Chapter XIX: Part 19

As Chakra uttered the exclamation, he turned on his heel, and was about to start up the mountain, in the direction of the Jumbe Rock, near which he would have to pass on his way towards the haunt of the black robbers.

"Shtay!" cried the Jew, "I'she going with you ash far ash the Shumbe Rock. I may ash well wait there ash anywhere elshe. It ish no ushe my going home now. S'help me! I cannot resht till thish thing ish settled. And now, when I thinksh of it, you may ash well let Adam know for what he ish wanted--so ash he may come prepared. Say to him he ish to go shtraight to Mount Welcome--that ish, where it ushed to be. He'sh not to show hishelf there, but prosheed along the road, till he meets the Cushtos' body, and them that ish with it. Then he ish to find some way to rescue the Shpaniards, an' let them eshcape to me. You musht go along with Adam and hish men, elshe they may shpoil all. He musht bring his fellish well armed; you may shtand in need of them all. The messenger said there were some negroes from the eshtate of Content. Theesh won't signify. They will all run away ash soon as you show yourselves; but the others may be inclined to make fight. There ish Cubina, and the young raschal of an Englishman, besides that giant Quaco, and the messenger hishself. You thinksh you can manage them, Shakra?"

"Sure ob dat."

"You musht take them by an ambushcade."

"P'raps we kill some o' dem."

"Ash many ash you like. Only make shure to get the Shpaniards off."

"Be no great harm to kill dem too--atter de fool dey hab made ob demselves, lettin' dem fellas take um pris'ner dat a way. Whugh!"

"No, no, goot Shakra!--we mushn't kill our friendsh--we may need them again. You may promish Adam goot pay for the shob. I don't care for the cosht, so long as it ish clefferly done."

"All right, Massr Jake; leab dat to me an' Adam. We do de ting clebberly 'nuf, I'se be boun'."

And with this assurance Chakra strode off up the mountain, the Jew having set the example by starting forward in advance of him.

Volume Three, Chapter XL.

DEAD, OR ASLEEP?

On beholding what he believed to be the dead body of his cousin, the grief of Herbert Vaughan proclaimed itself in a wild cry--in tones of the bitterest agony. He flung his gun upon the rock--knelt down by the side of the corpse--raised her head upon his arm, and, gazing upon that face, in death beautiful as ever, drew it nearer to his own, kissed the cold, unconscious lips--kissed them again and again, as though he had hopes that the warmth of his love might re-animate the fair form over which he was bending.

For some time his frenzied caresses were continued--their fervour unchecked by the presence of his rude companions who stood around. Respecting the sanctity of his grief, all observed a solemn silence. Nor word nor sound escaped the lips of any one. Sobs alone proceeded from Cubina. The Maroon had also cause to sorrow at that sad spectacle--but these were not heard. They were drowned by a more powerful voice--the melancholy monotone of the cataract--that had been speaking incessantly since the creation of the world.

It was a long time before the heart of Herbert consented to his discontinuing those cold but sweet kisses--the first he had ever had; the last he was destined to have--from those pale lips; long before he could withdraw his supporting arm from beneath that beautiful head, whose shining tresses lay dishevelled along the rock.

The torch held in the hands of Cubina was burning to its base. Only when warned by its flickering light, did the chief mourner rise once more to his feet; and then making a feeble signal to those who stood around, he moved in solemn silence towards the entrance of the grotto.

His gesture was understood, and promptly obeyed. By the authority of his greater grief he had become master of the mournful ceremonies now to be observed.

The Maroons, quietly crossing their arms under the inanimate form, raised it from the rock; and, following him who had given them their silent direction, they bore it to the hut--there placing it upon the cane couch. With instinctive delicacy all retired upon the completion of their task, leaving Herbert and Cubina alone with the body.

An interval elapsed before either essayed to speak. Both were under the influence of a profound grief, that almost stifled reflection, Cubina was the first to have other thoughts, and to give expression to them.

"_Santa Virgen_!" said he, in a voice husky with emotion, "I know not how she has died, unless the sight of Chakra has killed her. It was enough to have done it."

The suggestive speech received no other answer than a groan.

"If the monster," continued the Maroon, "has used other violence, I see no trace of it. There is no wound--no appearance of anything that should have produced death. Poor young creature!--there's something dark inside her lips--but it's not blood--"

"O God!" cried Herbert, interrupting the speaker with a fresh paroxysm of grief. "Two corpses to be carried home to the same house--father and daughter on the same day--in the same hour: both the victims of villainy. O God!"

"Both victims of the same villain, I have my belief," rejoined Cubina. "The same hand that has laid low the Custos, if I mistake not, has been at the bottom of this horrible crime. Chakra is but the weapon. Another has dealt the blow--you know who, Master Vaughan?"

Herbert was hindered from making reply. A dark form appearing in the door, distracted the attention of both from the theme of their conversation.

Quaco had heard the melancholy tidings; and, relieved from his duty by the canoe, had hurried back to the hut. He it was who now appeared in the doorway, filling it from post to post--from step to lintel.

Neither his chief nor Herbert offered any remark. Quaco's presence did not surprise them. It was natural he should come to the hut--if only to satisfy his curiosity. Weighted with their sorrow, neither took any notice of his arrival, nor of his movements after he had entered the hut--which he did without waiting to be invited.

Having stepped inside, the colossus stood for some moments by the couch, gazing down upon the sweet, silent face. Even on his features was depicted an expression of sorrow.

Gradually this became more subdued, or rather appeared to undergo a total change--slowly but surely altering to an expression of cheerfulness.

Slight at first, and imperceptible on account of the large scale upon which Quaco's features were formed, the expression was every moment becoming more pronounced; until at length it attracted the notice of the others, notwithstanding the abstraction caused by their poignant grief.

Both observed it at the same instant, and to both it caused a feeling of annoyance--amounting almost to indignation.

"Lieutenant," said Cubina, addressing his subaltern in a tone of reproach, "it is not exactly the time for being gay. May I ask you what is making you smile, while others around you are overwhelmed with sorrow?"

"Why, cappen!" rejoined Quaco, "I can't see what yar all a-grievin' 'bout. Can't be the Custos: since, sartinly, you've got over grievin' for him long afore this!"

The reply--grotesque in character, and almost jovial in the manner of its delivery--could not fail still further to astonish those to whom it was addressed. Both started on hearing it; and for some moments bent their _eyes_ on the speaker in an expression of wonder, mingled with indignation.

Had Quaco gone mad?

"In the presence of death, sir," said the young Maroon captain, directing a severe glance upon his lieutenant, "you might lay aside that merry mood, too common with you. It ill becomes you--"

"Death, do ye say, cappen?" interrupted Quaco; "who's gone dead here?"

There was no reply to this abrupt interrogatory. Those to whom it was addressed were too much taken by surprise to say a word.

"If you mean the young buckra lady," continued Quaco, "I'd give all the barbecued hog I ever owned nebber to be more dead than she jess now. Dead, i'deed? nonsense dat: she only sleep!"

Herbert and Cubina started from their seats, each uttering a cry of astonishment, in which might be detected the accents of hope.

"Who's got a piece o' lookin'-glass!" continued Quaco, turning his glance interrogatively around the hut. "Good," he exclaimed, as the sparkle of a piece of broken mirror came under his eyes; "here's the thing itself!

"Now, lookee hyar!" resumed he, taking the bit of glass from the place where it had been deposited, and rubbing its surface with a piece of rag: "you see thar's ne'er a speck upon it?"

The others, still held silent by surprise, made answer only by nodding their assent.

"Wal, now," continued Quaco, "watch me a bit."

Placing the smooth surface of the mirror to the mute lips, he held it there for a minute or more; and then, turning, he raised it up, and held it close to the light of the lamp.

"Ye see," he cried, triumphantly pointing to a white filmy bloom that appeared upon the glass, partially obscuring its sheen, "that's her breath! She no gone dead, else how she hab breath?"

His listeners were too excited to make reply. Only by exclamations did they signify their assent to the truth of his hypothesis.

"Ho!" exclaimed Quaco, suddenly dropping the bit of glass, and clutching hold of a phial that lay upon the floor--now for the first time noticed.

"What we got here?" continued he, drawing the cork with his teeth, and thrusting the neck up his wide nostril. "Sleepin' draugh'! I thought so. So this is the spell that's put the young buckra lady to rest. Well, there's another that'll wake her, if I can only find it. It's boun' be hya, somewheres about; and if I can git my claws on it, I'll make this hya young creatur' talk to ye in less than ten minutes!"

So saying, the colossus commenced searching around the hut, looking into the numerous chinks and crannies with which both walls and roof were provided.

Restrained by surprise, blended with hopeful anticipation, neither Herbert nor Cubina offered to interrupt his actions, by word or gesture. Both remained in their respective places--silently but anxiously awaiting the event.

Volume Three, Chapter XLI.

QUACO TURNED MYAL-MAN.

To Herbert Vaughan it was a moment of tumultuous emotions--joy springing up in the midst of utter woe. That his cousin still breathed he could not doubt; that she lived he was only too ready to believe. Though mystified beyond measure by what appeared the perfect semblance of death, the words of Quaco had given him some clue to a remarkable mystery--at the same time inspiring him with the belief that in that motionless form the soul was yet present. Her breathing upon the mirror had made him sure of it.

The mystery to which Quaco's speeches had introduced him was that of _myalism_. In this the Maroon lieutenant claimed to have skill almost equalling the regular professors of the art. In addition to being Cubina's deputy on all important occasions, Quaco was the doctor of the band; and in his medical experience he had picked up some knowledge of the system of Obeah--more especially of the trick by which, in the belief of the ignorant, a dead body can be brought to life again--that dread secret of the Coromantee charlatan, known in the West Indies as _myalism_.

"Only a sleep-spell," said Quaco, still continuing his search; "nothin' more than that--a draught given her by the myal-doctor. I know it well enough; and I knows what'll make all right again; though 'ithout that she'd come to of herself. A-ha! hyar it is! hyar's the anecdote!"

A small bottle glistened between his fingers; which in another instant was uncorked and brought in contact with his nostrils.

"Yes, dis is the stuff that's a-goin' to countrack that spell. In 'less 'n ten minutes' time you see her wake up, brisk as ebber she been in her life. Now, young master, if you jess hold up the young lady's head while I spill a drop or two down her throat--It must go down to do her good."

Herbert, with joyful willingness, obeyed the request; and the beautiful head once more received the support of his arm.

Quaco, with all the gentleness of which his huge, coarse fingers were capable, parted the pale lips; and, inserting the neck of the phial, poured out a portion of its contents into the mouth of the sleeper. This done, he held the bottle for some minutes to her nostrils; and then, laying it aside, he commenced chafing her hands between his own broad, corrugated palms.

With heart wildly beating, and eyes alternately scanning the face of Quaco and the countenance of the silent sleeper, Herbert made no effort to conceal his terrible solicitude.

It would have been far more terrible, but for the confident manner of the negro, and the triumphant tone in which he predicted the result.

Scarce five minutes had elapsed from the time of administering the antidote--to Herbert they appeared fifty--when the bosom of the sleeper was seen to swell upward; at the same time that a sigh, just audible, escaped from her lips!

Herbert could no longer restrain his emotions. With a cry of supreme joy, he bent his face nearer to that of the young girl, and pressed his lips to hers, at the same time gently murmuring her name.

"Be quiet, young master!" cautioned Quaco, "else you may keep her longer from wakin' up. Hab patience. Leave the anecdote to do its work. 'Tan't goin' to be very long."

Herbert, thus counselled, resumed his former attitude; and remained silently but earnestly gazing upon the beautiful face, already showing signs of re-animation.

As Quaco had predicted, the "anecdote" was not long in manifesting its effects. The bosom of the young girl began to rise and fall in quick spasmodic motion, showing that respiration was struggling to return; while, at shorter intervals, sighs escaped her, audible even amidst the sounds, so similar, heard from without.

Gradually the undulations of the chest became more regular and prolonged, and the lips moved in soft murmuring--as when one is endeavouring to hold converse in a dream!

Each instant these utterances became more distinct. Words could be distinguished; and, among others, one that filled the heart of Herbert with happiness indescribable--his own name!

Despite the prudent counsel of Quaco, he could no longer restrain himself; but once more imprinting a fervent kiss upon the lips of his beloved cousin, responded to her muttering by loudly pronouncing her name, coupled with words of love and exclamations of encouragement.

As if his voice had broken the charm--dispelling the morphine from out her veins--the eyes of the young girl all at once opened.

The long, crescent-shaped lashes displayed through their parting those orbs of lovely light, brown as the berry of the _theobroma_, and soft as the eyes of a dove.

At first their expression was dreamy--unconscious--as if they shone without seeing--looked without recognising.

Gradually this appearance became changed. The spark of recognition betrayed itself fast spreading over pupil and iris--until at length, it kindled into the full flame of consciousness.

Close to hers was the face of which she had been dreaming. Looking into hers were those eyes she had beheld in her sleep, and with that same glance with which, in her waking hours, they had once regarded her--that glance so fondly remembered!

Again was it fixed upon her; but no longer in silence, and unexplained. Now it was accompanied by words of love--by phrases of endearment-- spoken with all the wild _abandon_ of an impassioned heart.

"Herbert! cousin!" she exclaimed as soon as speech was restored to her. "It is you? Where am I? No matter, since you are by me. It is your arm that is around me?"

"Yes, dearest cousin--never more to part from this sweet embrace. Oh, speak to me! Tell me that you live!"

"Live? Ah! you thought me dead? I thought so myself. That horrid monster! He is gone? I see him not here! Oh! I am saved! It is you, Herbert? you who have delivered me from worse than death?"

"Mine is not the merit, cousin. This brave man by my side--it is he to whom we are both indebted for this deliverance."

"Cubina! and Yola?--poor Yola? She, too, has escaped? Oh! it is a fearful thing. I cannot comprehend--"

"Dearest cousin! think not of it now. In time you shall understand all. Know that you are safe--that all danger is past."

"My poor father! if he knew--Chakra alive--that fearful monster!"

Herbert was silent, Cubina, at the same time, withdrawing from the hut to give some orders to his followers.

"Ah, cousin, what is that upon your breast?" inquired the young girl, innocently touching the object with her fingers. "Is it not the ribbon you took from my purse? Have you been wearing it all this time?"

"Ever since that hour! Oh, Kate! no longer can I conceal the truth. I love you! I love you! I have heard. But tell me, dearest cousin!-- with your own lips declare it--do you return my love?"

"I do! I do!"

Once more Herbert kissed the lips that had given utterance to the thrilling declaration.

In that kiss two loving souls were sealed for ever!

Volume Three, Chapter XLII.

THE RESCUE.

On starting off from the Duppy's Hole, it had been the intention of the Jew to wait by the base of the Jumbe Rock for the return of Chakra with the robbers. Before arriving at the rock, a better plan presented itself.

In the absence of Chakra--which might be a prolonged one--it occurred to him that he might profitably pass the interval of time by making a reconnoissance of Mount Welcome and its precincts.

Before parting from Chakra, therefore, a new place of rendezvous was arranged between them--at a particular place upon the mountain slope, only a short distance from the rear of the garden.

This point being settled, Chakra continued on after the home-returning bandits; while his fellow-conspirator, facing down the mountain, proceeded towards the valley of Mount Welcome.

He soon came upon the path habitually used in the ascent and descent of the mountain. Only for a short distance did he follow it, however. He conjectured that a pursuit would be already set on foot; and, apprehensive of encountering the pursuers, he preferred making his approach to the house by working his way through the woods, where no path existed. By this means he should advance more slowly, but with greater safety.

Favoured by an occasional flash from the smouldering fires--seen at intervals through the trees--he had no difficulty in guiding himself in the right direction; and in due time he arrived at the rearward of the garden.

Crouching behind the wall, and looking cautiously over its top, he could command a full view of the grounds--no longer containing a grand house, but only a smouldering mass of half-consumed timbers.

There was still sufficient flame springing up amidst the smoke to reveal to the eyes of Jessuron a terrible _tableau_.

Under the light could be seen a number of human figures grouped around an object resembling a rude bier. On this lay the body of a white man, whose ghastly visage--ghastlier under the glare of the unnatural light-- betokened it to be a corpse.

A white man stood beside it, bent over the body, and looking thoughtfully on the face. Jessuron recognised in this individual the overseer of the estate. The others were blacks--both men and women-- easily known as the domestics and field slaves of the plantation.

At a short distance from these was another group--smaller in individual numbers, but equally conspicuous.

Two men lay along the grass in attitudes that showed them to be fast bound. They were white men, in colonial phraseology, though their complexions of dark olive were but a shade or two lighter than those of the negroes who surrounded them. Jessuron easily identified them as his own _employes_, the Cuban _cacadores_.

Some three or four black men stood around them, apparently acting as guards. The costume, arms, and accoutrements of these last--but quite as much their bold, upright bearing--proclaimed them to be men of a different caste from the negroes who encompassed the corpse. They were the Maroons whom Quaco had left in charge of the prisoners.

As soon as Jessuron had finished making these observations, he returned to the place of rendezvous, where he was soon joined by Chakra and the robbers. The latter, on their homeward route, having halted for a rest not far beyond the Jumbe Rock, were there overtaken by the myal-man, and brought instantaneously back.

The report of Jessuron was delivered to Chakra, who, along with Adam and his followers, advanced to the garden wall, and became himself a spectator of the scene already described.

The circumstances suggested the necessity of immediate action. It was evident that Cubina and the main body of the Maroons had gone off in pursuit of the incendiaries at once. No account was made of the presence of the plantation negroes, and the weak guard of the Maroons that had been left could be easily overpowered.

Such were the reflections of Chakra and Adam, acted upon almost as soon as conceived; and, leaving Jessuron to await their return, they and their followers crept forward through the shrubbery of the garden.

A volley from their guns, fired from an ambush, was heard shortly after. It caused most of the Maroon guard to fall dead by the side of their prisoners, at the same time putting to flight the people of the plantation, with their overseer at their head.

Nothing then remained but to relieve the captives from their cords; and this being readily accomplished, both robbers and _cacadores_ retreated up the mountain.

On nearing the Jumbe Rock, the confederates once more separated. Adam and his followers continued on towards their mountain home, while Chakra, accompanied by the Jew, and followed by Manuel and Andres, proceeded in the direction of the Duppy's Hole.

It was the design of Jessuron that the two Cubanos should remain in that safe asylum--as guests of the Coromantee--until such time as he might find an opportunity for shipping them back to the country whence they had come.

Chakra's consent to this arrangement had not yet been obtained, and it was to this end that the Jew was now on his errand--for the second time that night--to the sombre solitude of the Duppy's Hole.

Volume Three, Chapter XLIII.

DOWN THE MOUNTAIN.

The midnight hour had passed ere the lovers forsook the solitude of the Duppy's Hole.

From mingled motives Herbert had lingered on that wild spot. He feared the dread development which he knew must take place on their return to Mount Welcome. What a terrible blow to that young bosom, now in the full enjoyment of earth's supremest happiness! He knew the fatal truth could not loner be concealed; nevertheless, he was desirous of keeping it back as long as possible--at least until his cousin had further recovered from the shock which her spirit had that night sustained.

In concert with Cubina, he had spent some time in reflecting how this temporary concealment might be effected.

Only one way suggested itself--to conduct his cousin to the house of the overseer; there to remain until, as she might suppose, her rather could receive the news of the conflagration that had occurred, and return home again.

The young girl knew that the mansion was burnt down. Its blaze was before her eyes when they ceased to see--lighting her ravisher along the forest path. The roof that had sheltered her childhood was a ruin. She knew all that.

It was therefore but natural that a temporary home should be sought elsewhere, and in the house of the overseer. She could have no suspicion of any design in their taking her thither.

Neither Herbert nor Cubina knew whether the corpse of the Custos had yet reached its destination. Quaco, on hurriedly parting with it, had given no orders, either to the bearers or the Maroons left in charge of the two prisoners, to move forward.

The funeral _cortege_ might still be upon the road, where it had been left by Herbert and Cubina.

If so, it might be possible for them to pass the ruined dwelling, and reach the house of the overseer, without any news of the assassination being communicated to her--the only one likely to be profoundly affected by that dread disaster.

Once under the roof of Mr Trusty, means could be taken to keep silent the tongues of those who should be brought in contact with her.

Such was the scheme, hastily concerted between Herbert and Cubina; and which they now proceeded to execute, by conducting the young creole out of the Duppy's Hole and commencing their descent towards the valley of Mount Welcome.

Only the two accompanied her. The Maroons, under their lieutenant, Quaco, remained behind; and for an important purpose--the capturing of Chakra.

Cubina would himself have stayed, but for a certain impatience once more to enjoy the company of his beloved Yola, who had been left among the other domestics of the desolated establishment.

The Maroon captain had perfect confidence--both in the skill of his lieutenant, and the courage of his followers. He could trust them for an affair like that; and as he parted from the Duppy's Hole he had very little doubt that by daybreak, or perhaps before that time, Chakra would be the captive of Quaco.

Slowly Herbert and his cousin moved down the mountain. The moon, now shining sweetly upon the perfumed path, favoured their descent; but there was no need--no desire for haste. Cubina kept ahead, to secure them from surprise or danger. The young girl walked side by side with Herbert, leaning upon his arm--that strong arm, once so freely and affectionately promised. The time had arrived when that offer was accepted and welcomed--a proud time for the young Englishman--a happy time, as he walked on, thrilled by the touch of that round arm softly pressing his own--at times more heavily leaning upon him, not from any physical weakness on the part of his companion, but rather out of the pure fondness of her affection.

The strength of the young Creole had become almost restored--the effects of the narcotic having completed disappeared. She had also recovered from the prostration of spirit which it had produced--perhaps all the sooner from the cheering presence of him who was by her side.

The terrible sufferings she had endured were succeeded by a happiness tranquil and profound. She now knew that Herbert loved her: more than once within the hour had he given her that sweet assurance.

On her part there was no coyness--not a shadow of coquetry. She had responded to his vows by a full, free surrender of her heart.

And her hand? Was it still free?

Herbert sought an answer to this question as they passed onward--only indirectly, and with all the delicacy that circumstances would permit.

Was it true, what he had heard, that a promise had been given to Smythje?

With downcast eyes the young girl remained for some moments without vouchsafing any reply. Her trembling arm betrayed the painful struggle that was agitating her bosom.

Presently the storm appeared to have partially subsided. Her features became fixed, as if she had resolved upon a confession; and in a firm, but low, murmured voice, she made answer,--

"A promise! yes, Herbert, wrung from me in my darkest hour--then, when I thought _you_ cared not for me--when I heard that you also had made such promise--to another. Oh, Herbert! oh, cousin! believe me it was against my will; it was forced from me by threats, by appeals--"

"Then it is not binding!" eagerly interrupted the lover. "There was no oath--no betrothal between you? Even if there had been--"

"Even if there had been!" cried the young girl, repeating his words--the hot Creole blood mounting suddenly to her cheeks, while her eyes expressed a certain determination. "There was no oath. Even if there had been, it could no longer bind me. No! After what has occurred this night--in the hour of danger deserted by him--no, no! After that, I could never consent to be the wife of Mr Smythje. Rather suffer the charge of perjury, from which my own conscience would absolve me, than to fulfil that promise. Rather shall I submit to the disinheritance which my father threatens, and which upon his return he will doubtless execute. Yes, death itself, rather than become the wife of a coward!"

"How little danger of that disinheritance!" thought Herbert. "How shall I tell the fearful tidings? How reveal to her that she is at this moment the mistress of Mount Welcome? Not yet--not yet!"

For a while the young man remained silent, scarce knowing how to continue the conversation.

She noticed his air of thoughtful abstraction. It guided her to unpleasant conjectures.

"Cousin! are you angry with me for what I have said? Do you blame me--"

"No--no!" cried Herbert, impressively; "far from it. By the conduct of this man--woman, I should call him, were it not for disgracing the name--by his behaviour to you, you would be released from the most solemn of oaths--much more a mere promise given against your will. It was not of that I was thinking."

"Of what, Herbert?"

As she put this question she leant towards him, and gazed into his eyes with a look of troubled inquiry.

The young man was puzzled for a reply. His thoughtful silence was evidently causing her uneasiness that each moment increased. Her glances betokened some painful suspicion.

She did not wait for his answer; but, in a voice that trembled, put the additional interrogative,--

"Have _you_ made a promise?"

"To whom?"

"Oh, Herbert! do not ask me to pronounce the name. You must know to whom I allude."

Herbert was relieved by the interrogatory. It changed the current of his thoughts, at the same time giving him a cue for something to say.

"Ha! ha!" laughed he; "I think, cousin, I comprehend you. A promise, indeed! Nothing of the sort, I assure you; though, since _you_ have been good enough to make confession, neither shall I conceal what has passed between her to whom you refer and myself. There was no love between us--at least, none upon my side, I can assure you, cousin. But, I will confess that, stung by what I fancied was your coldness to me-- misled by a thousand reports, now happily found to be false--I had nearly committed myself to the speaking of a word which no doubt I should have rued throughout all the rest of my life. Thank fortune! circumstances have saved me--saved us both, may I say?"

"Oh, happiness! Herbert--Herbert! then you will be mine--mine only?"

Yielding to the promptings of an all-absorbing passion, the young creole gave utterance to this bold interrogatory.

"Dearest Kate!" replied the lover, half delirious with joy, "my heart is yours--all yours. My hand--oh, cousin, I scarce dare to offer it! You are rich--grand--and I--I poor--penniless--even without a home!"

"Alas! Herbert, you know not. Were I rich--ten times as rich as you, believe me, you would be welcome to all. But no. Perhaps I may be poor as yourself. Ah me! you do not know; but you shall. I shall conceal nothing. Know, then, dearest cousin, that my mother was a quadroon, and I am only a _mustee_. I cannot inherit my father's property, except by will; and not even that till an act is obtained from the Assembly. That is the errand upon which my father is gone. But whether he succeed or not, matters not now. Too surely will he disinherit me; for never shall I consent to become the wife of the man he has commanded me to many-- never!"

"Oh, cousin!" cried Herbert, enraptured by the emphatic tone in which she had declared her determination, "if you consent to become mine, I care not for your riches. Your heart is the wealth I covet--that will be enough for me. What matters it even should we both be poor? I am young. I can work. I can strive. We may yet find friends, or, if not, we can do without them. Be mine!"

"Yours for any fate!--for life, Herbert! for life!"

Volume Three, Chapter XLIV.

AN ORPHAN.

These earnest utterances of love exchanged between the two cousins were suddenly interrupted. Sounds of woe broke upon the stillness of the night, and in the same place as before.

They had arrived within view of what was once the mansion of Mount Welcome.

Through the foliage that fringed the path, they could see glancing some remnants of red light, here and there flickering into a faint blaze. Now and then, as they descended the slope, they had heard the crash of falling timbers, as they gave way under the wasting fire.

A murmur of human voices, too, had reached their ears; but only as of men engaged in an ordinary conversation; or, at all events, not exhibiting excitement beyond what might be expected at the _finale_ of such a scene as had there transpired.

All at once abruptly breaking upon this comparative tranquillity--at the same time interrupting the dialogue of the lovers--were heard utterances of a far different import: the cries of men, the screaming of women, shots, and loud shouting!

All these sounds appeared to proceed from the spot that but a few hours before had echoed to the clangour of a chorus equally diabolical in its accents.

Cubina, who had been moving some paces in advance, sprang instantly back upon the path; and, with troubled look, stopped in front of the lovers.

"What can it mean?" asked Herbert, equally showing signs of apprehension.

"The robbers! Master Vaughan! They have returned; but for what purpose I cannot guess. It must be they. I know that voice, louder than the rest. Do you hear it? 'Tis the voice of the brigand Adam! _Crambo_! I'll silence it some day ere long--maybe, this very night. Hark! there's another, still louder and wilder. Ho! that, too, I can distinguish. It's the hellish shriek of Chakra!"

"But why should they have come again? They took everything a robber would care for. What can have brought them back? There is nothing--"

"There _is_!" cried Cubina, with a quick gesture, as though the solution had just then presented itself to his mind. "_There is Yola_!" As he said this he faced around, as if about to rush towards the fray, still strepitant--its noise rather on the increase.

For an instant he appeared to be undecided; though not from any fear of going forward.

No, it was another thought that had caused that indecision; which was soon made manifest by his words.

"Master Herbert Vaughan!" he exclaimed, in a tone of appeal; "I have helped you to rescue _your_ sweetheart. Mine is in danger!" The young Englishman stood in no need of this appeal. Already he had disengaged his arm from that of his cousin, and stood ready for action.

"Oh, Herbert!" cried the young girl, in wild accents of distress; "there is fearful danger! Oh, you must not go. Oh, do not leave me!"

Cubina looked as if regretting the challenge he had thrown out.

"Perhaps you had better not?" said he, with no sarcasm meant by the words. "There is danger, but you must not share it. Your life now belongs to another. I did not think of that, Master Vaughan."

"In the eyes of that other," replied Herbert, "my life would be worthless, as it would to myself, were I to play the poltroon. Brave Cubina! I cannot fail you now. Dear Kate! it is Yola who is in danger--Yola, to whom we are both indebted. But for her I should not have known that you loved me; and then we should both--"

"Ah! Yola in danger!" interrupted the young Creole, her affection for her maid half stifling the fear for her beloved. "Oh, Herbert! go if you will, but let me go with you. I should die if you returned not. Yes, yes; if death comes to you, it shall be mine also. Herbert, do not leave me behind!"

"Only for a moment, Kate! I shall soon return. Fear not. With right on our side, the brave Cubina and I can conquer a score of these black robbers. We shall be back before you can count a hundred. There! conceal yourself in these bushes, and wait for our coming. I shall call out for you. Behind the bushes you will be safe. Not a word, not a movement, till you hear me calling your name."

As he uttered these admonitions, the brave young man gently guided his cousin into the thicket. Causing her to kneel down in a shaded covert, he imprinted a hurried kiss upon her forehead, and then hastily leaving her, followed Cubina towards the fight.

In a few seconds they ran down to the garden wall, and passed rapidly through the wicket-gate, which they found standing open; on through the garden, and straight towards the place from which they imagined the sounds had proceeded.

Strange enough, these had ceased as abruptly as they had risen--the cries of the men, the screaming of the women, the shots, and the loud shouting!

All, as if by a simultaneous signal, had become silent; as though the earth had opened and swallowed not only the noises, but those who had been causing them!

Unheeding the change, Herbert and Cubina kept on; nor came to a stop until they had passed the smoking remains of the mansion, and stood upon the platform that fronted it.

There halted they.

There was still some fitful light from the burning beams; but the beams of the moon told a truer tale. They illumined a _tableau_ significant as terrible.

Near the spot was a stretcher, on which lay the corpse of a white man, half uncovered, ghastly as death could make it. Close to it were three others, corpses like itself, only that they were those of men with a black epidermis.

Herbert easily identified the first. It had been his companion on that day's journey. It was the corpse of his uncle.

As easily did Cubina recognise the others. They were, or had been, men of his own band--the Maroons--left by Quaco to guard the prisoners.

The prisoners! where were they? Escaped?

It took Cubina but little time to resolve the mystery. To the practised eye of one who had tied up many a black runaway, there was no difficulty in interpreting the sign there presented to his view.

A tangle of ropes and sticks brought to mind the contrivances of Quaco for securing his captives. They lay upon the trodden ground, cast away, and forsaken.

The _cacadores_ had escaped. The affair had been a rescue!

Rather relieved by this conjecture, which soon assumed the form of a conviction, Herbert and Cubina were about returning to the place where they had left the young Creole--whom they supposed to be still awaiting them.

But they had not calculated on the bravery of love--much less upon its recklessness.

As they faced towards the dark declivity of the mountain, a form like a white-robed sylph was seen flitting athwart the trunks of the trees, and descending towards the garden wall. On it glided--on, and downward--as the snow-plumed gull in its graceful parabola.

Neither was mystified by this apparition. At a glance both recognised the form, with its soft, white drapery floating around it.

Love could no longer endure that anxious suspense. The young Creole had forsaken her shelter, to share the danger of him she adored.

Before either could interfere to prevent the catastrophe, she had passed through the wicket--a way better known to her than to them--and came gliding across the garden, up to the spot where they stood.

An exclamation of joy announced her perception that her lover was still unharmed.

Quick as an echo, a second exclamation escaped from her lips--but one of a far different intonation. It was a cry of wildest despair--the utterance of one who suddenly knew herself to be _an orphan_. Her eyes had fallen upon the corpse of her father!

Volume Three, Chapter XLV.

AN INVOLUNTARY SUICIDE.

On seeing the dead body of her father, Kate Vaughan sank to the earth beside it; not unconsciously, but on her knees, and in an agony of grief. Bending over it, she kissed the cold, speechless lips--her sobs and wilder ejaculations following each other in rapid succession.

Only the face of the corpse was uncovered. The camlet cloak still shrouded the body, and its gaping but bloodless wounds. She saw not these; and made no inquiry as to the cause of her father's death. The wasted features, now livid, recalled the disease under which he had been suffering previous to his departure. It was to that he had succumbed; so reasoned she.

Herbert made no attempt to undeceive her. It was not the time to enter into details of the sad incident that had transpired. The most mournful chapter of the story was now known--the rest need scarce be told: Kate Vaughan was fatherless.

Without uttering a word--not even those phrases of consolation so customary on such occasions, and withal so idle--the young man wound his arms round the waist of his cousin, gently raised her to an erect attitude, and supported her away from the spot.

He passed slowly towards the rear of the ruined dwelling.

There was still enough light emitted from the calcined embers to make plain the path--enough to show that the little summer-house in the garden still stood there in its shining entirety. Its distance from the dwelling-house had saved it from the conflagration.

Into this Herbert conducted his protegee, and, after placing her on a settee of bamboos, which the kiosk contained, seated himself in a chair beside her.

Yola, who had once more appeared upon the scene, followed them, and flinging herself on the floor, at her young mistress's feet, remained gazing upon her with sympathetic looks, that evinced the affectionate devotion of the Foolah maiden.

Cubina had gone in search of the overseer, and such of the domestics as might still have concealed themselves within a reasonable distance.

The Maroon might have acted with more caution, seeing that the second attack of the robbers had unexpectedly been made. But he had no fear of their coming again. The escape of the prisoners explained their second appearance--the sole object of which had been to rescue the _cacadores_.

For a while the three individuals in the kiosk appeared to be the only living forms that remained by the desolated mansion of Mount Welcome. The return of the robbers had produced even a more vivid feeling of affright than their first appearance; and the people of the plantation-- white as well as black--had betaken themselves to places of concealment more permanent than before. The whites--overseer, book-keepers, and all--believing it to be an insurrection of the slaves, had forsaken the plantation altogether, and fled towards Montego Bay.

Among these panic-struck fugitives, or rather at the head of them, was the late distinguished guest of Mount Welcome--Mr Montagu Smythje.

On being left alone, after the departure of the pursuing party, he had made a rapid retreat towards the stables; and there, by the assistance of Quashie, had succeeded in providing himself with a saddled horse.

Not even staying to divest himself of his sacchariferous envelope, he had mounted and ridden at top speed for the port, announcing his fixed determination to take the first ship that should sail for his "deaw metwopolis."

Smythje had seen enough of Jamaica, and its "queeole queetyaws," and more than enough of "its howid niggaws."

Cubina, returning with Quashie--who again, imp-like, had started up in his path--the only living being the Maroon could discover, announced the fact that Mr Smythje was no longer on the ground.

From those who occupied the kiosk, the intelligence elicited no response. Notwithstanding the many jealous pangs he had cost Herbert Vaughan, and the important part he had played in the history of the young Creole's life, the great lord of Montagu Castle was no longer regarded even as a unit in the situation. Neither spoke of him--neither gave a thought to him. With perfect indifference, both Herbert and his cousin listened to the report that he was no longer on the ground.

But there was at that very moment one upon the ground who might have been better spared--one whose proximity was a thousand times more perilous than that of the harmless Smythje.

As we have said, Cubina had no apprehensions about the return of the robbers; but there was a danger near, and equally to be dreaded--a danger of which neither he nor any of the others could have had even the slightest suspicion.

The Maroon had delivered his report at the kiosk, and with Quashie attending on him, had gone back to the spot where the dead body still rested. He had gone thither to ascertain which of his own men had fallen in the late struggle, and also the better to acquaint himself with the direction which the robbers might have taken.

Just as he had turned his back upon the kiosk, a human figure--gliding so softly that it might have been mistaken for a shadow--passed through the wicket-gate in the rear of the garden, and, with stealthy step, advanced in the direction of the summer-house.

Notwithstanding an ample cloak in which the figure was enveloped, its _contour_ could be distinguished as that of a woman--one of boldly-developed form.

The blaze of the still-burning timbers was no longer constant. At intervals some piece--losing its equilibrium under the effect of the consuming fire--would fall with a crushing sound; to be followed by a fresh glare of light, which would continue for a longer or shorter period of time, according to the circumstances that created it.

Just as the silent figure, approaching along the path, had arrived within a few paces of the summer-house, one of these sudden coruscations arose, lighting up not only the interior of the summer-house, but the whole enclosure to its furthest limits.

Under that light, had anyone been looking rearwards across the garden, they would have beheld a beautiful face--beautiful, yet disfigured by an expression of mingled rage and pain, that rendered it even hideous. It was the face of Judith Jessuron.

It is not necessary to explain why she was there. The fire of jealousy was still burning in her breast--more furiously, more bitterly than ever.

In another instant she had placed herself in a position that commanded a view of the interior of the kiosk.

What she saw there was not calculated to extinguish the fearful fire that consumed her. On the contrary, like the collision of the falling timbers, it had the effect of stirring it to increased strength and fierceness.

Kate Vaughan had raised herself from her reclining position, and was sitting upright on the bamboo settee. Herbert was by her side, also seated. Their bodies were in contact--the arm of the young man softly encircling the waist of his cousin. It would have been evident to the most uninterested observer that their hearts were equally _en rapport_; that between them was a tie--the strongest on earth--the tie of mutual love!

It needed no reasoning on the part of Judith Jessuron to arrive at this conclusion.

The tableau was typical. It was a picture that required no explanation, nor did she who looked upon it ask for any.

She did not even stay to notice the brown-skinned damsel, who seemed to be guarding the entrance of the kiosk; but, springing past her, she stood in a defiant attitude in the presence of the lovers.

"Herbert Vaughan!" cried she, in a tone of bitter abandonment; "traitor! perjured villain! you have been false to me--"

"It is not true, Judith Jessuron!" cried the young man, interrupting her, and, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise, springing to his feet. "It is not true. I--I never intended--"

"Ha!" screamed the Jewess, her rage apparently becoming more fierce at the attempted explanation; "never intended what?"

"Never intended to marry you. I never gave you promise--"

"False!" cried Judith, once more interrupting him. "No matter now--it is all past; and since you never intended to marry me, she at least will never be your wife!"

The action that followed rendered the menace of the mad woman too easily intelligible.

As she gave utterance to it she passed her hand under the mantle in which her figure was enveloped; and, as she drew it forth again, a shining object appeared between her fingers.

It was a pistol, with silver sheen and ivory handle--small, but large enough to take life at such close quarters.

It was presented as soon as drawn, but not at Herbert Vaughan. It was towards his companion that its muzzle was pointed!

Scarce a second passed before the report was heard; and, for a time, the kiosk was filled with smoke.

When this cleared away, and the shining light once more penetrated the apartment, a woman was seen extended on the floor, her form quivering in the last throes of life. In another instant it was motionless--a corpse!

The shot had proved fatal; but the victim was not Kate Vaughan, but Judith Jessuron!

The transposition was due to the Foolah maid. Seeing the life of her mistress in such imminent peril, she had sprung up from her seat by the door; and, bounding forward with the supple quickness of a cheetah, had seized the wrist of the intended murderess, with the intention of averting her aim, and, in doing so, had directed it upon herself.

It was by accident, therefore, and not from design on the part of Yola, that Judith Jessuron thus terminated her life by an involuntary suicide.

Volume Three, Chapter XLVI.

QUACO IN AMBUSH.

The Maroon captain, before leaving the Duppy's Hole, had given official orders to his lieutenant about the capture of Chakra. There could no longer be any question of the absence of the myal-man from his haunt. The Maroons had continued their search after the discovery in the cave, still thinking that he might be concealed somewhere in the wood. The bushes were well beaten--the trees, where it was possible for a man to have climbed, were all scrutinised; and the search had ended without their finding any other trace of the Coromantee than what had been already discovered.

Beyond doubt, Chakra had gone abroad--though in what direction, no one could guess; and to have attempted tracking him at night, and through a pathless forest, would have been labour lost.

The correct scheme for capturing him was for the Maroons to remain in the Duppy's Hole, against his return; and, by keeping in ambuscade until he should have re-crossed the lagoon, they would have him, as it were, in a trap.

This was the plan chosen--with the execution of which Quaco was intrusted.

Indeed, the initiatory steps had been taken already: for ever since the search by torchlight had been abandoned, Quaco and his men had been placed in ambush.

Cubina perceived the error he had committed in causing the search to be made.

Chakra might have been upon the cliff above, where he could not have failed to see the light of the torches.

If so, there would not be the slightest hope of his returning for that night. After witnessing such an invasion of his secret haunt, his caution would be upon the _qui vive_--enough to hinder him from venturing down into the Duppy's Hole, notwithstanding the attractive lure he had there left behind him.

Cubina thus reflected with regret--with chagrin. The capture of Chakra had now become an object of primary importance.

After all, the apprehension that he had seen the torches, or in any way become aware of the intrusion of strangers upon his solitary domain, may have been an idle one. If so, then he would be certain to come back. The presence of his prisoner was earnest of his return, and at no distant period of time.

To make sure of his capture, the Maroon captain had himself planned the ambush. Quaco and his men were placed under the great tree--where the myal-man was accustomed to moor his craft. Some of them were stationed on the tree, among its branches, with the design that they should drop upon the shoulders of the Coromantee, as soon as he should arrive at his anchorage.

The canoe itself was to be left at the bottom of the stairway, after being taken thither by the Maroon captain and his two companions, on their departure from the place. All this was done as designed.

Before parting from the canoe, Cubina had taken the precaution to place it in the exact position in which it had been left by Chakra: so that the latter could have no suspicions that the craft had been used during his absence.

These arrangements having been completed, Quaco and his comrades-- Cingues among the number--from their station by the edge of the lagoon, with eyes bent alternately upon the water and the face of the cliff, awaited the coming of the Coromantee.