A portion of the level platform, on which Mount Welcome was built,
extended to the rear of the dwelling; and was occupied, as already
described, by a garden filled with rare and beautiful plants. Near the
midst of this garden, and about a dozen paces from the house, stood a
small detached building--a summer-house--the materials of which were
ornamental woods of various kinds, all natives of the island, famed for
such products. The pieces composing this summer-house, or "kiosk," as
it was habitually called, had all been cut and carved with skilful care;
and the whole structure had been designed as a representation of a
miniature temple, with a cupola upon its top, surmounted by a gilded and
glittering vane.
Inside there were neither stairs nor partitions--the whole space being
taken up by a single apartment. There were no glass windows: but all
around, the walls were open, or closed only with Venetian blinds, the
laths of which were of the finest mahogany. A Chinese mat covered the
floor, and a rustic table of bamboo cane pieces, with some half-dozen
chairs of like manufacture, constituted the principal part of the
furniture.
On the aforesaid table stood an inkstand of silver, elaborately chased,
with plume pens pertaining to it. Some writing-paper lay beside it; and
on a silver tray there were wafers, red sealing-wax, and a signet seal.
An escritoire stood on one side; and two or three dozen volumes placed
upon the top of this--with a like number thrown carelessly on chairs--
formed the library of Mount Welcome.
Some magazines and journals lay upon the centre-table, and a box of best
Havannahs--open and half used--showed that the summer-house served
occasionally for a smoking-room.
It was sometimes styled the "Library," though its purposes were many.
Mr Vaughan, at times, used it for the reception of visitors--such as
might have come upon errands of business--such, in short, as were not
deemed worthy of being introduced to the company of the grand hall.
Just at the moment when Kate Vaughan quitted the dinner-table, a young
man was shown into this detached apartment, Mr Trusty, the overseer,
acting as his chaperon.
It is not necessary to say that this young man was Herbert Vaughan.
How he came to be conducted thither is easily explained. On learning
from Quashie the destination designed for him--aggrieved and angry at
the revelation--he had hurried in hot haste up to the house. To Mr
Trusty, who was keeping guard at the bottom of the stairway, he had
announced his relationship with Mr Vaughan, and demanded an interview--
making his requisition in such energetic terms as to disturb the
habitual _sang froid_ of the overseer, and compel him to the
instantaneous delivery of his message.
Indeed, so indignant did Herbert feel, that he would have mounted the
steps and entered the house without further parley, had not Mr Trusty
put forth his blandest entreaties to prevent such a terrible
catastrophe.
"Patience, my good sir!" urged the overseer, interposing himself between
the new comer and the stairway; "Mr Vaughan _will_ see you, presently--
not just this moment; he is engaged--company with him. The family's at
dinner."
So far from soothing the chafed spirit of the young man, the
announcement was only a new mortification. At dinner, and with
company--the cabin-passenger, of course--the ward--not even a relative--
while he, the nephew--no dinner for him!
In truth, Herbert recognised in this incident a fresh outrage.
With an effort, he gave up the idea of ascending the stairs. Poor
though he was, he was nevertheless a gentleman; and good breeding
stepped in to restrain him from this unbidden intrusion: though more
than ever did he feel convinced that an insult was put upon him, and one
that almost appeared premeditated.
He stood balancing in his mind whether he should turn upon his heel, and
depart from his uncle's house without entering it. A feather would have
brought down the scale. The feather fell on the negative side, and
decided him to remain.
On being conducted into the summer-house and left to himself, he showed
no wish to be seated; but paced the little apartment backward and
forward in a state of nervous agitation.
He took but slight heed of aught that was there. He was in no mood for
minutely observing--though he could not help noticing the luxurious
elegance that surrounded him: the grandeur of the great house itself;
the splendid _parterres_ and gardens filled with plants and flowers of
exquisite beauty and fragrant perfume.
These fine sights, however, instead of soothing his chafed spirit, only
made him more bitterly sensible of his own poor fortunes, and the
immeasurable distance that separated him from his proud, rich uncle.
Through the open sides of the kiosk he merely glanced hastily at the
grounds; and then his eyes became bent upon the great house--directed
habitually towards an entrance at the back that by a flight of steps
conducted into the garden. By this entrance he expected his uncle would
come out; and in angry impatience did he await his coming.
Had he seen the beautiful eyes that were, at that moment, tenderly
gazing upon him from behind the lattice-work of the opposite window,
perhaps the sight would have gone far towards soothing his irate soul.
But he saw them not. The jalousies were closed; and though from the
shadowy interior of the chamber, the kiosk and its occupant were in full
view, the young Englishman had no suspicion that he was at that moment
the object of observation--perhaps of admiration--by a pair of the
loveliest eyes in the island of Jamaica.
After turning, for the twentieth time, across the floor--at each turn
scanning the stairs with fresh impatience--he somewhat spitefully laid
hold of a book, and opened it--in the hope of being able to kill time
over its pages.
The volume which came into his hands--by chance: he had not chosen it--
was but little calculated to tranquillise his troubled spirit. It was a
digest of the statutes of Jamaica relating to slavery--the famous, or
rather infamous, _black code_ of the island.
There he read: that a man might mutilate his own image in the person of
a fellow-man--torture him, even to death, and escape with the punishment
of a paltry fine! That a man with a black skin--or even white, if at
all tainted with African blood--could hold no real estate, no office of
trust; could give no evidence in a court of law--not even had he been
witness of the crime of murder; that such a man must not keep or ride a
horse; must not carry a gun, or other weapon of defence; must not defend
himself when assaulted; must not defend wife, sister, or daughter--even
when ruffian hands were tearing them from him for the most unholy of
purposes! In short, that a _man of colour_ must do nothing to make
himself different from a docile and submissive brute!
To the young Englishman, fresh from a Christian land--at that period
ringing with the eloquent denunciations of a Wilberforce, and the
philanthropic appeals of a Clarkson--the perusal of this execrable
statute-book, instead of producing tranquillity, only infused fresh
bitterness into his soul; and stamping his foot fiercely on the floor,
he flung the detestable volume back to its place.
At that moment--just as he had reached the maximum of reckless
defiance--a noise was heard in the direction of the great house, and the
door of the stair-landing was seen to turn on its hinges.
Of course, he expected to see a surly old uncle, and was resolved to be
as surly as he.
On the contrary, and to his pleased surprise, he beheld in the doorway a
beautiful young girl, bending her eyes upon him with an affectionate
look, and as if courting recognition!
A sudden revulsion of feeling passed through his whole frame; his
countenance changed its angry expression to one of admiration; and,
unable to utter a word, he remained silently gazing on this lovely
apparition.
Volume One, Chapter XVII.