Observing a profound silence, the two young men pressed forward.
Neither liked to put question to the other. Each dreaded the answer the
other might make--each was thinking only of the danger of her who was
dearest to him.
They urged on their steeds with equal eagerness, for both were alike
interested in the _denouement_ of the dreadful drama at that moment
being enacted at the mansion of Mount Welcome.
Their reflections were similar, and similarly painful.
They might be too late! Ere they could arrive upon the scene, the stage
might be deserted--the tragedy played out--the players gone!
It needed not these thoughts to stimulate them to increased speed: they
were already riding as if life or death rested on the issue.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
They had neared the flank of the Jumbe mountain, and were heading for
the ridge that separated the estates of Montagu Castle and Mount
Welcome.
At this point the road debouched from the forest, and the ridge came in
sight. At the same instant, a cry escaped from the lips of Cubina, as
with a quick wrench he drew his horse to a halt.
Herbert echoed the cry of his comrade--at the same time imitating his
action.
Neither thought of questioning the other. Both had halted under the
same impulse. The evil omen had been seen simultaneously by both.
Over the summit of the ridge a yellow light glared, halo-like, against
the sky.
"Fire!" exclaimed Cubina. "Just over Mount Welcome! _Santa Madre_! the
mansion is in flames!"
"Oh, heavens!" cried Herbert; "we shall be too late!"
Not another word passed between the two horsemen. Stirred by the same
instinct, they renewed their gallop; and silently, side by side, urged
their horses up the hill.
In a few minutes they had attained the summit of the ridge, whence they
could command a full view of the valley of Mount Welcome.
The mansion _was_ in flames.
There was no further utterance of surprise: that was past. It was
scarce a conjecture which Cubina had pronounced, on seeing that glare
against the sky, but a conviction; and the crackling sounds which had
assailed their ears, as they were riding upward to the crest of the
ridge, had fully confirmed the event before their eyes looked on the
fire itself.
There was no more a mansion of Mount Welcome. In its place a blazing
pile--a broad sheet of flame, rising in gigantic jets to the sky,
crowned with huge sparks and murky smoke, and accompanied by a
continuous roaring and crackling of timbers, as if fiends were firing a
_feu-de-joie_ in the celebration of some terrible holocaust.
"Too late!--too late!" muttered both the horsemen in the same breath;
and then, with despair on their faces and black fear in their hearts,
they once more gave rein to their steeds; and, riding recklessly down
the slope, galloped on towards the conflagration.
In a few seconds' time they had crossed the inclosures, and halted in
front of the blazing pile; as near to it as their frayed steeds would
consent to carry them. Both at the same instant sprang from their
saddles; and, with guns grasped and ready to defend themselves against
whatever enemy, approached nearer and nearer to the building.
No one appeared in front of the house. They hurried round to the rear:
no one was there. Equally deserted were the grounds and the garden.
Not a soul was to be seen anywhere--not a voice to be heard, except
their own, as they called aloud; and this only feebly, through the
hissing and roaring of the flames.
Back and forth rushed the two men in eager haste, going round and round
the house, and exploring every spot that might be expected to conceal
either friend or foe. But in spite of their most eager search, and the
constant summons of their shouts, not a creature appeared, and no
response reached them.
For a moment they paused to consider.
It was evident the conflagration had been going on for some time. The
upper storey--which was but a framework of light timber--was now nearly
consumed, and only the stonework below left standing. Over this the
larger beams had fallen--no longer emitting flame, but lying
transversely upon each other, charred, red, and smouldering.
On finding no one near the dwelling, Cubina and Herbert made for the
works. These were all standing untouched; and it was evident that no
attempt had been made to fire them. Only the mansion had been given to
the flames.
On arriving among the out-buildings, the two men again raised their
voices; but as before, without receiving a reply.
Here everything was dark and silent as the tomb--a silence more
impressive by contrast with the awe-inspiring sounds of the
conflagration raging at a distance. Neither in the curing-house, nor
the mill, nor the mash-house, nor the stable, could anyone be
discovered. Not an individual to be seen, not a voice to respond to
their oft-repeated halloos.
On rushed they to the negro cabins. Surely there someone would be
found? All could not have fled through fear of the robber-band?
As the two men turned in the direction of the negro village, a figure
started up in the path--having just emerged out of the bushes. In that
semblance to the imp of darkness, seen under the distant glare of the
conflagration, Herbert recognised his old acquaintance Quashie.
Quashie had already identified him.
"Oh, young massr!" cried the darkey, as he rose to his feet; "de Buff am
a-blazin'! It be all burn up!"
"_Crambo_! tell us something we don't know!" impatiently demanded
Cubina. "Who has set it on fire? Do you know that!"
"Did you see the incendiaries?" hurriedly added Herbert.
"See who, massr?"
"Those who set the house on fire?" inquired Herbert, still speaking with
anxious haste.
"Yes--massr, I seed dem--when dey first rush up de front 'tairway."
"Well--speak quickly--who and what were they? What were they like?"
"Law, massr, dey war like so many debbils. Dey were nigga men, an' some
had mask on dar faces. Folks say it war de Maroon ob de mountains.
Black Bet she deny dat, and say no. She say 'twar some robbers of de
mountains, an' dat dey come fo' carry off--"
"Your young mistress? Miss Vaughan? Where? where?" interrupted
Herbert, gasping out the unfinished interrogatory.
"And Yola, my lad! have you seen her?" added Cubina.
"No, genlums," replied Quashie; "I seen neider de young missa, no' de
brown gal Yola. Dey war boaf up in de great hall. I no go up dar
myseff. I'se afeard dey'd kill dis chile ef he go up da. I stayed down
below, till I see Mr 'Mythje a comin' down de stair. Lor--how de did
streak it down dem dere stone step! He run in under de arch below. I
guess he go hide dere. Den I took to ma heels, 'long wif de oder folk;
an' we all go hide in de bushes. Massa Thom an' de house people dey all
run for de woods--dey none o' em nebber come back yet."
"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Herbert, in a voice of anguish; "can it be
possible? You are sure," said he, once more appealing to the darkey,
"you are sure you saw nothing of your young mistress?"
"Nor of Yola?" asked the Maroon, equally as distressed as his companion.
"I decla' I didn't--neider o' 'em two," emphatically exclaimed Quashie.
"See yonner!" he added, pointing towards the burning pile, and speaking
in an accent of alarm. "Golly! dey a'n't gone 'way yet--de robbers! de
robbers!"
Herbert and Cubina, who, while in conversation with Quashie, had been
standing with their backs towards the fire, faced suddenly round. As
they did so, they perceived several dark forms moving between them and
the bright background of the flames; their shadows projected in gigantic
outlines up to the spot where the spectators stood. There were about
half-a-dozen in all--just about the number at which Quashie had roughly
estimated the incendiaries.
Both sprang forward, regardless of consequences, resolved upon knowing
the worst; and, if their apprehensions should prove true, determined
upon death or vengeance.
Volume Three, Chapter XXXIV.