Yola, true to her tryst, set forth to meet her beloved Maroon. The hour
of midnight was the time that had been appointed; but, in order to
secure punctuality, she took her departure from Mount Welcome long
before that hour--leaving herself ample time to reach the rendezvous.
Of late these after-night expeditions had become known to Miss Vaughan,
and their object as well. To her young mistress, the Foolah maiden had
confessed her _penchant_ for Cubina--her belief of its being
reciprocated; in short, had told the whole story of her love.
Common report spoke well of the young Maroon captain--Yola warmly; and
as everything contributed to proclaim his intentions honourable, Miss
Vaughan made no objection to his meetings with her maid.
There was something in her own sentiments to incline her to this liberal
line of conduct. The young creole could sympathise with hearts that
truly loved--all the better that, by experience, her own heart had
learnt the bitterness of being thwarted.
At all times, therefore--so far as she was concerned--the brown-skinned
sweetheart of Cubina had free leave to meet her lover.
On that particular night permission was granted to the maid more freely
than ever, since, for a certain reason, the mistress herself desired the
interview to take place.
The reason may be guessed without difficulty. On the previous night
Cubina had thrown out a hint, which his sweetheart had communicated to
her mistress.
She had spoken of some news he might have that would interest the
latter; and although there was nothing definite in that, still the hint
had led to an indulgence in speculations--vague as dreams, it is true,
but tinged with a certain sweetness.
Kate knew something of the romantic friendship that had been established
between Herbert and Cubina. Yola had long ago told her of this--as well
as the incident that had given origin to it. Perhaps that knowledge may
explain the interest, almost amounting to anxiety, she now felt to
ascertain the nature of the communication which the Maroon had
hypothetically promised to make.
It was only in the afternoon of the day--after the excursion to the
Jumbe Rock--that the maid had imparted this piece of intelligence to her
mistress: and the altered demeanour of the latter during the rest of the
evening proved how interesting it must have been to her. Her anxiety
was scarce of the sorrowful kind, but rather tinged with an air of
cheerfulness--as if some secret instinct had infused into her spirit a
certain buoyancy--as if on the dark horizon of her future there was
still lingering, or had suddenly arisen, a faint ray of hope.
Yola had not told all she knew. She said nothing of certain surmises
that had escaped the lips of Cubina. With a woman's tact, she perceived
that these, being only conjectural, might excite false hopes in the
breast of her young mistress: for whom the girl felt a true affection.
In fear of this, she kept back the allusion to the marriage of Herbert
and Judith, and its probable failure, which Cubina had so emphatically
illustrated by a proverb.
Yola intended this reserve to be only temporary--only until after her
next meeting with her lover--from which she hoped to return with a
fuller power of explaining it.
Neither had she made known to her mistress the circumstance of having
seen Cynthia in company with the Jew, and the conference that had
occurred between them, overheard by herself and Cubina--much less the
suspicions to which the latter had given expression.
Under the apprehension that a knowledge of these strange facts and
suspicions might trouble her young mistress, she had withheld them.
The young Creole had not retired to rest when Yola took her departure
from the house, nor yet for long after. Anxious to know the result of
the interview between her maid and the Maroon, she remained awake within
her chamber--burning the midnight lamp far into the hours of morning.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Notwithstanding the more than permission that had been accorded to her,
the princess-slave stole softly from the house--passing the precincts of
the mansion, and traversing the grounds outside with considerable
caution. This partly arose from the habit of that half-barbaric life,
to which, in her own country and from earliest childhood, she had been
accustomed. But there was also, perhaps, some suspicion of present
danger, or, at all events, that fear of interruption natural to one on
the way to keep an appointment of the kind towards which she was now
betaking herself.
From whatever motive sprung her cautious behaviour, it was not
sufficient to prevent her departure from being observed; nor did it
enable her to perceive that thing of woman's shape that, like an evil
shadow, flitted after her across the fields, and went following her
along the forest path.
Whenever she turned it also turned, only not preserving an erect
bearing, nor going in the same continuous gait; but every now and then
pausing upon the path, sometimes in crouched attitude, as if seeking
concealment under the shadow of the bushes--then gliding rapidly onward
to make stop as before.
After having got beyond the surroundings of the house, and some distance
into the pimento forest, the Foolah walked with more freedom--as if no
longer fearing interruption. She was, therefore, less likely to
perceive that ill-omened shadow, that still continued on her track--
following, as before, by a series of progressive traverses, and in
death-like silence.
On reaching the glade, the young girl advanced towards the _ceiba_, and
took her stand within its shadow--on a spot, in her eyes, "hallowed down
to earth's profound, and up to heaven."
She merely glanced round to satisfy herself that Cubina was not there.
She scarce expected him yet. The hour, though late, was earlier than
the time appointed. It had not yet gone twelve--else she would have
heard the plantation clock announcing it.
Allowing her eyes to drop to the ground at her feet, she stood for some
minutes buried in a reverie of reflection--a sweet reverie, as befitted
her situation of pleasant expectancy.
She was startled from this abstraction by the behaviour of a bird--a
scarlet tanager, that rose, fluttering and frightened, out of a small
clump of bushes about ten paces from the _ceiba_, and in which it had
been reposing.
The bird, uttering a cry of alarm, forsook the shelter, and flew off
into the forest.
Yola could see nothing that should have caused the creature to make so
abrupt a departure from its roosting-place. Her own presence could
scarce have been the cause: since she had been some minutes upon the
ground, and standing in tranquil _pose_. Some of its natural enemies
had frayed the bird? Perhaps a rat, an owl, or a serpent? Thus
reasoned she; and was so satisfied.
If, instead of contenting herself with this conjecture, she had stepped
ten paces forward, and looked into the little copse, she would have seen
there something very different from any of the three creatures her fancy
had conjured up. She would have seen the form of a woman crouching
within the shadow, with features set in suppressed rage, and eyes
glowing indignantly upon herself. Easily, too, would she have
recognised the face as that of her fellow-slave, Cynthia!
But she saw it not, though Cynthia saw her--though for hours did the two
remain in this singular juxtaposition--one occupied with the vigil of
love, the other absorbed in the vigil of jealousy.
For long hours did the Foolah maid wait for the coming of her beloved
Cubina--her ear keenly bent to catch any sound that might announce his
approach; her bosom every moment becoming more and more a prey to
painful impatience.
Equally long stayed the spy in her place of concealment--equally
suffering torture from jealous imaginings.
To both it was a relief, when a footstep upon the path, and a rustling
of branches, proclaimed the approach of some one towards the spot. It
was but a momentary relief, mocking the anticipations of both--thwarting
the joy of the one, and the vengeful design of the other.
Instead of the expected lover, a very different personage made his
appearance; and almost at the same instant another, coming from the
opposite side.
Both, at the same time, advanced towards the middle of the glade; and,
without exchanging a word, stopped face to face near the _ceiba_, as if
they had met by appointment.
They were out in the open ground, and under the full light of the moon.
Both were men, and the faces of both could be distinctly seen.
Yola knew only one of them, and the sight of him hindered her from
staying to look upon the other. She merely glanced at a countenance
that was fearful--though not more fearful to her than the one she had
already recognised, and which had at once determined her to get away
from the ground.
Keeping the great trunk between herself and the new comers, and
retreating silently under its shadow, she glided back into the underwood
of the forest, and was soon far from the presence of the two intruders,
who had brought her long and vain vigil to such an unsatisfactory
termination.
Cynthia could not have followed her example, even had she been so
inclined. The two men had stopped within six paces of the spot in which
she lay concealed. On every side of it the ground was clear of cover,
with the moon shining full upon it. A cat could not have crept out of
the copse without attracting the attention of one or the other.
Cynthia knew both the men--was the confederate of both--though not
without fearing them.
At first sight of them she would have discovered herself, but disliked
to come under the observation of her rival. Afterwards, when the two
men had entered into conversation, she was held in her place by a dread
of a different kind. She had already overheard part of what they were
saying; and she feared they might punish her for eavesdropping,
involuntary though it was.
Better for Cynthia had she then declared herself; but dreaming not of
discovery, or the fearful fate that might be involved in it, she
determined to be still, and listen to the dark dialogue to its ending.
Volume Three, Chapter XXV.