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

And what was her errand now? To resuscitate within her soul the memory of one moment of bliss – to weave still more inextricably around her heart the spell that was threatening to strangle it – to stifle the happiness of her whole life.

But that was already gone. There could be no daring now – no danger worth dread.

The zigzag path she ascended with free step and air undaunted – her fair, bright form gleaming, meteor-like, amid the dark-green foliage of the forest.

Chapter 12

A Jealous Reconnoissance

The ravine leading up the rear of the Jumbé Rock – the only way by which its summit could be reached – though easily scaled by a pedestrian, was not practicable for a person on horseback.

On reaching the base of the cliff the jealous equestrian dismounted, made fast her bridle to the branch of a tree, and, after unbuckling the little spur and removing it from her heel, continued the ascent à pied [568] .

Arrived at the summit she took her stand near the edge of the platform, in a position that commanded an unbroken view of the mansion of Mount Welcome, its shrubberies and surroundings.

Satisfied with the situation, she instantly commenced her reconnoissance .

She did not at first make use of her lorgnette .

Any human figures that might be moving around the house could be seen by the naked eye. It would be time enough to use the magnifying lens should there be a difficulty of identifying them.

For some moments after she had taken her stand no one made appearance near or around the dwelling. A complete tranquillity reigned over the spot. A pet axis deer skipping over the lawn, some pea-fowl moving amidst the shrubbery of the parterre – their purple gorgets gaily glittering in the sun – were the only objects animate that could be seen near the house.

Farther off in the fields gangs of negroes were at work among the cane, with what appeared to be a white overseer moving in their midst. These had no interest for the observer upon the rock; and her eye, scarce resting on them for a second, returned to scan the inclosed space approximate to the dwelling, in the hope of there seeing something – form, incident, or scene – that might give her some clue to the mystery of the morning.

In respect to the former, she was not disappointed. Forms, scenes, and incidents were all offered in succession; and though they did but little to elucidate the enigma which had carried her to that aerial post of observation, they had the effect of calming, to some extent, the jealous thought that was distressing her.

First she saw a gentleman and lady step out from the house and take their stand among the statues. At the sight she felt a slight flutter of uneasiness; until through the lorgnette she looked upon hay-coloured hair and whiskers, enabling her to identify the owner as Smythje. This gave her a species of contentment; and her jealous spirit was still further tranquillised when the glass revealed to her the features of Kate Vaughan overspread with an expression of extreme sadness.

“Good!” muttered the delighted spy; “that tells a tale. She cannot have seen him? Surely not, or she would not be looking so woe-begone?”

At this moment another figure was seen approaching across the parterre towards the two who stood among the statues. It was that of a man in a dark dress. Herbert Vaughan wore that colour.

With a fresh flutter of uneasiness, the lorgnette was carried back to the eye.

“Bah! it is not he. A fellow with a common face – a servant, I suppose. Very likely the valet I’ve heard of! He has brought some message from the house. Ha! they’re going in again. No, only the master. She stays. Odd enough he should leave her alone! So much for your politeness, Mr Montagu Smeithjay!”

And, with a sneering laugh as she pronounced the name, the fair spy again took the glass from her eye, and appeared for a moment to give way to the gratification which she had drawn from what she had succeeded in observing.

Certainly there were no signs of the presence of Herbert Vaughan about the precincts of Mount Welcome, nor anything to indicate that he had had an interview with his cousin. If so, it must have ended just as the Jewess might have wished: since the expression observable on the countenance of Kate showed anything but the traces of a reconciliation.

Pleased to contemplate her in this melancholy mood, her jealous rival again raised the glass to her eye.

“Ha!” she exclaimed on the instant. “Whatever is the nigger doing in front of the statue? She appears to be talking to it. An interesting dialogue, I do declare! Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps she is worshipping it? Ha! ha! She seems as much statue as it. ‘Patience upon a monument, smiling’ – Ha! ha! ha!”

“Ah, now,” resumed the hilarious observer, still gazing through the glass, “she turns from the statue. As I live, she is looking up this way! She cannot see me? No, not with the naked eye. Besides, there is only my head and hat above the edge of the rock. She won’t make them out. How steadfastly she looks this way! A smile upon her face! That, or something like it! One might fancy she was thinking of that pretty scene up here, the interesting tableau – Smythje on his knee. Ha! ha! ha!”

“Ah! what now?” she continued, interrogatively; at the same time suddenly ceasing from her laughter, as she saw the young creole adjust the scarf over her head, and glide towards the back of the house. “What can it mean? She appears bent on an excursion! Alone, too! Yes, alone, as if she intended it! See! she passes the house with stealthy step – looks towards it, as if fearing some one to come forth and interrupt her! Through the garden! – through the gate in the wall! Ha! she’s coming up the mountain!”

As the Jewess made this observation, she stepped a pace forward upon the rock, to gain a better view. The lorgnette trembled as she held it to her eye: her whole frame was quivering with emotion.

“Up the mountain!” muttered she. “Yes, up the mountain! And for what purpose? To meet – Herbert Vaughan?”

A half-suppressed scream accompanied the thought: while the glass, lowered by her side, seemed ready to fall from her fingers.

Chapter 13

A Spy in Ambush

You have seen a proud bird, whose wing has been broken by the fatal bullet, drop helpless to the earth?

So fell the heart of Judith Jessuron from the high confidence that but the moment before had been buoying it up.

The sight of Kate Vaughan coming up the mountain path at once robbed it of exultation – even of contentment.

What errand could the young Creole have up there, unless that of an assignation? And with whom, but the man who was so mysteriously missing?

Her surreptitious departure from the dwelling – the time chosen, when Smythje was out of the way – her quick gait and backward glances as she stole through the shrubbery: all indicated a fear of being seen and followed.

And why should she fear either, if bent upon an ordinary errand? Mr Smythje was not her father, nor, as yet, her husband. Why should she care to conceal her intentions from him: unless indeed they were clandestine, and pointing to that very purpose which the jealous Jewess had conjectured – a rendezvous with Herbert Vaughan?

Judith felt convinced of it – so fully that, as soon as she saw the young Creole fairly started up the sloping path, she glided to the rear edge of the platform, and looked down, expecting to see the other party to the assignation.

True, she saw no one; but this did little to still the agitation now vibrating through every nerve of her body. He was not in sight, but that signified not. Perhaps he was at that moment within hearing, and might be seen, but for the forest screen that covered the façade of the mountain?