These earnest utterances of love exchanged between the two cousins were
suddenly interrupted. Sounds of woe broke upon the stillness of the
night, and in the same place as before.
They had arrived within view of what was once the mansion of Mount
Welcome.
Through the foliage that fringed the path, they could see glancing some
remnants of red light, here and there flickering into a faint blaze.
Now and then, as they descended the slope, they had heard the crash of
falling timbers, as they gave way under the wasting fire.
A murmur of human voices, too, had reached their ears; but only as of
men engaged in an ordinary conversation; or, at all events, not
exhibiting excitement beyond what might be expected at the _finale_ of
such a scene as had there transpired.
All at once abruptly breaking upon this comparative tranquillity--at the
same time interrupting the dialogue of the lovers--were heard utterances
of a far different import: the cries of men, the screaming of women,
shots, and loud shouting!
All these sounds appeared to proceed from the spot that but a few hours
before had echoed to the clangour of a chorus equally diabolical in its
accents.
Cubina, who had been moving some paces in advance, sprang instantly back
upon the path; and, with troubled look, stopped in front of the lovers.
"What can it mean?" asked Herbert, equally showing signs of
apprehension.
"The robbers! Master Vaughan! They have returned; but for what purpose
I cannot guess. It must be they. I know that voice, louder than the
rest. Do you hear it? 'Tis the voice of the brigand Adam! _Crambo_!
I'll silence it some day ere long--maybe, this very night. Hark!
there's another, still louder and wilder. Ho! that, too, I can
distinguish. It's the hellish shriek of Chakra!"
"But why should they have come again? They took everything a robber
would care for. What can have brought them back? There is nothing--"
"There _is_!" cried Cubina, with a quick gesture, as though the solution
had just then presented itself to his mind. "_There is Yola_!" As he
said this he faced around, as if about to rush towards the fray, still
strepitant--its noise rather on the increase.
For an instant he appeared to be undecided; though not from any fear of
going forward.
No, it was another thought that had caused that indecision; which was
soon made manifest by his words.
"Master Herbert Vaughan!" he exclaimed, in a tone of appeal; "I have
helped you to rescue _your_ sweetheart. Mine is in danger!" The young
Englishman stood in no need of this appeal. Already he had disengaged
his arm from that of his cousin, and stood ready for action.
"Oh, Herbert!" cried the young girl, in wild accents of distress; "there
is fearful danger! Oh, you must not go. Oh, do not leave me!"
Cubina looked as if regretting the challenge he had thrown out.
"Perhaps you had better not?" said he, with no sarcasm meant by the
words. "There is danger, but you must not share it. Your life now
belongs to another. I did not think of that, Master Vaughan."
"In the eyes of that other," replied Herbert, "my life would be
worthless, as it would to myself, were I to play the poltroon. Brave
Cubina! I cannot fail you now. Dear Kate! it is Yola who is in
danger--Yola, to whom we are both indebted. But for her I should not
have known that you loved me; and then we should both--"
"Ah! Yola in danger!" interrupted the young Creole, her affection for
her maid half stifling the fear for her beloved. "Oh, Herbert! go if
you will, but let me go with you. I should die if you returned not.
Yes, yes; if death comes to you, it shall be mine also. Herbert, do not
leave me behind!"
"Only for a moment, Kate! I shall soon return. Fear not. With right
on our side, the brave Cubina and I can conquer a score of these black
robbers. We shall be back before you can count a hundred. There!
conceal yourself in these bushes, and wait for our coming. I shall call
out for you. Behind the bushes you will be safe. Not a word, not a
movement, till you hear me calling your name."
As he uttered these admonitions, the brave young man gently guided his
cousin into the thicket. Causing her to kneel down in a shaded covert,
he imprinted a hurried kiss upon her forehead, and then hastily leaving
her, followed Cubina towards the fight.
In a few seconds they ran down to the garden wall, and passed rapidly
through the wicket-gate, which they found standing open; on through the
garden, and straight towards the place from which they imagined the
sounds had proceeded.
Strange enough, these had ceased as abruptly as they had risen--the
cries of the men, the screaming of the women, the shots, and the loud
shouting!
All, as if by a simultaneous signal, had become silent; as though the
earth had opened and swallowed not only the noises, but those who had
been causing them!
Unheeding the change, Herbert and Cubina kept on; nor came to a stop
until they had passed the smoking remains of the mansion, and stood upon
the platform that fronted it.
There halted they.
There was still some fitful light from the burning beams; but the beams
of the moon told a truer tale. They illumined a _tableau_ significant
as terrible.
Near the spot was a stretcher, on which lay the corpse of a white man,
half uncovered, ghastly as death could make it. Close to it were three
others, corpses like itself, only that they were those of men with a
black epidermis.
Herbert easily identified the first. It had been his companion on that
day's journey. It was the corpse of his uncle.
As easily did Cubina recognise the others. They were, or had been, men
of his own band--the Maroons--left by Quaco to guard the prisoners.
The prisoners! where were they? Escaped?
It took Cubina but little time to resolve the mystery. To the practised
eye of one who had tied up many a black runaway, there was no difficulty
in interpreting the sign there presented to his view.
A tangle of ropes and sticks brought to mind the contrivances of Quaco
for securing his captives. They lay upon the trodden ground, cast away,
and forsaken.
The _cacadores_ had escaped. The affair had been a rescue!
Rather relieved by this conjecture, which soon assumed the form of a
conviction, Herbert and Cubina were about returning to the place where
they had left the young Creole--whom they supposed to be still awaiting
them.
But they had not calculated on the bravery of love--much less upon its
recklessness.
As they faced towards the dark declivity of the mountain, a form like a
white-robed sylph was seen flitting athwart the trunks of the trees, and
descending towards the garden wall. On it glided--on, and downward--as
the snow-plumed gull in its graceful parabola.
Neither was mystified by this apparition. At a glance both recognised
the form, with its soft, white drapery floating around it.
Love could no longer endure that anxious suspense. The young Creole had
forsaken her shelter, to share the danger of him she adored.
Before either could interfere to prevent the catastrophe, she had passed
through the wicket--a way better known to her than to them--and came
gliding across the garden, up to the spot where they stood.
An exclamation of joy announced her perception that her lover was still
unharmed.
Quick as an echo, a second exclamation escaped from her lips--but one of
a far different intonation. It was a cry of wildest despair--the
utterance of one who suddenly knew herself to be _an orphan_. Her eyes
had fallen upon the corpse of her father!
Volume Three, Chapter XLV.