The Maroon Part 73

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

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

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

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

"Sartin sure, Missa Jessuron--one ob 'em war."

"And the other? What was _it_ like? Was it also the track of a man?"

"Ya, missa; 'twar a man's track--leastwise, I nebber seed a woman track big as dat 'ere. Sartin de sole dat make it wor de fut ob a man, though it wa'n't the boot ob a gen'l'man like young Ma.s.sa Vaughan."

Whip in hand, the Jewess stood reflecting.

A messenger might it be? From whom, if not from Kate Vaughan? With whom else was he acquainted? Such strange conditions of relationship!

The mysterious mode by which the messenger must have approached him: for fresh mud upon the bark of the tree told that he who had climbed up must have been the same who had made the footmarks by the garden wall. The articles found in the hammock had been flung down to awake and warn the sleeper.

Clearly a secret message, delivered by a crafty messenger! Clearly a surrept.i.tious departure!

And the motive for all this? No common one?--it could not be. No errand after game. The fowling-piece was gone; but that was no evidence of an intention to spend the day in sporting. Herbert was in the habit of taking his gun, whenever he strolled out into the fields or forest.

But the other and necessary paraphernalia had been left behind! A shooting excursion? Nothing of the sort!

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

"Oh, if it be!" cried the proud, pa.s.sionate woman, as she sprang upon the back of her steed; "if it be, I shall know it! I shall have revenge!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her design was different.

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

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

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

Volume Three, Chapter X.

SMYTHJE AMONG THE STATUES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was natural that the young lady should feel sad at the absence of her worthy parent, who for many years had never been separated from her beyond the period of a few hours' duration, or, at most, a single day.

She would soon get used to it, and then all would be right again.

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

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

Alas! in the opinion of Kate he was by far too a.s.siduous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Volume Three, Chapter XI.