about her father’s penn.

In the saddle she was something to be seen and admired: her brilliant beauty, enhanced by the charm of excitement, exhibiting itself in the heightened colour of her cheeks, and the stronger flashing of her dark Jewish eyes. The outline of her form was equally attractive. Of full womanly development, and poised in the saddle with an air of piquant abandon, it illustrated the curve of Hogarth in all its luxuriant gracefulness. Such a spectacle was calculated to elicit something more than ordinary admiration; and it required a heart already pre-occupied to resist its fascinations. If Herbert Vaughan had escaped them, it could only have been from having his heart thus defended from a danger that few men might have tempted with a chance of safety!

Galloping across the old garden, with a single leap she cleared the ruined wall; and, arriving at the spot where were still to be seen those tell-tale tracks, she reined up, and leaned over to examine them.

Yes—that was his track—his small foot was easily distinguished! The other? There it was—the footprint of a negro—pegged brogans! White men do not wear them. Some of the slave people of Mount Welcome? But why twice back and forward? Was not once sufficient? Had there been a double message? There might have been—a warning, and afterwards an appointment!

Perhaps, to meet in the forest? Ha! perhaps at that moment!

The bitter conjecture brought her reflections to an abrupt ending; and, once more plying whip and spur, the jealous equestrian dashed rapidly on, up the sloping path that trended towards the hills.

The purpose of this expedition, on the part of the Jewess, was altogether indefinite. It simply sprang from that nervous impatience that would not permit her to rest—a faint hope that during her ride she might discover some clue to the mysterious disappearance. Wretchedness might be the reward of that ride. No matter! Uncertainty was unendurable.

She did not go exactly in the direction of Mount Welcome, though thither went her thoughts. She had never been a guest of the Custos, and therefore had no colourable excuse for presenting herself at the mansion—else she would have ridden direct to it.

Her design was different.

Though she might not approach the house, she could reconnoitre it from a distance; and this had she determined upon doing.

She had fixed upon the Jumbé Rock as the best point of observation. She knew that its summit commanded a bird’s-eye view of Mount Welcome estate, lying under the mountain like a spread map, and that any movement by the mansion, or in the surrounding inclosures, might be minutely marked—especially with the aid of a powerful lorgnette, with which she had taken the precaution to provide herself.

With this intent did she head her horse towards the Jumbé Rock—urging the animal with fierce, fearless energy up the difficult acclivity of the mountain.

Volume Three—Chapter Ten.

Smythje among the Statues.

At that hour, when the heart of Judith Jessuron was alternately torn by the passions of love and jealousy, a passion equally profound, though apparently more tranquil, was burning in the breast of Lilly Quasheba, inspired by the same object—Herbert Vaughan.

In vain had the young creole endeavoured to think indifferently of her cousin: in vain had she striven to reconcile her love with what her father had taught her to deem her duty, and think differently of Mr Smythje—in vain. The effort only ended in a result the very opposite to that intended—in strengthening her passion for the former, and weakening her regard for the latter. And thus must it ever be with the heart’s inclinings, as well as its disinclinings. Curbed or opposed, it is but its instinct in both cases to rebel.

From that hour in which Kate had yielded to the will of her father, and consented to become the wife of Montagu Smythje, she felt more sensibly than ever the sacrifice she was about to make. But there were none to step forth and save her—no strong hand and stout heart to rescue her from her painful position. It had now become a compromise; and, summoning all the strength of her soul, she awaited the unhappy issue with such resignation as she could command.

She had but one thought to cheer her, if cheer it could be called—she had not sacrificed her filial affection. She had performed the wishes of her father—that father who, however harsh he might be to others, had been ever kind and affectionate to her. Now, more than ever, did she feel impressed with his kindness, when she considered the errand on which he had gone forth.

Though thus resigned, or trying to feel so, she could neither stifle her passion for Herbert, nor conceal the melancholy which its hopelessness occasioned; and during all that morning, after her father had left her, the shadow appeared upon her countenance with more than its wonted darkness.

Her lover—that is, her fiancé—for Smythje now stood to her in that relationship—did not fail to observe her unusual melancholy, though failing to attribute it to the true cause.

It was natural that the young lady should feel sad at the absence of her worthy parent, who for many years had never been separated from her beyond the period of a few hours’ duration, or, at most, a single day. She would soon get used to it, and then all would be right again.

With some such reflections did Smythje account for the abstraction which he had observed in the behaviour of his betrothed.

During all the morning he had been assiduous in his attentions—more than wontedly so. He had been left by the Custos in a proud position—that of protector—and he was desirous of showing how worthy he was of the trust reposed in him.

Alas! in the opinion of Kate he was by far too assiduous.

The protégée felt importuned; and his most well-meant attentions had the effect only to weary her. Too glad would she have been to be left alone to her sighs and her sadness.

Shortly after breakfast, Smythje proposed a stroll—a short one. He had no zest for toilsome excursions; and, since the day of his shooting adventure, no zeal again to attempt any distant traverse of the forest.

The stroll was only to extend to the shrubbery and among the statues set there. The weather was temptingly fine. There was no reason why Kate Vaughan should refuse; and, with a mechanical air, she acceded to the proposal.

Smythje discussed the statues, drawing largely from the stock of classic lore which his University had afforded him—dilating more especially on those of Venus, Cupid, and Cleopatra, all suggestive of the tender sentiments that were stirring within his own romantic bosom, and to which, more than once, he took occasion to allude. Though narrowly did he watch to see what effect his fine speeches were producing, he failed to perceive any that gave him gratification. The countenance of his companion obstinately preserved that air of pre-occupation that had been visible upon it all the morning.

In the midst of one of his scholastic dissertations, the classical exquisite was interrupted by the advent of his valet, Thoms—who appeared coming from the house with the air of a servant who brings a message for his master.

The message was declared: a gentleman friend of Mr Smythje—for he had now many such in the Island—had called to see him. No particular business—merely a call of compliment.

The name was given. It was one which should be honoured by a polite reception; else the proud owner of Montagu Castle might have declined leaving the company in which he was upon so trivial a purpose. But the visitor was one of note—a particular friend, too. Miss Vaughan would not deem him rude, leaving her only for a moment?

“By no means,” said Kate, with a free haste that almost said as much as that she was only too glad to get quit of him.

Smythje followed his valet into the house; and the young Creole was left among the statues alone—herself the fairest shape in all that classical collection.

Volume Three—Chapter Eleven.

A Strange Determination.

For some moments after Smythje was gone, Kate Vaughan remained where he had left her—silent and motionless as the sculptured marbles by her side. Niobe was near; and, as if by accident, the eyes of the young Creole turned upon the statue of the weeping daughter of Dione.

“Ah!” muttered she, struck with a strange thought; “unhappy mother of a murdered offspring! If thy sadness was hard to endure as mine, thy punishment must have been a pleasure. Would that I, like thee, were suddenly turned into stone. Ah, me!”

And finishing her apostrophe with a profound sigh, she stood for some time silently gazing upon the statue.

After a while her thoughts underwent some change; and along with it her eyes wandered away from the statues and the shrubbery. Her glance was turned upward towards the mountain, and rested upon its summit—the Jumbé Rock now glittering gaily under the full sheen of the sunlight.

“There,” soliloquised she, in a low murmur, “upon that rock, and there only, have I felt one hour of true happiness—that happiness of which I have read in books of romance, without believing in; but which I now know to be real—to gaze into the eyes of him you love, and think, as I then thought, that you are loved in return. Oh! it was bliss! it was bliss!”

The remembrance of that brief interview with her cousin—for it was to that her words referred—came so forcibly before the mind of the impassioned young Creole as to stifle her utterance, and for a moment or two she was silent.

Again she continued—“An hour, have I said? Ah! scarce a minute did the sweet delusion last; but had I my choice I would rather live that minute over again, than all the rest of my past life—certainly, than all of it that is to come!” Again she paused in her speech, still gazing upon the rock—whose sparkling surface seemed purposely presented to her eyes, as if to cheer her heart with the sweet souvenir it recalled.

“Oh! I wonder,” she exclaimed at length, “I wonder how it would be, were I but up there again! To stand on the spot where I stood! Could I fancy him, as then, beside me? Could I recall the look he gave me, and my own sweet thoughts as I returned it? Oh! it would be like some delicious dream!”

Passion again called for a pause; but soon after, her reflections found speech.

“And why should I not indulge in it? why not? What harm can it do me? Even if the souvenir should bring sadness, it cannot add to that which now overwhelms me. No; I need not fear to tempt the trial; and I shall. This very hour shall I go up and stand upon that same spot. There shall I invoke the past, and give to memory, to fancy, its fullest play. I need not fear. There will be no witness but the heaven above and the God who dwells in it—alike witness to the sacrifice of a broken heart made in the fulfilment of my duty.”

On completing this impassioned speech, the young girl raised a kerchief of white cambric which she carried in her hand, and hastily adjusting it over the luxuriant plaits of her hair, glided towards the rear of the mansion.

She did not turn aside to enter the house, nor even to warn any one of her sudden determination, but, hastening on, soon reached the back of the garden.

There a small wicket-gate gave her egress into the woods—a path from that point trending in traverses, zigzag fashion, up the mountain slope.

It was the same path she had followed upon the day of the eclipse; but how different were the thoughts that now agitated her bosom from those she had indulged in upon that memorable occasion! Even then, it is true, her spirits were far from being cheerful; but still there was hope ahead. She had not then arrived at the full knowledge of Herbert’s indifference towards her—of his determination towards her more fortunate rival. The circumstances that had since transpired—the scenes that had come under her own observation—the rumours heard and too substantially confirmed—all had combined to extinguish that little gleam of hope so faint and feebly flickering.

Indeed, there was upon that very morning a new thought in her mind, calculated still further to render her sad and humiliated.

The revelations which her father had made before starting on his journey—the admissions as to the inferiority of her race, and contingently of her social rank, which he had been compelled to make—had produced, and no wonder, a painful impression upon the spirits of the quinteroon.

She could not help asking herself whether Herbert’s disregard of her had aught to do with this? Was it possible that her own cousin was slighting her on account of this social distinction? Did he, too, feel shy of the taint? More than once during that day had she mentally put these interrogatories without being able to determine whether they merited a negative or affirmative answer.

And what was her errand now? To resuscitate within her soul the memory of one moment of bliss—to weave still more inextricably around her heart the spell that was threatening to strangle it—to stifle the happiness of her whole life.

But that was already gone. There could be no daring now—no danger worth dread.

The zigzag path she ascended with free step and air undaunted—her fair, bright form gleaming, meteor-like, amid the dark-green foliage of the forest.

Volume Three—Chapter Twelve.

A Jealous Reconnoissance.

The ravine leading up the rear of the Jumbé Rock—the only way by which its summit could be reached—though easily scaled by a pedestrian, was not practicable for a person on horseback.

On reaching the base of the cliff the jealous equestrian dismounted, made fast her bridle to the branch of a tree, and, after unbuckling the little spur and removing it from her heel, continued the ascent à pied.

Arrived at the summit she took her stand near the edge of the platform, in a position that commanded an unbroken view of the mansion of Mount Welcome, its shrubberies and surroundings.

Satisfied with the situation, she instantly commenced her reconnoissance.

She did not at first make use of her lorgnette.

Any human figures that might be moving around the house could be seen by the naked eye. It would be time enough to use the magnifying lens should there be a difficulty of identifying them.

For some moments after she had taken her stand no one made appearance near or around the dwelling. A complete tranquillity reigned over the spot. A pet axis deer skipping over the lawn, some pea-fowl moving amidst the shrubbery of the parterre—their purple gorgets gaily glittering in the sun—were the only objects animate that could be seen near the house.

Farther off in the fields gangs of negroes were at work among the cane, with what appeared to be a white overseer moving in their midst. These had no interest for the observer upon the rock; and her eye, scarce resting on them for a second, returned to scan the inclosed space approximate to the dwelling, in the hope of there seeing something—form, incident, or scene—that might give her some clue to the mystery of the morning.

In respect to the former, she was not disappointed. Forms, scenes, and incidents were all offered in succession; and though they did but little to elucidate the enigma which had carried her to that aerial post of observation, they had the effect of calming, to some extent, the jealous thought that was distressing her.

First she saw a gentleman and lady step out from the house and take their stand among the statues. At the sight she felt a slight flutter of uneasiness; until through the lorgnette she looked upon hay-coloured hair and whiskers, enabling her to identify the owner as Smythje. This gave her a species of contentment; and her jealous spirit was still further tranquillised when the glass revealed to her the features of Kate Vaughan overspread with an expression of extreme sadness.

“Good!” muttered the delighted spy; “that tells a tale. She cannot have seen him? Surely not, or she would not be looking so woe-begone?”

At this moment another figure was seen approaching across the parterre towards the two who stood among the statues. It was that of a man in a dark dress. Herbert Vaughan wore that colour.

With a fresh flutter of uneasiness, the lorgnette was carried back to the eye.

“Bah! it is not he. A fellow with a common face—a servant, I suppose. Very likely the valet I’ve heard of! He has brought some message from the house. Ha! they’re going in again. No, only the master. She stays. Odd enough he should leave her alone! So much for your politeness, Mr Montagu Smeithjay!”

And, with a sneering laugh as she pronounced the name, the fair spy again took the glass from her eye, and appeared for a moment to give way to the gratification which she had drawn from what she had succeeded in observing.

Certainly there were no signs of the presence of Herbert Vaughan about the precincts of Mount Welcome, nor anything to indicate that he had had an interview with his cousin. If so, it must have ended just as the Jewess might have wished: since the expression observable on the countenance of Kate showed anything but the traces of a reconciliation.

Pleased to contemplate her in this melancholy mood, her jealous rival again raised the glass to her eye.

“Ha!” she exclaimed on the instant. “Whatever is the nigger doing in front of the statue? She appears to be talking to it. An interesting dialogue, I do declare! Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps she is worshipping it? Ha! ha! She seems as much statue as it. ‘Patience upon a monument, smiling’—Ha! ha! ha!”

“Ah, now,” resumed the hilarious observer, still gazing through the glass, “she turns from the statue. As I live, she is looking up this way! She cannot see me? No, not with the naked eye. Besides, there is only my head and hat above the edge of the rock. She won’t make them out. How steadfastly she looks this way! A smile upon her face! That, or something like it! One might fancy she was thinking of that pretty scene up here, the interesting tableau—Smythje on his knee. Ha! ha! ha!”

“Ah! what now?” she continued, interrogatively; at the same time suddenly ceasing from her laughter, as she saw the young creole adjust the scarf over her head, and glide towards the back of the house. “What can it mean? She appears bent on an excursion! Alone, too! Yes, alone, as if she intended it! See! she passes the house with stealthy step—looks towards it, as if fearing some one to come forth and interrupt her! Through the garden!—through the gate in the wall! Ha! she’s coming up the mountain!”

As the Jewess made this observation, she stepped a pace forward upon the rock, to gain a better view. The lorgnette trembled as she held it to her eye: her whole frame was quivering with emotion.

“Up the mountain!” muttered she. “Yes, up the mountain! And for what purpose? To meet—Herbert Vaughan?”

A half-suppressed scream accompanied the thought: while the glass, lowered by her side, seemed ready to fall from her fingers.

Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.

A Spy in Ambush.

You have seen a proud bird, whose wing has been broken by the fatal bullet, drop helpless to the earth?

So fell the heart of Judith Jessuron from the high confidence that but the moment before had been buoying it up.

The sight of Kate Vaughan coming up the mountain path at once robbed it of exultation—even of contentment.

What errand could the young Creole have up there, unless that of an assignation? And with whom, but the man who was so mysteriously missing?

Her surreptitious departure from the dwelling—the time chosen, when Smythje was out of the way—her quick gait and backward glances as she stole through the shrubbery: all indicated a fear of being seen and followed.

And why should she fear either, if bent upon an ordinary errand? Mr Smythje was not her father, nor, as yet, her husband. Why should she care to conceal her intentions from him: unless indeed they were clandestine, and pointing to that very purpose which the jealous Jewess had conjectured—a rendezvous with Herbert Vaughan?

Judith felt convinced of it—so fully that, as soon as she saw the young Creole fairly started up the sloping path, she glided to the rear edge of the platform, and looked down, expecting to see the other party to the assignation.

True, she saw no one; but this did little to still the agitation now vibrating through every nerve of her body. He was not in sight, but that signified not. Perhaps he was at that moment within hearing, and might be seen, but for the forest screen that covered the façade of the mountain?

Where was it their design to meet? Where had they named their appointment?

Judith did not doubt that there was design—jealousy did not stay to ask the question. She was convinced that an arrangement had been made, and on that very morning. What else could be the meaning of the double message? First, to demand a meeting; secondly to appoint the place. Yes, that would explain the repetition of those footmarks—that had gone twice to and fro.

What spot had they chosen for the scene of their clandestine encounter?

A sudden apprehension seized upon the spy. She might lose sight of them; and then they would enjoy their meeting in secret and uninterrupted. By Heavens, that must not be! Her spirit, now roused to the extreme pitch of jealousy, cared not for consequences. End as the scene might, she was resolved on its interruption.

The only chance of discovering the place of assignation would be to keep Kate Vaughan in sight. Perhaps Herbert was already there waiting for her? He would be there. The lover is always first upon the ground!

Obedient to this thought, the Jewess rushed back across the platform; and once more directed her glance down the mountain.

She saw what she looked for: the snow-white snood, easily distinguishable among the dark-green foliage—now hidden as the wearer walked under the tall trees—again appearing at the open angles where the road zigzagged.

Most of the path could be seen from the summit of the rock: for, although rarely used, it had once been cleared by the axe, and formed an open tract through the timber, narrow, but perceptible from above.

Judith, still marking the movements of the kerchief, swept the path with her glance and her glass—up to the point where it reached the base of the rock and ran round to the rear. Repeatedly she scanned the track, far in advance of the climber, expecting to see some one appear—Herbert Vaughan, of course.

If aught showed among the trees—a bird fluttering in the foliage, frayed by the approach of the gentle intruder—the heart of the jealous Jewess experienced a fresh spasm of pain. Though certain she was soon to see it, she dreaded to behold the first blush of that clandestine encounter. To see them come together, perhaps rush into each other’s arms, their lips meeting in the kiss of mutual love—oh, agony unendurable!

As she surmised the scene before her fancy, for a moment her proud spirit shrank, quailed, and cowed within her, and her form of bold, noble development shook like a fragile reed.

Up the steep, with springy step, climbed the young Creole, lightly as a bird upon the wing, unconscious that she was observed, and, of all others, by the rival she had most reason to dread.

After completing the numerous windings of the path, she at length arrived within some twenty paces of the rock—where the road turned round to the rear. She knew the way; and, without pausing, kept on till she stood within the embouchure of the sloping ravine.

Up to this point the Jewess had marked her every movement, watching her along the way. Not without some surprise had she perceived her intention to climb the Jumbé Rock—which by the direction she had taken was now evident.

The surprise soon passed, however, with a quick reflection. The summit of the rock—that place already hallowed by a love scene—was the spot chosen for the meeting!

On discovering Kate’s determination to ascend the rock, which she had now divined by seeing her pass round to the rear, the Jewess stayed no longer upon the platform. That would have necessarily led to an encounter between the two. Not that Judith would have shunned it, however awkward, however contra-tiempo.

It was not from any feeling of delicacy that she determined on leaving the place; on the contrary, the action that followed betrayed a motive of a very opposite character.

Just where the ravine debouched upward on the platform, a lateral cleft opened to one side. Its bottom was but a few feet below the summit level; covered with a thick growth of evergreen bushes, whose tops, rising to an equal height with the table above, completely filled the hollow with their dense frondage.