Chapter IX: Part 9

And with this proviso, the Maroon captain proceeded to detail the circumstances connected with the capture of the runaway; the singular encounter between brother and sister; and the mutual recognition that followed. Then afterwards the disclosures made by the young man: how he was an African prince; how he had been sent in search of his sister; the ransom he had brought with him; his landing from the ship, consigned by Captain Jowler to the care of Jessuron; his treatment and betrayal by the Jew; the branding of his person, and robbing him of his property; his escape from the penn; his capture by Cubina, already described; and, finally, his detention by the latter, in spite of several messages and menaces, sent by the Jew, to deliver him up.

"Good!" cried Loftus Vaughan, starting from his chair, and evidently delighted by the recital, somewhat dramatically delivered by the Maroon. "A melodrama, I declare! wanting only one act to complete it. Egad, I shall feel inclined to be one of the actors before it's played out. Ho!" exclaimed he, as if some thought had suddenly struck him; "this may explain why the old rascal wanted to buy the wench--though I don't clearly see his purpose in that. It'll come clear yet, no doubt."

Then addressing himself once more to the Maroon:--

"Twenty-four Mandingoes, you say--twenty-four belonged to the prince?"

"Yes, your worship. Twenty regular slaves, and four others that were his personal attendants. There were more of the slaves; but these were the lawful property of the captain, the price paid for bringing him over."

"And they were all carried to the Jew's penn?"

"All of them, with the others: the whole cargo was taken there. The Jew bought all. There were some Coromantees among them; and one of my men, Quaco, who had talk with these, heard enough to confirm the young man's story."

"Ha! what a pity, now, that black tongues can't wag to any purpose! _Their_ talk goes for nothing. But I'll see what may be done without it."

"Did your prince ascertain the name of the captain that brought him over?" inquired the magistrate, after considering a minute.

"Oh yes, your worship; Jowler, he was called. He trades upon the Gambia, where the prince's father lives. The young man knows him well."

"I think I know something of him, too--that same Jowler. I should like to lay my hands upon him, for something else than this--a precious scamp! After all, it wouldn't help our case if we had him. No doubt, the two set their heads together in the business, and there's only one story between them.

"Humph! what are we to do for a _white_ witness?" continued the magistrate, speaking rather to himself than his visitor. "That, I fear, will be a fatal difficulty. Stay! Ravener, you say, Jessuron's overseer, was at the landing of the cargo?"

"Oh, yes, your worship. That individual took an active part in the whole transaction. It was he who stripped the prince of his clothes, and took all his jewellery away from him."

"Jewellery, too?"

"_Crambo_, yes! He had many valuable things. Jowler kept most of his plunder aboard ship."

"A robbery! Egad, a wholesale robbery!"

"Well, Captain Cubina," proceeded the Custos, changing his tone to one of more business-like import, "I promise you that this shall not be passed over. I don't yet clearly see what course we may have to take. There are many difficulties in a prosecution of this kind. We'll have trouble about the testimony--especially since Mr Jessuron is a magistrate himself. Never mind about that. Justice shall be done, even were he the highest in the land. But there can be no move made just yet. It will be a month before the assize court meets at Savannah; and that is where we must go with it. Meanwhile, not a word to any one--not a whisper of what you know!"

"I promise that, your worship."

"You must keep the Foolah prince where you have him. Don't on any account deliver him up. I'll see that you're protected in holding him. Considering the case, it's not likely the Jew will go to extremities with you. _He_ has a glass house over his head, and will 'ware to throw stones--so you've not much to fear.

"And now, young man!" added the Custos, changing his tone to one that showed how friendly he could be to him who had imparted such gratifying intelligence, "if all goes well, you'll not have much difficulty in making up the hundred pounds for the purchase of your sweetheart. _Remember that_!"

"Thanks, worthy Custos," said Cubina, bowing gratefully; "I shall depend upon your promise."

"You may. And now--go quietly home, and wait till I send for you. I shall see my lawyer to-morrow. We may want you soon."

Volume Two, Chapter XII.

THE SMYTHJE ECLIPSE.

The celebrated eclipse of Columbus, by which that shrewd navigator so advantageously deluded the simple savages of Don Christopher's Cove, is not the only one for which the island of Jamaica _should_ be famous. It is my duty to introduce another: which, if not worthy of being recorded upon the page of history, deserves at least a chapter in our romance.

The eclipse in question, though not so important in its results as that which favoured the great world-finder, was nevertheless of considerable interest--more especially to some of the _dramatis personae_ of our tale, whose fortunes it influenced in no slight degree.

Occurring about two weeks after the arrival of the distinguished Smythje, it seemed as if the sun had specially extinguished himself for the occasion: as a sort of appropriate climax to the round of brilliant _fetes_ and entertainments, of which the lord of Montagu Castle had been the recipient. It deserves, therefore, to be designated the "Smythje eclipse."

On the day before that on which the obscuration of the sun was expected to take place, the Cockney had conceived a brilliant design--that of viewing the eclipse from the top of the mountain--from the summit of the Jumbe Rock!

There was something daringly original in this design; and for that had Smythje adopted it. Kate Vaughan was to be his companion. He had asked, and of course obtained, Mr Vaughan's consent, and hers also of course--for Kate had found of late, more than ever, that her father's will was to be her law.

Smythje was not without a purpose in the proposed ascent to the natural observatory of the Jumbe Rock. In that hour when all the earth would be in _chiaro-oscuro_--as if shrouded under the pall of infinity--in that dark and solemn hour, Smythje had determined upon _popping the question_!

Why he had selected such a place and time--both pre-eminently sombre-- must for ever remain a mystery. He may have been under an impression that the poetical reputation of the place, combined with the romantic solemnity of the scene and the hour, might exercise a dissolving influence over the heart of the young Creole, and incline her to an affirmative answer. Or, perhaps, _au fait_ as he was to theatrical contrivances, he may have drawn his idea from something he had seen upon the stage, and chosen his climax accordingly.

Some two hours before the expected contact between the limbs of the two great luminaries--in time to allow of leisurely walking--Smythje started out for the Jumbe Rock, of course accompanied by Kate Vaughan.

Attendants there were none; for the exquisite, on such an occasion, preferred being alone; and had so signified--declining the sable escort which his host had provided.

The morning was one of the fairest. The sun was still shining brightly. Not a speck could be distinguished upon the azure arch of a West-Indian sky; and the scenes through which the path conducted Mr Smythje and his fair companion were among the loveliest to be found in the domain of Nature.

Around the dwelling of Mount Welcome--in its gardens and _parterres_-- the eye delighted to dwell upon a variety of vegetable forms, both indigenous and exotic--some planted for shade; some for the beauty of their blossoms; and others for their fruit. There could be seen the genip, the tamarind of Oriental fame, palms of several species, the native pawpaw, and the curious trumpet-tree. Distinguished for their floral beauties, were the cordia, the oleander, and South-Sea rose, the grand magnolia, and the perfumed Persian lilac. Bearing luscious fruits, were the cashew, the mango, and Malay apple; the sop, the guava, with every variety of the citron tribe--as oranges, lemons, limes, and the huge shaddock.

Climbing the standard trunks, and twining around the branches, were parasites of many species--rare and beautiful flowering plants: as the wax-like _hoya carnosa_, the crimson quamoclit, _barsavolas_, _ipomeas_, and other magnificent orchids.

It was a scene to stir the soul of a botanist to enthusiastic admiration; resembling a vast botanical garden--some grand house of palms, having for its roof the azure canopy of heaven.

To the eyes of the young creole--all her life accustomed to look upon those fair vegetable forms--there was nothing in the sight of them to beget astonishment; and the Cockney cared but little for trees. His late adventure had cured him of all inclination for a forest life; and, in his eyes, a cabbage-palm was of no more interest than a cabbage.

Smythje, however, was not unmusical. Constant attendance at the opera had, to some extent, attuned his soul to song; and he could not help expressing some surprise at the melody of the Western songsters--so much misrepresented and maligned.

In truth, upon that morning they appeared to be giving one of their grandest concerts. In the garden groves could be heard the clear voice of the banana-bird, like the tones of a clarionet, mingled with the warbling tones of the blue quit. There, too, could be seen the tiny vervain humming-bird, seated upon the summit of a tall mango-tree, trilling out its attenuated and fairy-like lay, with as much enthusiastic energy as if its little soul was poured forth in the song.

In the dark mountain woods could be heard other songsters--the glass-eye merle singing his rich and long-continued strain; and, at intervals, the wild, plaintive cry of the solitaire, littered in sweet but solemn notes, like the cadenced chaunting of a psalm--in perfect keeping with the solitude which this singular songster affects.

Above all could be distinguished the powerful voice of the New World nightingale--the far-famed mock-bird--excelling all the other music of the groves; except when at intervals the rare May-bird condescended to fling his melody upon the breeze, when the mock-bird himself would instantly interrupt his lay, and become a listener.

Add to these sounds the humming of bees, the continuous "skirling" of grasshoppers, lizards, and cicadas--the metallic cluckling of tree-frogs, the rustling of the breeze among the lanceolate leaves of the tall bamboos, and the sighing of a cascade among the distant hills-- add these, and you may have some idea of the commingling of sounds that saluted the ear of Mr Montagu Smythje, as, with his fair companion, he ascended the mountain slope.

Cheerful as were the birds and brisk the bees, Smythje appeared cheerful and brisk as they. He was gay both in spirits and costume. Thoms had equipped him in one of his favourite suits; and his spirits were elevated by the prospect of his grand love triumph.

On arriving at the bottom of the ravine which conducted to the summit of the rock, Smythje showed his courage by boldly advancing to scale the steep path. He would have offered a hand to assist his companion; but in the difficult ascent he found full occupation for both; and in this ungallant manner was he compelled to climb upward.

Kate, however--who was accustomed to the path, and could possibly have given him assistance--found no difficulty in following; and in a few seconds both had arrived on the summit of the rock, and stood under the shadow of the palm.

The skeleton form, once chained to the tree, was no longer there to fray them. It had been mysteriously removed.

Mr Smythje consulted his repeater. They had arrived just in the nick of time. In five minutes the eclipse would commence; and the discs of the two great heavenly orbs would appear in contact.

It was not this crisis, however, that Smythje had chosen for the cue to his important speech. Nor yet the moment of deepest darkness; but just when the sun should begin to re-appear, and, by his renewed brightening symbolise the state of the lover's own feelings.

He had prepared some pretty speeches which he meant to repeat by way of ushering in the declaration: how his own heart might be compared to the sun--now burning with passion--now darkened by deep despair; then once more brightening up, with rekindled hope, at the prospect of Kate making him the happiest of mortals.

He had prepared them pit-a-pat the night before, and gone over them with Thoms in the morning. He had rehearsed them more than a dozen times-- ending with a dress rehearsal just before starting out.

Unless the eclipse should in some way deprive him of the use of his tongue, there could be no danger of his breaking down.

With perfect confidence, therefore, in his speech-making, and equally confident of the issue, the romantic Smythje restored his repeater to its fob; and, with sun-glass in hand, awaited the coming on of the eclipse.

Volume Two, Chapter XIII.

A PROPOSAL POSTPONED.

Slowly, silently, and still unseen, stole the soft luminary of night towards her burning god--till a slight shadow on his lower limb betokened the contact.

"The ekwipse is commencing," said Smythje, holding the glass to his eye. "The sun and moon are just kissing, like two lovers. How pwetty it is! Dawn't yaw think so, fayaw Kate?"

"Rather a distant kiss for lovers, I should say--some ninety odd millions of miles between them!"

"Haw, haw! veway good, veway good indeed! And in that sawt of thing, distance dawn't lend enchantment to the view. Much bettaw to be near, just as yaw and I are at this moment. Dawn't yaw think so, fayaw Kate?"

"That depends upon circumstances--whether the love be reciprocal."

"Wecipwocal!--yas, twoo enough--thaw is something in that."

"A great deal, I should think, Mr Smythje. For instance, were I a man, and my sweetheart was frowning on me--as yonder moon seems to be upon his majesty the sun--I should keep my distance, though it were ninety millions of miles."

Had Mr Smythje at that moment only removed the glass from his eye, and turned towards _his_ sweetheart, he might have read in her looks that the speech just made possessed a significance, altogether different from the interpretation which it pleased him to put upon it.

"Haw, haw! veway pwetty of yaw, 'pon honaw! But yaw must wemember that yondaw moon has two faces. In that she wesembles the queetyaw called woman. Her bwight face is turned towards the sun, and no doubt she is at this moment smiling upawn the fellaw. Her frowns, yaw see, are faw us, and all the west of mankind; thawfo' she wesembles a devoted queetyaw. Dawn't yaw think so, fayaw Kate?"

Kate was compelled to smile, and for a short moment regarded Smythje with a glance which might have been mistaken for admiration. In the analogy which the exquisite had drawn there was a scintillation of intellect--the more striking that it was not expected from such a source. Withal, the glance was rather indicative of surprise than admiration, though Smythje evidently interpreted it for the latter--his self-esteem assisting him to the interpretation.

Before she could make reply, he repeated the interrogatory.

"Oh, yes!" answered she, the smile disappearing from her countenance; "I can well imagine, Mr Smythje, that your simile is just. I should think that a woman who loves devotedly, would not bestow her smiles on any other than him she loves; and though he were distant as yonder sun, in her heart she would smile on him all the same."

The young Creole as she spoke lowered her eyes, no longer regarding the eclipse, but as if involuntarily directing her glance downward.

"Ah, yes!" continued she in thought, "and even if alike impossible for them ever to meet, still would her smiles be his! Ah, yes!"

For some seconds she remained silent and abstracted. Smythje, attracted by the altered tone of her voice, had taken the telescope from his eye, and turned towards her.

Observing this abstracted air, which he had often before remarked, he did not think of attributing it to any other cause than that which his vanity had already divined. Kate Vaughan was in love; and with whom but himself?

His sympathetic soul was ready to give way; and he was almost on the point of departing from the programme which he had so ingeniously traced out. But the remembrance of the pretty speeches he had rehearsed with Thoms--and the thought that any deviation from the original design would deprive him of the pleasure of witnessing the effects which they must undoubtedly produce--restrained him from a premature declaration, and he remained silent.

It did not hinder him from some unspoken reflections.

"Poor queetyaw! evidently suffwing! Neithaw distance nor absence can make the slightest impwession upon her love--not the slightest. Ba Jawve! I feel more than half-inclined to bweak the spell, and reweive her fwom her miseway. But no--it would nevaw do. I must wesist the temptation. A little more suffwing can do no harm, since the situation of the queetyaw wesembles the pwoverb: `The darkest hour is that which is neawest the day.' Haw! haw!"

And with this fanciful similitude before his mind, the sympathetic and self-denying lover concluded his string of complacent reflections; and returning the glass to his eye, once more occupied himself in ogling the eclipse.

The young Creole, seeing him thus engaged, withdrew to one side; and placing herself on the very edge of the cliff, stood gazing outward and downward. It was evident that the grand celestial phenomenon had no attraction for her. She cared neither to look upon the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars that would soon be visible in the fast-darkening sky. Her eyes, like her thoughts, were turned upon the earth; and as the penumbra began to cast its purple shadow over the fair face of Nature, so could a cloud be seen overspreading her beautiful countenance.

There was now deep silence below and around. In a few seconds of time a complete change had taken place. The uttering of the forest was no longer heard. The birds had suddenly ceased their songs, and if their voices came up at intervals, it was in screams and cries that denoted fear. Insects and reptiles had become silent, under the influence of a like alarm. The more melancholy sounds alone continued--the sighing of the trees, and the sough of the distant waterfall. This transformation reminded Kate Vaughan of the change which had taken place in her own heart. Almost equally rapid had it been--the result of only a few days, or perhaps only hours: for the once gay girl had become, of late, habitually grave and taciturn. Well might she compare her thoughts to the forest sounds! The cheerful and musical were gone--those that were melancholy alone remained!

For this change there was a cause, not very different from that which Smythje had divined. He was right in assigning it to that passion--the most powerful that can dwell in a woman's heart.

Only as to its object did Mr Smythje labour under a misconception. His self-conceit had guided him to a very erroneous conjecture. Could he have divined the thoughts at that moment passing in the mind of his companion, it would have completely cured him of the conceit that he was the maker of that melancholy.

The mansion of Mount Welcome was in sight, gaily glittering amidst gorgeous groves. It was not upon it that the eyes of Kate Vaughan were bent; but upon a sombre pile, shadowed by great cotton-trees, that lay in the adjoining valley. Her heart was with her eyes.

"Happy Valley!" soliloquised she, her thoughts occasionally escaping in low murmur from her lips. "Happy for _him_, no doubt! There has he found a welcome and a home denied him by those whose duty it was to have offered both. There has he found hospitality among strangers; and there, too--"

The young girl paused, as if unwilling to give words to the thought that had shaped itself in her mind.

"No," continued she, unable to avoid the painful reflection; "I need not shut my eyes upon the truth. It is true what I have been told--very true, I am sure. There has he found one to whom he has given his heart!"

A sigh of deep anguish succeeded the thought.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, resuming the sad soliloquy; "he promised me a strong arm and a stout heart, if I should ever need them. Ah, me! promise now bitter to be remembered--no longer possible to be kept! And the ribbon he was to prize so highly--which gave me such joy as he said it. Only another promise broken! Poor little souvenir! no doubt, long ere this, cast aside and forgotten! ah, me!"

Again the sigh interrupted the soliloquy. After a time it proceeded:--

"`We may never meet more!' These were almost his last words. Alas! too prophetic! Better, now, we never should. Better this than to meet him--with her by his side--Judith Jessuron--his wife--his wife--oh!"

The last exclamation was uttered aloud, and with an undisguised accent of anguish.

Smythje heard it, and started as he did so--letting the sun-glass fall from his fingers.

Looking around, he perceived his companion standing apart--unheeding as she was unheeded--with head slightly drooping, and eyes turned downward upon the rock--her face still bearing the expression of a profound anguish which her thoughts had called forth.

The heart of Smythje melted within him. He knew her complaint--he knew its cure. The remedy was in his hands. Was it right any longer to withhold it? A word from him, and that sad face would be instantly suffused with smiles! Should that word be spoken or postponed?

Spoken! prompted humanity. Spoken! echoed Smythje's sympathetic heart. Yes! perish the cue and the climax! Perish the fine speech and the rehearsal with Thoms--perish everything to "relieve the deaw queetyaw fwom the agony she is suffwing!"

With this noble resolve, the confident lover stepped up to the side of his beloved, leaving a distance of some three feet between them. His movements were those of a man about entering upon the performance of some ceremonial of the grandest importance; and to Mr Smythje, in reality, it was so.

The look of surprise with which the young Creole regarded him, neither deterred him from proceeding, nor in anywise interfered with the air of solemn gravity which his countenance had all at once assumed.

Bending one knee down upon the rock--where he had dropped the glass--and placing his left hand over the region of his heart, while with the right he had raised his hat some six inches above his perfumed curls, there and then he was about to unburden himself of that speech, studied for the occasion--committed to Smythje's memory, and more than a dozen times delivered in the hearing of Thoms--there and then was he on the eve of offering to Kate Vaughan his hand--his heart--his whole love and estate--when just at this formidable crisis, the head and shoulders of a man appeared above the edge of the rock, and behind, a black-plumed beaver hat, shadowing the face of a beautiful woman!

Herbert Vaughan!--Judith Jessuron!

Volume Two, Chapter XIV.

THE OBSCURATION.

"Intawupted!" exclaimed Smythje, briskly restoring his person to its erect position. "What an infawnal haw!" he continued, drawing out his handkerchief, and dusting the knee on which he had been kneeling. "I wondaw who are the intwoodaws? Aw! ah! It's the young fellaw, yaw cousin! Shawly it is; and--a--a pwetty girl with him--a dooced pwetty girl, ba Jawve!"

A satirical titter, loud enough to be termed a laugh, was heard issuing from between the white teeth of the Jewess. It somewhat discomfited Smythje: since he knew that the satire could only be pointed at the ridiculous _tableau_ just broken up, and of which he had himself been the conspicuous figure. His _sang froid_, however, did not quite forsake him, for the Cockney possessed considerable presence of mind-- the offspring of an infinite superciliousness. This at the moment came to his relief, bringing with it an idea that promised to rescue him from his embarrassment. The spy-glass lying upon the rock suggested the idea.

Dropping back upon his knee--in an attitude similar to that from which he had just arisen--he took up the telescope, and, once more rising to his feet, presented it to Kate Vaughan, as she stood bent and blushing.

The _ruse_ was well intended, and not badly executed; but Mr Smythje had to deal with one as cunning as himself. It was of no use endeavouring to throw dust in the keen, quick eyes of Judith Jessuron; and the laugh was repeated, only in a louder and more quizzical tone.

It ended in Smythje himself joining in the laughter, which, under the circumstances, was the very best course he could have pursued.

Notwithstanding the absurdity of the situation, Herbert did not seem to share in his companion's mirth. On the contrary, a shadow was visible upon his brow--not that produced by the gradually deepening twilight of the eclipse--but one that had spread suddenly over his face at sight of the kneeling Smythje.

"Miss Vaughan!" pronounced the Jewess, springing lightly upon the rock, and, with a nod of recognition, advancing towards the young Creole and her companion; "an unexpected pleasure this! I hope we are not intruding?"

"Not at all--nothing of the sawt, I ashaw yaw," replied Smythje, with one of his profoundest bows.

"Mr Smythje--Miss Jessuron," interposed Kate, performing the duty of introduction with dignified but courteous politeness.

"We have climbed up to view this eclipse," continued Judith. "The same errand as yourselves, I presume?" added she, with a glance of quizzical malignity directed towards Kate.

"Aw, yes! sawtinly!" stammered out Smythje, as if slightly confused by the innuendo of the interrogative. "That is pwecisely the pawpose which bwought us heaw--to view this cewestial phenomenon fwom the Jumbe Wock. A spwendid observatowy it is, ba Jawve!"

"You have had the advantage of us," rejoined Judith. "I feared we should arrive too late. Perhaps, we are soon enough?"

The satirical tone and glance were reiterated.

Perhaps Kate Vaughan did not perceive the meaning of this ambiguous interrogatory, though addressed to her even more pointedly than the former; at all events, she did not reply to it. Her eyes and thoughts were elsewhere.

"Quite in time, Miss Jessuwon!" answered Smythje. "The ekwipse is fawst assuming a most intewesting phase. In a few minutes the sun will be in penumbwa. If yaw will step this way, yaw may get a bettaw standing-place. Pawmit me to offaw yaw the tewescope? Aw, haw!" continued he, addressing himself to Herbert, who had just come forward, "aw, how do, ma fwiend? Happy to have the pwesyaw of meeting you again!"

As he said this, he held out his hand, with a single finger projecting beyond the others.

Herbert, though declining the proffered finger, returned the salutation with sufficient courtesy; and Smythje, turning aside to attend upon Judith, escorted her to that edge of the platform facing towards the eclipse.

By this withdrawal--perhaps little regretted by either of the cousins-- they were left alone.

A bow, somewhat stiff and formal, was the only salutation that had yet passed between them; and even for some seconds after the others had gone aside, they remained without speaking to each other.

Herbert was the first to break the embarrassing silence.

"Miss Vaughan!" said he, endeavouring to conceal the emotion which, however, his trembling voice betrayed, "I fear our presence here will be considered an intrusion? I would have retired, but that my companion willed it otherwise."

"_Miss_ Vaughan!" mentally repeated the young creole, as the phrase fell strangely upon her ear, prompting her, perhaps, to a very different rejoinder from that she would otherwise have made.

"Since you could not follow your _own_ inclination, perhaps it was wiser for you to remain. Your presence here, so far as I am concerned, is no intrusion, I assure you. As for _my_ companion, he appears satisfied enough, does he not?"

The rapid exchange of words, with an occasional cachinnation, heard from the other side of the rock, told that a gay conversation was going on between Smythje and the Jewess.

"I regret that our arrival should have led even to your temporary separation. Shall I take Mr Smythje's place and permit him to rejoin you?"

The reply was calculated to widen the breach between the two cousins.

It was indebted for its character to the interpretation which Herbert had placed upon Kate's last interrogatory.

"Certainly, if it would be more agreeable to you to do so," retorted Kate, in a tone of defiant bitterness.

Here a pause occurred in the conversation, which from the first had been carried on defiance against defiance. It was Herbert's turn to speak; but the challenge conveyed in Kate's last words placed him in a position where it was not easy to make an appropriate rejoinder, and he remained silent.

It was now the crisis of the eclipse--the moment of deepest darkness. The sun's disc had become completely obscured by the opaque orb of the night, and the earth lay lurid under the sombre shadow. Stars appeared in the sky, to show that the universe still existed; and those voices of the forest heard only in nocturnal hours, came pealing up to the summit of the rock--a testimony that terrestrial nature was not yet extinct.

It was equally a crisis between two loving hearts. Though standing near, those wild words had outlawed them from each other, far more than if ten thousand miles extended between them. The darkness without was naught to the darkness within. In the sky there were stars to delight the eye; from the forest came sounds to solace the soul; but no star illumined the horizon of their hearts with its ray of hope--no sound of joy cheered the silent gloom that bitterly embraced them.

For some minutes not a word was exchanged between the cousins, nor spoken either to those who were their sharers in the spectacle. These, too, were silent. The solemnity of the scene had made its impression upon all; and, against the dark background of the sky, the figures of all four appeared in sombre _silhouette_--motionless as the rock on which they stood.

Thus for some minutes stood Herbert and Kate without exchanging word or thought. Side by side they were, so near and so silent, that each might have heard the breathing of the other.

The situation was one of painful embarrassment, and might have been still more so, but for the eclipse; which, just then complete, shrouded both in the deep obscurity of its shadow, and hindered them from observing one another.

Only for a short while did the darkness continue; the eclipse soon re-assuming the character of a penumbra.

One by one the stars disappeared from the canopy of the sky--now hastening to recover its azure hue. The creatures of darkness, wondering at the premature return of day, sank cowering into a terrified silence; and the god of the heavens, coming forth triumphantly from the cloud that had for a short while concealed him, once more poured his joyous effulgence upon the earth.

The re-dawning of the light showed the cousins still standing in the same relative position--unchanged even as to their attitudes.

During the interval of darkness Herbert had neither stirred nor spoken; and after the harsh rejoinder to which, in the bitterness of her pique, the young Creole had given words, it was not her place to continue the conversation.

Pained though Herbert was by his cousin's reply, he nevertheless remembered his indebtedness to her--the vows he had made--the proud proffer at parting. Was he now to repudiate the debt of gratitude and prove faithless to his promise? Was he to pluck from his breast that silken _souvenir_, still sheltering there, though in secret and unseen?

True, it was but the memorial of an act of friendship--of mere cousinly kindness. He had never had reason to regard it in any other light; and now, more than ever, was he sure it had no higher signification.

She had never said she loved him--never said a word that could give him the right to reproach her. On her side there was no repudiation, since there had been no compromise. It was unjust to condemn her--cruel to defy her, as he had done.

That she loved another--was that a crime?

Herbert now knew that she loved another--was as sure of it as that he stood upon the Jumbe Rock. That interrupted _tableau_ had left him no loop to hang a doubt on. The relative position of the parties proclaimed the purpose--a proposal.

The kneeling lover may not have obtained his answer; but who could doubt what that answer was to have been? The situation itself proclaimed consent.

Bitter as were these reflections, Herbert made an effort to subdue them. He resolved, if possible, to stifle his spleen; and, upon the ruin of his hopes, restore that relationship--the only one that could now exist between himself and his cousin--friendship.

With a superhuman effort he succeeded; and this triumph of virtue over spite, backed by the strongest inclinings of the heart, for a moment solaced his spirit, and rendered it calmer.

Alas! that such triumph can be only temporary. The struggle upon which he was entering was one in which no man has ever succeeded. Love undenied, may end in friendship; but love thwarted or unreciprocated, never!

"Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves its way between
Heights, that appear as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted;
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom--"

Herbert Vaughan was perhaps too young--too inexperienced in the affairs of the heart--to have ever realised the sentiment so expressed; else would he have desisted from his idle attempt, and surrendered himself at once to the despair that was certain to succeed it.

Innocent--perhaps happily so--of the knowledge of these recondite truths, he yielded to the nobler resolve--ignorant of the utter impracticability of its execution.

Volume Two, Chapter XV.

AN ENCOUNTER OF EYES.

While Herbert Vaughan was making these reflections, the light began to re-dawn--gradually, as it were, raising the veil from the face of his cousin. He could not resist turning to gaze upon it. During the interval of the obscurity, a change had passed over the countenance of the young girl, both in its hue and expression. Herbert noticed the change. It even startled him. Before, and during the unhappy dialogue, he had looked upon a flushed cheek, a fiery eye, an air proud and haughty, with all the indices of defiant indifference.

All were gone: Kate's eye still sparkled, but with a milder light; a uniform pallor overspread her cheeks, as if the eclipse had robbed them of their roses; and the proud expression had entirely disappeared, replaced by one of sadness, or rather of pain.

Withal, the face was lovely as ever--lovelier, thought Herbert.

Why that sudden transformation? What had caused it? Whence sprang that painful thought, that was betraying itself in the pale cheek and lips compressed and quivering? Was it the happiness of another that was making that misery? Smythje seemed happy--very happy, to judge from his oft-repeated "Haw! haw!"

Was this the cause of that expression of extreme sadness that displayed itself on the countenance of his cousin?

So did Herbert interpret it.

Making a fresh effort to subdue within himself the same spirit which he believed to be actuating her, he remained silent--though unable to withdraw his glance from that lorn but lovely face.

While still gazing upon it, a sigh escaped him. It could scarce have been heard by her who stood nearest; nor hers by him: for she had also sighed, and at the same instant of time! Perhaps both were moved by some secret sympathetic instinct?

Herbert had succeeded in obtaining another momentary triumph over his emotions: and was once more on the eve of uttering words of friendship, when the young girl looked up and reciprocated his gaze. It was the first time during the interview their eyes had met: for up to that moment Kate had only regarded her cousin with furtive glances.

For some seconds they stood face to face--each gazing into the eyes of the other, as if both were the victims of some irresistible fascination.

Not a word passed between them--their very breathing was stilled. Both seemed to consider the time too important for speech: for they were seeking in one another's eyes--those faithful mirrors of the soul--those truest interpreters of the heart--the solution of that, the most interesting enigma of their existence.

This silent interrogation was instinctive as mutual--uncorrupted by a shadow of coquetry. It was bold and reckless as innocence itself-- unregarding outward observation. What cared they for the eclipse? What for the sun or the moon, or the waning stars? What for the universe itself? Less--far less for those human forms that chanced to be so near them!

Drew they gratification from that mutual gaze? They must--else why did they continue it?

Not for long: not for long were they allowed. An eye was upon them--the eye of that beautiful demon.

Ah! fair Judith, thy flirtation has proved a failure! The _ruse_ has recoiled upon thyself!

The golden sunlight once more fell upon the Jumbe Rock, revealing the forms of four individuals--all youthful--all in love, though two only were beloved!

The returning light brought no joy to Judith Jessuron.

It revealed to her that glance of mutual fascination, which, with a quick, sharp cry, she had interrupted.

A bitter embarrassment seemed all at once to have seized upon her proud spirit, and dragged it into the dust.

Skilled in the silent language of the eyes, she had read in those of Herbert Vaughan, as he bent them upon his cousin, an expression that stung her, even to the utterance of a scream!

From that moment the flirtation with Smythje ceased; and the Cockney exquisite was forsaken in the most unceremonious manner left to continue his telescopic observations alone.

The conversation was no longer _dos y dos_, but at once changed to a _trio_; and finally restored to its original _quartette_ form--soon, however, to be broken up by an abrupt separation of the parties.

The Jewess was the first to propose departure--the first to make it. She descended from the Jumbe Rock in a less lively mood than that in which she had climbed up to it; inwardly anathematising the eclipse, and the fortune that had guided her to the choice of such an ill-starred observatory.

Perhaps, had the interview been prolonged, the cousins might have separated with a better understanding of each other than was expressed in that cold, ceremonious adieu with which they parted.

Smythje and Kate Vaughan were once more alone upon the summit of the rock; and the supercilious lover was now free to continue the declaration.

One might suppose that he would have instantly dropped back upon his knees, and finished the performance so vexatiously interrupted.

Not so, however. The spirit of Smythje's dream seemed equally to have undergone a change; as if he, too, _had seen something_.

His air of high confidence had departed, as also the climax on which he had counted: for the sun's disc was now quite clear of the eclipse, and the pretty speeches, intended for an anterior time, would now have been pointless and inappropriate.

Whether it was this that influenced him, or a presentiment that the offer of his heart and hand might just then stand some chance of a rejection, can never be known: since Smythje, who alone could divulge it, has left no record of the reason.

Certain it is, however, that the proposal did not take place on the Jumbe Rock on the day of the eclipse; but was postponed, _sine die_, to some future occasion.

Volume Two, Chapter XVI.

THE SMYTHJE BALL.

As if the eclipse had not been a sufficient climax to the round of _fetes_ got up for the express amusement of Mr Smythje, only a few days--or, rather, nights--after, still another was inaugurated, to do honour to this young British lion.

Unlike the eclipse, it was a terrestrial phenomenon--one of the most popular of sublunary entertainments--a ball--a complimentary ball--Mr Smythje the recipient of the compliment.

Montego Bay was to be the place; which, notwithstanding its _provinciality_, had long been celebrated for its brilliant assemblies-- from the time that fandangoes were danced by the old Spanish pork-butchers, down to that hour when Mr Montagu Smythje had condescended to honour its _salons_ by the introduction of some very fashionable steps from the world's metropolis.

The hall was to be a grand affair--one of the grandest ever given in the Bay--and all Planterdom was expected to be present.

Of course, Kate Vaughan would be there; and so, too, the Custos himself.

Mr Smythje would be the hero of the night; and, as such, surrounded by the fairest of the fair--hedged in by a galaxy of beautiful belles, and beset by an army of matchmaking parents, all seeking success with as much eagerness as Loftus Vaughan himself.

Under these circumstances, it would be but simple prudence that Kate should be there to look after him: for the worthy Custos was not unacquainted with the adage, that "the sweetest smelling flower is that nearest the nose."

Mr Vaughan would have rejoiced at the opportunity thus offered, of letting all the _monde_ of Jamaica know the relationship in which he stood, and was likely to stand, to the distinguished individual to whom the entertainment was dedicated. He had no doubt but that Kate would be chosen as the conspicuous partner: for well knew he the condition of Mr Smythje's mind upon that subject. To him the latter had made no secret of his affections; and the cunning Custos, who had been all along warily watching the development of the passion, now knew to a certainty that the heart of Montagu's lord was not only smitten with his daughter, but was irretrievably lost--so far as such a heart could suffer love's perdition.

No doubt, then, Mr Vaughan would have looked forward to the Smythje ball with pleasant anticipation--as likely to afford him a social triumph--but for a little circumstance that had lately come to his knowledge. It was the incident which had transpired on the Jumbe Rock-- the meeting between his daughter and nephew on the day of the eclipse.

The Custos had been the more particular in obtaining the details of that interview from his presumptive son-in-law, on account of a suspicion that had arisen in his mind as to the inclinings of his daughter's heart. Something she had said--during the first days after Herbert's _brusque_ dismissal from Mount Welcome--some sympathetic expressions she had made use of--unguarded and overheard, had given rise to this suspicion of her father.

He was sufficiently annoyed about Kate having met Herbert on the Jumbe Rock; and believed it quite possible that the latter had come there in the hope of encountering his cousin.

In Mount Welcome the name of Herbert Vaughan was no longer heard. Even Kate--whether it was that she had grown more sage--for she had been chided more than once for introducing it into the conversation--or whether she had ceased to think of him--even she never pronounced his name.

For all that, Mr Vaughan was still vexed with some lingering suspicion that in that direction lurked danger; and this determined him to prevent, as far as possible, any further interview between his daughter and nephew.

After the encounter on the Jumbe Rock, he had taken his daughter to task upon this subject; and, using the full stretch of parental authority, compelled her to a solemn promise, that she was not again to speak to her cousin, nor even acknowledge his presence!

It was a hard promise for the poor girl to make. Perhaps it would have been still harder, had she known Herbert's disposition towards her.

There can be no doubt that her father, in extracting this promise, had in view the event about to take place--the grand Smythje ball. There an encounter between the cousins was not only possible, but probable; so much so as to render Mr Vaughan apprehensive. Judith Jessuron was sure to be present--perhaps the Jew himself; and Herbert, of course.

The nephew was now cordially disliked. Stung by the defiant speeches which the young man had made on the day of his arrival, his uncle even detested him: for the proud planter was himself too poor in spirit to admire this quality in any one else.

The Custos had heard all about the hospitality which his neighbour was extending to Herbert, and the kindnesses which the patron was lavishing upon his protege. Though not a little mystified by what was going on, he availed himself of the ordinary explanation--that it was done to vex himself; and, if so, the stratagem of the Jew was proving perfectly successful: for vexed was Mr Vaughan to his very heart's core.

The night of the Smythje ball came round in due course. The grand ball-room of the Bay was decorated as became the occasion. Flags, festoons, and devices hung around the walls; and over the doorway a large transparency--supported by the loyal emblems of the Union Jack and banner of Saint George, and surmounted by the colonial colours-- proclaimed, in letters of eighteen inches diameter:--

"Welcome to Smythje!"

The hour arrived; the band shortly after; close followed by strings of carriages of every kind current in the Island, containing scores--ay, hundreds of dancers. Twenty miles was nothing to go to a Jamaica ball.

The grand barouche of Loftus Vaughan arrived with the rest, only fashionably behind time, bringing the Custos himself, his truly beautiful daughter, but, above all--as before all perhaps should have been mentioned--the hero of the night.

"Welcome to Smythje!"

How his proud heart swelled with triumph under the magnificent ruffles of his shirt, as he caught sight of the flattering transparency! How conquering his smile, as he turned towards Kate Vaughan, to note the effect which it could not fail to produce!

"Welcome to Smythje!" pealed from a hundred pairs of lips, as the carriage drove up to the door; and then a loud cheer followed the words of greeting; and then the distinguished stranger was ushered into the hall-room; and, after remaining a few moments in a conspicuous position--the cynosure of at least two hundred pairs of eyes--the great man set the example by pairing off with a partner.

The hand struck up, and the dancing began.

It need scarce be said who was Smythje's first partner--Kate Vaughan, of course. The Custos had taken care of that.

Smythje looked superb. Thoms had been at him all the afternoon. His hay-coloured hair was in full curl--his whiskers in amplest bush--his moustache crimped spirally at the points; and his cheek pinked with just the slightest tinting of vermillion.

Arrived a little late, the Jewess had not appeared in the first set. In the waltz she was conspicuous: not from her dress of rich purple velvet--not from the splendid tiara of pearls that glistened against the background of her glossy raven hair--not from the dazzling whiteness of her teeth, that gleamed between lips like curved and parted rose-leaves--not from the damask tinting of her cheeks; nor the liquid light that flashed incessantly from her black, Israelitish eyes--not from any of these was she conspicuous; but from all combined into one, and composing a grand and imperious picture.

It was a picture upon which more than one eye gazed with admiration; and more than one continued to gaze.

The partner of Judith was not unworthy to embrace such beauty.

She was in the arms of a young man, a stranger to most in the room; but the glances bestowed upon him by bright eyes--some interrogative, some furtive, some openly admiring--promised him an easy introduction to any one he might fancy to know.

Not that this stranger appeared to be conceitedly conscious of the graces which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon him; or even sensible of the good fortune that had given him such a partner.

On the contrary, he was dancing with despondency in his look, and a cloud upon his brow that even the exciting whirl of the waltz was failing to dissipate!

The partner of Judith Jessuron was Herbert Vaughan.

A ball-room may be likened to a kaleidoscope: the personages are the same, their relative positions constantly changing. Design it or not, either during the dance or the interregnum--one time or another--you will find yourself face to face, or side by side, with every individual in the room.

So in the ball-room of Montego Bay came face to face two sets of waltzers--Smythje and Kate, Herbert and Judith.

The situation arose as they were resting from the dizzy whirl of a waltz.

Smythje bent profoundly towards the floor--Judith, with an imperious sweep, returned the salutation--Herbert bowed to his cousin, with a half-doubting, half-appealing glance; but the nod received in return was so slight, so distant, that even the keen-eyed Custos, closely watching every movement of the quartette, failed to perceive it!

Poor Kate! She knew that the paternal eye, severely set, was upon her. She remembered that painful promise.

Not a word passed between the parties. Scarce a moment stood they together. Herbert, stung by Kate's salutation--unexpectedly cold, almost insultingly distant--warped his arm around the waist of his willing partner, and spun off through the unobservant crowd.

Though often again upon that same night Smythje and Kate, Herbert and the Jewess were respectively partners--so often as to lead to general observation--never again did the four stand _vis-a-vis_ or side by side. Whenever chance threatened to bring them together, design, or something like it, stepped in to thwart the approximation!

Almost all the night did Herbert dance with the Jewess--no longer with despondency in his look, but with the semblance of a gay and reckless joy. Never had Judith received from the young Englishman such ardent attention; and for the first time since their introduction to each other did she feel conscious of something like a correspondence to her own fierce love. For the moment her proud, cruel heart became dissolved to a true feminine tenderness; and in the spiral undulations of the waltz, as she coiled round the robust form of her partner, her cheek rested upon his shoulder, as if laid there to expire in the agony of an exquisite bliss.

She stayed not to question the cause of Herbert's devotedness. Her own heart, blinded by love, and yearning for reciprocity, threw open its portals to receive the passion without challenge or scrutiny--without knowing whether it was real or only apparent.

A wild anguish would she have experienced at that moment, could she have divined what was passing in Herbert's mind. Little did she suspect that his devotedness to her was only a demonstration intended to act upon another. Little dreamt she that real love for another was the cause and origin of that counterfeit that was deceiving herself. Happily for her heart's peace she knew not this.

Herbert alone knew it. As the kaleidoscope evolved the dazzling dancers one after another, often did the face of Kate Vaughan flit before the eyes of her cousin, and his before her eyes. On such occasions, the glance hastily exchanged was one of defiant indifference: for both were playing at piques! The cold salutation had given _him_ the cue, ignorant as he was of its cause. _She_ had begun the game only a little later--on observing the attitude of extreme contentment which Herbert had assumed towards his companion. She knew not that it was studied. Her skill in coquetry, although sufficient for the pretence of indifference, was not deep enough to discern it in him; and both were now behaving as if each believed the love of the other beyond all hope.

Before abandoning the ball-room, this belief--erroneous as it might be on both sides--received further confirmation. A circumstance arose that strengthened it to a full and perfect conviction.

From the gossip of a crowded ball-room many a secret may be learnt. In those late hours, when the supper champagne has untied the tongue, and dancers begin to fancy each other deaf, he who silently threads his way or stands still among the crowd, may catch many a sentence not intended to be overheard, and often least of all by himself. Many an involuntary eavesdropper has fallen into this catastrophe. At least two instances occurred at the Smythje hall; and to the two individuals in whom, perhaps, we are most interested--Herbert and Kate Vaughan.

Herbert for a moment was alone. Judith, not that she had tired of her partner, but perhaps only to save appearances, was dancing with another. It was not Smythje, whom all the evening she had studiously avoided. She remembered the incident on the Jumbe Rock; and feared that dancing with him might conduct to a similar disposition of partners as that which had occurred on the day of the eclipse.