On beholding what he believed to be the dead body of his cousin, the
grief of Herbert Vaughan proclaimed itself in a wild cry--in tones of
the bitterest agony. He flung his gun upon the rock--knelt down by the
side of the corpse--raised her head upon his arm, and, gazing upon that
face, in death beautiful as ever, drew it nearer to his own, kissed the
cold, unconscious lips--kissed them again and again, as though he had
hopes that the warmth of his love might re-animate the fair form over
which he was bending.
For some time his frenzied caresses were continued--their fervour
unchecked by the presence of his rude companions who stood around.
Respecting the sanctity of his grief, all observed a solemn silence.
Nor word nor sound escaped the lips of any one. Sobs alone proceeded
from Cubina. The Maroon had also cause to sorrow at that sad
spectacle--but these were not heard. They were drowned by a more
powerful voice--the melancholy monotone of the cataract--that had been
speaking incessantly since the creation of the world.
It was a long time before the heart of Herbert consented to his
discontinuing those cold but sweet kisses--the first he had ever had;
the last he was destined to have--from those pale lips; long before he
could withdraw his supporting arm from beneath that beautiful head,
whose shining tresses lay dishevelled along the rock.
The torch held in the hands of Cubina was burning to its base. Only
when warned by its flickering light, did the chief mourner rise once
more to his feet; and then making a feeble signal to those who stood
around, he moved in solemn silence towards the entrance of the grotto.
His gesture was understood, and promptly obeyed. By the authority of
his greater grief he had become master of the mournful ceremonies now to
be observed.
The Maroons, quietly crossing their arms under the inanimate form,
raised it from the rock; and, following him who had given them their
silent direction, they bore it to the hut--there placing it upon the
cane couch. With instinctive delicacy all retired upon the completion
of their task, leaving Herbert and Cubina alone with the body.
An interval elapsed before either essayed to speak. Both were under the
influence of a profound grief, that almost stifled reflection, Cubina
was the first to have other thoughts, and to give expression to them.
"_Santa Virgen_!" said he, in a voice husky with emotion, "I know not
how she has died, unless the sight of Chakra has killed her. It was
enough to have done it."
The suggestive speech received no other answer than a groan.
"If the monster," continued the Maroon, "has used other violence, I see
no trace of it. There is no wound--no appearance of anything that
should have produced death. Poor young creature!--there's something
dark inside her lips--but it's not blood--"
"O God!" cried Herbert, interrupting the speaker with a fresh paroxysm
of grief. "Two corpses to be carried home to the same house--father and
daughter on the same day--in the same hour: both the victims of
villainy. O God!"
"Both victims of the same villain, I have my belief," rejoined Cubina.
"The same hand that has laid low the Custos, if I mistake not, has been
at the bottom of this horrible crime. Chakra is but the weapon.
Another has dealt the blow--you know who, Master Vaughan?"
Herbert was hindered from making reply. A dark form appearing in the
door, distracted the attention of both from the theme of their
conversation.
Quaco had heard the melancholy tidings; and, relieved from his duty by
the canoe, had hurried back to the hut. He it was who now appeared in
the doorway, filling it from post to post--from step to lintel.
Neither his chief nor Herbert offered any remark. Quaco's presence did
not surprise them. It was natural he should come to the hut--if only to
satisfy his curiosity. Weighted with their sorrow, neither took any
notice of his arrival, nor of his movements after he had entered the
hut--which he did without waiting to be invited.
Having stepped inside, the colossus stood for some moments by the couch,
gazing down upon the sweet, silent face. Even on his features was
depicted an expression of sorrow.
Gradually this became more subdued, or rather appeared to undergo a
total change--slowly but surely altering to an expression of
cheerfulness.
Slight at first, and imperceptible on account of the large scale upon
which Quaco's features were formed, the expression was every moment
becoming more pronounced; until at length it attracted the notice of the
others, notwithstanding the abstraction caused by their poignant grief.
Both observed it at the same instant, and to both it caused a feeling of
annoyance--amounting almost to indignation.
"Lieutenant," said Cubina, addressing his subaltern in a tone of
reproach, "it is not exactly the time for being gay. May I ask you what
is making you smile, while others around you are overwhelmed with
sorrow?"
"Why, cappen!" rejoined Quaco, "I can't see what yar all a-grievin'
'bout. Can't be the Custos: since, sartinly, you've got over grievin'
for him long afore this!"
The reply--grotesque in character, and almost jovial in the manner of
its delivery--could not fail still further to astonish those to whom it
was addressed. Both started on hearing it; and for some moments bent
their _eyes_ on the speaker in an expression of wonder, mingled with
indignation.
Had Quaco gone mad?
"In the presence of death, sir," said the young Maroon captain,
directing a severe glance upon his lieutenant, "you might lay aside that
merry mood, too common with you. It ill becomes you--"
"Death, do ye say, cappen?" interrupted Quaco; "who's gone dead here?"
There was no reply to this abrupt interrogatory. Those to whom it was
addressed were too much taken by surprise to say a word.
"If you mean the young buckra lady," continued Quaco, "I'd give all the
barbecued hog I ever owned nebber to be more dead than she jess now.
Dead, i'deed? nonsense dat: she only sleep!"
Herbert and Cubina started from their seats, each uttering a cry of
astonishment, in which might be detected the accents of hope.
"Who's got a piece o' lookin'-glass!" continued Quaco, turning his
glance interrogatively around the hut. "Good," he exclaimed, as the
sparkle of a piece of broken mirror came under his eyes; "here's the
thing itself!
"Now, lookee hyar!" resumed he, taking the bit of glass from the place
where it had been deposited, and rubbing its surface with a piece of
rag: "you see thar's ne'er a speck upon it?"
The others, still held silent by surprise, made answer only by nodding
their assent.
"Wal, now," continued Quaco, "watch me a bit."
Placing the smooth surface of the mirror to the mute lips, he held it
there for a minute or more; and then, turning, he raised it up, and held
it close to the light of the lamp.
"Ye see," he cried, triumphantly pointing to a white filmy bloom that
appeared upon the glass, partially obscuring its sheen, "that's her
breath! She no gone dead, else how she hab breath?"
His listeners were too excited to make reply. Only by exclamations did
they signify their assent to the truth of his hypothesis.
"Ho!" exclaimed Quaco, suddenly dropping the bit of glass, and clutching
hold of a phial that lay upon the floor--now for the first time noticed.
"What we got here?" continued he, drawing the cork with his teeth, and
thrusting the neck up his wide nostril. "Sleepin' draugh'! I thought
so. So this is the spell that's put the young buckra lady to rest.
Well, there's another that'll wake her, if I can only find it. It's
boun' be hya, somewheres about; and if I can git my claws on it, I'll
make this hya young creatur' talk to ye in less than ten minutes!"
So saying, the colossus commenced searching around the hut, looking into
the numerous chinks and crannies with which both walls and roof were
provided.
Restrained by surprise, blended with hopeful anticipation, neither
Herbert nor Cubina offered to interrupt his actions, by word or gesture.
Both remained in their respective places--silently but anxiously
awaiting the event.
Volume Three, Chapter XLI.