Томас Майн Рид - Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

“Herbert Vochan?” repeated the Justice. “Might you be any kinshman of Mishter Vochan of Mount Welcome?”

“His nephew,” was the laconic reply.

“Ah! hish nephew! Bless me! ish that true?”

This announcement, as testified by his speech, produced a sudden commotion in the mind of the Jew-justice. From some little that was known of his secret hostility towards his neighbour of Mount Welcome – Ravener knew more than a little – it might have been expected that the discovery of the relationship of the prisoner would have put him in high glee. To be sitting in judgment upon the near kinsman of the Custos – accused of a serious crime, too – was a proud position for Jacob Jessuron, who could remember many a slight he had received from the haughty lord of Mount Welcome. What a splendid revanche !

Certainly the manner of the Justice, on learning who was before him, seemed to indicate that such were his reflections. He rubbed his skinny hands together; helped himself from his gold snuff-box; gleefully smiled from behind his glasses, which were once more shifted upon the sharp ridge of his nose; and then, bending his face forward over the table, he remained for some moments smiling, but silent and thoughtful, as if considering how he should proceed.

After a time he raised his eyes, and freshly scrutinised the prisoner – who had already returned an affirmative answer to his last query.

“Blesh my soul! – I never knew that Mishter Vochan had a nephew! You are from England, young man? Hash your uncle any more English nephews?”

“Not that I am aware of,” replied Herbert, frankly. “I believe I am his only relative of that kind – in England, at least.”

The proviso in this reply betrayed a significant fact: that the young man was not very well acquainted with the family affairs of his colonial kinsman.

The astute Justice did not fail to notice this deficiency in the nephew’s knowledge.

“How long hash you been in Shamaica?” asked he, as if endeavouring to arrive at an explanation of some point that was puzzling him.

“A night, and part of two days – in all, about twenty-four hours,” replied Herbert, with scrupulous exactness.

“Blesh my soul!” again exclaimed the Justice; “only twenty-four hours! It’sh a wonder you’re not at your uncle’s house? You hash been there?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Herbert, carelessly.

“You come to shtay at Mount Welcome, I supposhe?”

Herbert made no reply to this interrogatory. “You shleep there lash night? Excushe me young man, for ashking the question, but ash a magistrate – ”

“You are perfectly welcome to the answer, your worship ,” said Herbert, laying a satirical emphasis on the titular phrase; “I did not sleep there last night.”

“Where did you shleep then?”

“In the woods,” answered Herbert.

“Moshesh!” exclaimed the Jew-justice, raising his spectacles in surprise. “In the woods, you shay?”

“In the woods,” re-affirmed the young man; “under a tree; and a very good bed I found it,” he added, jocosely.

“And did your uncle know of thish?”

“I suppose my uncle knew nothing about it, and as little did he care,” replied Herbert, with a reckless indifference as to what answer he gave.

The bitter emphasis on the last words, with the tone in which they were delivered, did not escape the observation of Jessuron. A suspicion had arisen in his mind, that there was something amiss in the relationship between the young man and his uncle; to the comprehension of which the answer of the former, aided by a knowledge of the character and affairs of the latter, was gradually giving him a clue. A secret joy sparkled in his sunken eyes, as he listened to the last answer given.

All at once he discontinued the direct examination of the prisoner; and, signing to Ravener and the constable to come near, he became engaged with these two worthies in a whispering conversation.

What passed between the trio, the young Englishman could not tell – nor indeed any one else who chanced to be present. The result, however, was to Herbert as pleasant as unexpected.

When Jessuron again returned to address him, a complete change appeared to have taken place in his manner; and, instead of the frowning Justice, Herbert now saw before him a man who appeared more in the character of a friendly protector – bland, smiling, almost obsequious!

“Mashter Vochan,” said he – rising from his magisterial seat, and extending his hand to the prisoner – “you will excushe the rough treatment you hash had from theshe people. It ish a great crime in thish country – helping a runaway shlave to eshcape; but as you hash joosh landed, and cannot be ekshpected to know our shtatutes, the law deals mershifully with a firsht offence. Besides, in thish instance, the runaway – who ish one of my own shlaves – did not eshcape. He ish in the hands of the Maroons, and will soon be brought in. The punishment I inflict upon you – and I shall inshist upon its being carried out – ish, that you eats your dinner with me, and – I think that ish punishment enough. Mishter Ravener,” added he, calling to his overseer, and at the same time, pointing to Quaco, “take that good fellow and see that he ish cared for. Now, Mashter Vochan! pleashe to step inside, and allow me to introshuce you to my daughter Shoodith.”

It would have been contrary to all human nature had Herbert Vaughan not felt gratified at the pleasant turn which this disagreeable affair had taken; and perhaps this gratification was enhanced at the prospect of the proposed introduction. Indeed, no man, however cold his nature, could have looked upon those lovely eyes – so long wistfully watching him from the window – without wishing a nearer acquaintance with their owner.

The angry glance had been evanescent. It was gone long before the conclusion of the trial scene; and as the young Englishman – in obedience to the invitation of his ci-devant judge – stepped across the verandah, the fair face, retreating from the window, was suffused with the sweetest and most sympathetic of smiles.

Thus had the chapter of accidents that conducted Herbert Vaughan to the penn of Jacob Jessuron been brought to a very unexpected termination.

But the end was not yet. There was more to come – much more.

Herbert was surprised at the turn things had taken. The only explanation he could think of was, that it was to his uncle’s name he was indebted for the honours that were being done to him – a mere neighbourly feeling of the penn-keeper for the great sugar-planter.

“They are friends,” thought Herbert, “and this kindness to me is the offspring of that friendship.”

The reflection did not give him pleasure, but the contrary. He felt himself in an awkward position – the recipient of a hospitality not meant for himself, but rather for one who had injured him; and who, although his own relative, he now regarded as his enemy.

His uncle would hear of it – no doubt, soon – and would be able to accuse him of taking advantage of his name. The thought caused Herbert a feeling of uneasiness.

Perhaps he would have cared less had there been no one but his uncle to be cognisant of the false position. But there was. His short and troubled visit to Mount Welcome had made Herbert Vaughan acquainted with one whose remembrance was likely for a long time to exert an influence over his thoughts – even though lips as red, and eyes, perhaps, as brilliant as hers, were now smiling courteously upon him.

The memory of his cousin Kate was still mellow. He could fancy her soft, sweet voice yet ringing in his ears; the warm glow of her virgin presence seemed hanging like a halo around him: all urging him to preserve the heroism of his character, if only for the sake of standing well in her estimation.