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

“ Por Dios !” exclaimed he, suddenly interrupting the above train of reflections and passing to another. “It won’t do for me to stay here till he comes. Two hours after sunrise, and the Custos might be cold. I’ll go down to the Jew’s penn at once, and hang about till I see young Vaughan. He’ll be stirring about daybreak, and that’ll save an hour, anyhow. A word with him, and we can soon cross to Mount Welcome.”

In obedience to the thought, and without staying to complete the drying of his habiliments, the Maroon stepped out from the glade; and turning into the track – little used – that led towards the Happy Valley, proceeded in that direction.

On closing so abruptly the stormy dialogue with his daughter, Jessuron proceeded to his own sleeping apartment – like the others, opening upon the verandah.

Before entering the room, he glanced along the gallery, towards the suspended hammock.

In that hammock slept Herbert Vaughan. His long sea-voyage had accustomed him to the use of a swing couch – even to a liking for it; and as the night was warm, he had preferred the hammock to his bed in the contiguous chamber.

Jessuron had a fear that the angry conversation might have been overheard by the occupant of the hammock; for, in the excitement of temper, neither he nor Judith had observed the precaution of speaking low.

The hammock hung motionless, oscillating scarce an inch; and this only under the influence of the night breeze that blew gently along the verandah. Its occupant appeared to be in the middle of a profound slumber.

Satisfied of this, the Jew returned to his own chamber. There was no light, and on entering, he sat down in the darkness. The moon shining in through the window gave him light enough to discover a chair; and into that he had flung himself, instead of seeking his couch.

For a time he displayed no intention either of undressing or betaking himself to bed; but remained in the high-backed chair in which he had seated himself, buried in some reflection, silent as profound. We are permitted to know his thoughts.

“S’help me, she’ll marry him!” was that which came uppermost. “She will, s’help me!” continued he, repeating the reflection in an altered form, “shpite of all I can shay or do to prevent her! She ish a very deffil when raished – and she’ll have her own way, she will. Ach! what ish to be done? – what ish to be done?”

Here a pause occurred in the reflections, while the Jew, with puzzled brain, was groping for an answer to his mental interrogatory.

“It ish of no ushe!” he continued, after a time, the expression on his face showing that he had not yet received a definite reply. “It’sh no ushe to opposhe her. She’d run away with thish young man to a certainty!”

“I might lock her up, but that ish no good. She’d contrive to escape some time. I couldn’t alwaysh keep her under lock and key? No – no, it ish imposhible!

“And if she marriesh him without the monish – without the great shugar eshtate! Blesh me! that ish ruin!

“It musht not be. If she marriesh him, she musht marry Mount Welcome. She musht! she musht!

“But how ish it to be? How ish he to be made the heir?”

Again the Jew appeared to puzzle his brains for an answer to this last interrogatory.

“Ha!” he exclaimed aloud, at the same time starting from his chair, as if the solution had discovered itself; “I hash it! I hash it! – the Spaniards! I hash it!

“Yesh,” he continued, striking the ferrule of his umbrella against the floor, “theesh are the very fellows for the shob – worth a shcore of Shakra’s shpells, and hish bottles to boot! There ish no fear that their medishin will fail. S’help me, no! Now, ash I think of it,” continued he, “that ish the plan – the very besht. There ish no other safe and sure, like that ish. Ha! Cushtos! you shan’t eshcape yet. Ha! Shoodith, mine girl, you ish welcome to your way; you shall have the young man after all!”

On giving utterance to these ambiguous speeches, the Jew dropped back into his chair, and sat for some minutes in silent but earnest meditation.

The matter of his meditation may be known by the act that followed.

“There ishn’t an hour to be losht!” muttered he, starting to his feet, and hurriedly making for the door; “no, not ash much ash a minute. I musht see them now. The Cushtos ish to shtart at sunrishe. The wench hash said it. They’ll joosht have time to get upon hish track. S’help me,” he added, opening the door, and glancing up at the sky, “ash I live, it’sh mosht sunrishe now!”

Sticking his beaver firmly upon his head, and taking a fresh clutch of the everlasting umbrella, he rushed rapidly out of the verandah, crossed the courtyard, re-passed the porter at his own gate, and then traversing the little enclosure outside, stood in the open fields.

He did not stand long – only to look around him, and see that the ground was clear of stragglers.

Satisfied on this head, he proceeded onward.

At the distance of some three or four hundred yards from the outside stockade stood a detached cabin, more than half hidden among the trees.

Towards this he directed his steps.

Five minutes sufficed for him to reach it; and, on arriving at the door, he knocked upon it with the butt of his umbrella.

“ Quien es ?” spoke a voice from within.

“It’sh me, Manuel – me – Shessuron!” replied the Jew.

“It’s the Dueno ,” (master), was heard muttering one of the Spaniards to the other – for the cabin was the dwelling of these notable negro-hunters.

“ Carajo ! what does the old ladron want at this hour?” interrogated the first speaker, in his own tongue, which he knew was not understood by the Jew. “ Maldito !” added he, in a grumbling voice; “it’s not very pleasant to be waked up in this fashion. Besides, I was dreaming of that yellow-skin that killed my dogs. I thought I had my macheté up to the hilt in his carcase. What a pity I was only dreaming it!”

“ Ta-ta !” interrupted the other; “be silent, Andres. The old ganadero is impatient. Vamos ! I’m coming, Señor Don Jacob!”

“Make hashte, then!” answered the Jew from without. “I hash important bishness with both of yoush.”

At this moment the door opened; and he who answered to the name of Manuel appeared in the doorway.

Without waiting for an invitation, Jessuron stepped inside the cabin.

“Does your business require a candle, señor?” inquired the Spaniard.

“No – no!” answered the Jew, quickly and impressively, as if to prevent the striking of a light. “It ish only talk; we can do it in the darknesh.”

And darkness, black and profound, was most appropriate to the conversation that followed. Its theme was murder – the murder of Loftus Vaughan!

The plan proposed was for the two Spaniards – fit instruments for such purpose – to waylay the Custos upon the road – in some dark defile of the forest – anywhere – it mattered not, so long as it was on this side of Spanish Town.

“Fifty poundsh apeesh; goot Island currenshy,” was the reward promised – offered and accepted.

Jessuron instructed his brace of entrepreneurs in all the details of the plan. He had learnt from Cynthia that the Custos intended to take the southern road, calling at Savanna-le-Mer. It was a roundabout way to the capital; but Jessuron had his suspicions why that route had been chosen. He knew that Savanna was the assize town of Cornwall; and the Custos might have business there relating to himself, Prince Cingües, and his two dozen Mandingoes!