Н. Самуэльян - Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

“I know one, too, Cubina,” rejoined the girl, her countenance appearing to reflect the expression that had come over his.

“Oh, you know it, too? Miss Vaughan has told you then, I suppose? I hope she does not boast of it?”

“What she boast of, Cubina?”

“Why, of breaking his heart, as you would do mine, if you were to marry somebody else. Poor young fellow! Crambo ! If I’m not mistaken, it will be a sad day for him!”

The girl looked up, in puzzled surprise. “Sad day for him! No, Cubina; he very happy. For her – poor missa – that day be sad.”

“ Vayate ! What do you mean, Yola?”

“No more dan I say, Cubina. Missa Kate be very unhappy that day she marry Mr Mongew – she very so now.”

“What!” exclaimed Cubina, suddenly placing himself in an attitude of unusual attention; “do I understand you to say that Miss Vaughan don’t wish to marry this Mr Smythje?”

“She no love him, Cubina. Why she wish marry him, then?”

“Ha!” significantly ejaculated the Maroon, while an expression of joy came over his countenance; “what makes you think she don’t love him? Have you a reason, Yola?”

“Missa me say so. She me tell everything, Cubina.”

“You are sure she has said that she don’t love him?”

“She laugh at him – she no care for him. Girl no love one she laugh at – never.”

“ Vaya ! I hope you will never laugh at me, then! But say, dearest; do you know why she is going to marry Mr Smythje?”

“Massa her make marry. He Mr Mongew very, very rich – he great planter. That why she him go to marry.”

“Ho! – ho!” thoughtfully ejaculated the captain of Maroons. “I suspected there was some compulsion,” continued he, not speaking to his companion, but muttering the words to himself.

“Can you tell me, Yola,” he asked, turning again to his sweetheart; “do you know why your mistress does not like this grand gentleman? Has she told you any reason?”

“Very good reason, Cubina. She another love; that why she Mongew not like.”

“Ah! she’s in love with somebody else! Have you heard who it is, Yola?”

“Oh, yes; you know him youself. He Missa Kate’s cousin; she him love.”

“Her cousin, Herbert Vaughan?”

“Yes, he name Herber’; he come once – never more come. No matter, she love him first time – she him love ever more! Same I you, Cubina; I you love first time, all the same for ever.”

“You are sure of all this?” inquired Cubina, in his anxiety to know more, resisting the temptation to reciprocate the endearing speech; “you are sure Miss Vaughan loves her cousin Herbert?”

“Sure, Cubina; missa say so many, many time. She have very much grief for him. She hear he marry one fine, bad lady. You know old Jew Jess’ron – his daughter he go marry.”

“I have heard so,” rejoined Cubina, evidently keeping back from his sweetheart a more definite knowledge of the subject which he himself possessed; “I have heard so. After all,” he continued, speaking reflectingly, “it might not happen – neither of these marriages. There’s a proverb, Yola, I’ve heard among the white folks – ‘ Many a slip between the cup and the lip .’ I hope it won’t be true of you and me; but it might come to pass between young Master Vaughan and Miss Jessuron. Who knows? I know something. Por Dios ! you’ve given me good news, I think, for somebody. But tell me, Yola; have you heard them say when your mistress and this great gentleman are to be married?”

“Massa he say soon. He tell Missa Kate he go great journey. When he come back they get marry; he Missa Kate say so yesterday.”

“The Custos going a journey? Have you heard where?”

“Spanish Town, missa me tell – a great big city far away.”

“I wonder what that can be for,” said Cubina to himself, in a conjectural way. “Well, Yola,” he added, after a pause, and speaking more earnestly, “listen to me. As soon as Mr Vaughan has set out on this journey, you come to me. Perhaps I may have a message for your mistress. Have you heard when he intends to take the road?”

“He go morrow morning.”

“Ha! so soon! Well, so much the better for us, and maybe for somebody else. You must meet me here to-morrow night. Tell your mistress it concerns herself. No, don’t tell her,” he added, correcting himself, “she will let you come without that excuse; besides, it might be that – never mind! Come, anyhow. I shall be waiting for you at this same hour.”

Yola gave her willing promise to keep an appointment so accordant to her inclinations.

For some time longer the lovers conversed, imparting to each other the ordinary news of life – the details of common things – to be at length succeeded by words only of love, of far, far deeper interest.

Cubina swore eternal truth – by the trees around – by the sky above – by the bright moon, and the blue heavens.

He had done the same a score of times; and as often had he been believed. But lovers never tire of such vows – neither of hearing nor repeating them.

The African maiden answered with promises of faithfulness, alike free, alike fervent. She no longer sighed for her far Gambian home – no more mourned the fate that had torn her from a court to consign her to slavery. The dark hours of her life seemed to have ended; and her future, as her present, was full of hope and bliss!

For more than an hour did the enamoured pair indulge in this sweet converse. They were about to close it with a parting kiss.

The Maroon stood with his strong arms tenderly entwined around the waist of his mistress, who willingly yielded to the embrace. Her slender form, under the shadow of the ceiba , looked like the statue of some Egyptian maiden in bronze antique.

The adieu had been spoken more than once; but still the lovers lingered, as if loth to give the parting kiss. There had been more than one, but not that which was to end the interview.

Ere their lips had met to achieve it, the design was interrupted. Voices fell upon their ears, and two forms emerging into the moonlight at the lower end of the glade, rapidly advanced in the direction of the ceiba .

As if by a common instinct, Cubina and his mistress stepped silently and simultaneously back, retiring together between the buttresses of the tree. There it was dark enough for concealment. Only an eye bent on purposed scrutiny could have detected their presence.

The forms drew near. They were those of a man and a woman. The moonlight shining full upon them, rendered them easy of recognition; but their voices had already declared their identity. Both the intruders were known to both the lovers. They were the Jew Jessuron and the slave Cynthia.

“ Crambo !” muttered the Maroon, as he saw who they were. “What on earth can they be doing together, at this time of the night, and here – so far away from any house? Maldito ! some wicked business, I warrant.”

By this time the brace of midnight strollers had got opposite to the tree, and the Jew was delivering himself of a speech, which was plainly heard by those who stood concealed in its shadow.

“Now, Cynthy – goot wench! – you hashn’t said yet why he hash sent for me! Do you know what it ish for?”

“I don’t, Mass Jess’ron, unless it be – ”

“Unlesh what, wench?”

“Somethin’ ’bout the news I took him afore I come to you, when I went with his basket of provisions – ”

“Ah-ha! you took him some newsh – what newsh, girl?”

“Only that Massr Vagh’n am a-goin’ away in the mornin’.”

“Blesh my soul!” exclaimed the Jew, suddenly stopping in his tracks, and turning towards the mulatta with a look of troubled surprise. “Blesh my soul! You don’t shay that, dosh you?”