On the morning that succeeded the occurrence of these tragic events, one
entering at the great gate of Mount Welcome estate, and directing his
eye up the long, palm-shaded avenue, would have beheld but a mass of
black, smoking ruins.
On any other morning, twelve months after, the eye of a person looking
in the same direction, would have been gladdened by a sight far
different. Smiling in all its splendour, at the end of that vegetable
vista, once more could be seen the proud mansion of Mount
Welcome--_renaissant_ in every respect--its stone stairway still
standing--its white walls and green-jalousied windows looking as if they
had sprung, phoenix-like, from the flames--every item of the
architecture so closely in imitation of the former structure, that even
the eye of an old acquaintance could have detected no trace of the
transformation.
Outside, everything appeared as before. It was only upon entering the
mansion that you might perceive a change, and this chiefly relating to
its occupancy and ownership. Instead of a stout, red-faced, and
somewhat plebeian personage, of over forty years old, you would see in
the present proprietor of Mount Welcome a youth of noble mien, by age
scarce claiming the privileges of manhood, but in aspect and demeanour
evidently fit for the performance of its duties--deserving to be the
master of that aristocratic mansion.
Near him--oh! certain to be near him--there is one upon whom the eye
rests with still greater interest; one who had graced the old mansion--
yet more gracing the new--the daughter of its former proprietor, the
wife of its present one.
She has not even changed her name--only her condition. Lilly Quasheba
is no longer _Miss_ but _Mrs_ Vaughan!
Both these personages may be seen seated in that great hall, with floor
as smooth and furniture as resplendent as ever.
It is the hour after breakfast, and also, as of yore, the hour when the
post may be expected. Not that either cared to look abroad for that
diurnal messenger--more welcome to those around whom Hymen has not yet
wound his golden chain.
Equally indifferent were these two happy individuals to the actions of
the outside world: neither cared for its news. Their love, still in the
fresh flush of its honeymoon, was world enough for them; and what
interest could either feel in the arrival of the mail?
But the post has no respect either for indifference or anxiety. It is
transmitted alike to the grave and the gay. It brings joy to the heart
heavy laden, and sorrow to that which the moment before its arrival may
have been bounding with bliss.
In that great hall in the mansion of Mount Welcome there were two bosoms
brimful of bliss, or a feeling near akin to it. Nay, why should we say
_akin_ to it, since they were two hearts in the enjoyment of a mutual
love? If that be not bliss, there is no other--either on earth or in
heaven.
Without any attempt at concealment, the eyes of both betrayed their
mutual delight. Gazing on each other, in sweet reciprocal admiration,
they saw not that dark form--rudely centaurean--that approached up the
long avenue.
Had they seen it, it would have created no surprise. It was only the
post-boy, Quashie, on his shaggy cob, returning from the Bay.
After this speculative peroration, the reader may be apprehensive of
some dire development springing from the letter-bag slung over the
shoulders of the darkey.
Nothing of the kind. There was a letter, but not one that might be
unwelcome. But for the post-mark, it might have remained for hours
unopened.
But the impress was peculiar. It was African. The letter was stamped
with the name of a port near the mouth of the Gambia. It was addressed
to "Herbert Vaughan, Esquire, Mount Welcome, Jamaica."
The young planter broke the seal, and rapidly ran over the contents of
the letter.
"From your brother, Cubina," said he, though he knew that he imparted no
information by this. "He writes to say he is coming back again to
Jamaica."
"Oh! I am so glad of that! I knew he would never live contented among
those wild people, notwithstanding he has been made a prince over them;
but Yola--"
"She comes with him, of course. It is not likely he would leave her
behind. She longs for her island-home again. I don't wonder, dearest
Kate. There is one spot on the earth hallowed beyond all others--the
spot where heart meets heart in the free confession of a mutual love.
No wonder the African maiden should desire to return to it. Human
nature is everywhere the same. To me this Island is the elysium of
earth!"
"Ah! to me also!"
On giving utterance to this mutual confession, the young husband and
wife bent towards each other, and pressed lips as fervently as if they
had never been married!
After this fond embrace, Herbert continued the reading of the letter.
"Oh!" exclaimed he, when he had perused another portion of the epistle;
"your brother wants to know whether he can either become our tenant or
purchase that piece of land that lies beyond the Jumbe Rock. The old
king has given him a capital to start with, and he wants to turn
coffee-planter."
"I am glad he has such intentions. Then he will settle down, and be
near us."
"He must not be permitted to purchase it. We shall present it to him,
since we have enough without it. What say you, Kate? It is yours, not
mine to give."
"Ah!" returned the young wife, in a tone of playful reproach, "do not
distress me with those sad _souvenirs_. You know that I gave it to you
when I might have believed myself its mistress; and--"
"Stay, dearest. Do not you distress _me_ by such an appeal! You were
its rightful owner, and should have been. Even had we not become joint
proprietors, I could never have thought of dispossessing you. Say,
then, that the land shall be Cubina's!"
A repetition of that sweet embrace pronounced the consent of both to the
proposal of Cubina.
Herbert resumed the reading of the letter. "Good heavens!" cried he, on
finishing its perusal, "what a singular story! The captain of the
slaver, who brought Yola's brother over to Jamaica, has been back again
to the coast. What a terrible retaliation!"
"What, dear Herbert?"
"Only that _they have eaten him_!"
"Oh, merciful Father!"
"Sad and terrible though it be, it is true; else Cubina would not have
written it. Hear what he says:--
"`Jowler'--that was the name of the slaver's captain--`presented himself
before old Foolah-foota, in search of a fresh cargo of slaves. The
king, already apprised of the skipper's treason to Cingues, instantly
ordered him to be seized; and, without trial or other formality, caused
him to be chopped to pieces upon the spot. He was afterwards cooked and
eaten, at the grand national feast, which was held on the celebration of
my nuptials with the princess Yola. _Crambo_! it was a painful scene;
and one might have felt sympathy for the unfortunate wretch, had he been
anything else than a dealer in human flesh; but, under that reflection,
I stood by without feeling any great desire to interfere in his behalf.
In fact, my Fellatah father-in-law was so furious, I could not have
saved the wretch from a fate which, after all, was perhaps not more than
he deserved; and to which, no doubt, the poor victims he had carried
across the Atlantic would have been only too glad to have seen him
consigned.'"
"It is well," said Kate, with a thoughtful air, "that Cubina has
determined upon leaving a land where, I fear, such scenes are too
common. I shall be so happy to see them both once more in our dear,
beautiful Island. And you, Herbert, I am sure, will rejoice at their
return."
"Most certainly I shall. Ah, Kate! did it ever occur to you how much we
are indebted to them?"
"Often, Herbert--often. And were it not that I am a firm believer in
destiny, I should fancy that but for them--"
"Nonsense, Kate!" playfully interrupted the young husband. "None of
your Creole superstitions. There is no such thing as destiny. It was
not that which ruled my heart to believe you the fairest thing in
creation--but because you _are_ so. Don't be ungenerous to Cubina and
Yola. Give them all the credit that is due to them. Say frankly, love,
that but for them you might have become Mrs Smythje, and I--I--"
"Oh, Herbert! speak not of the past. Let that be buried in oblivion,
since our present is everything we can desire!"
"Agreed! But for all that, dearest, do not let us forget the gratitude
we owe to Cubina and his dark-skinned bride. And to prove it to them, I
propose something more than giving them the piece of land. Let us build
them a house upon it; so that upon their arrival they may have a roof to
shelter them."
"Oh, that would be a pleasant surprise for them!"
"Then we shall bring it about. What a lovely morning! Don't you think
so, Kate?"
As Herbert put this interrogatory, he glanced out through the open
jalousies.
There was nothing particularly fine about the morning--at least, for
Jamaica, but Kate saw with Herbert's eyes; and just then, to the eyes of
both, everything appeared _couleur-de-rose_.
"Indeed, a beautiful morning!" answered the young wife, glancing
inquiringly towards her husband.
"What say you, then, to a little excursion, _a pied_?"
"I should be delighted, Herbert. Where do you think of going?"
"Guess now!"
"No--you must tell me."
"You forget. According to Creole custom, our honeymoon is to last for
twelve months. Until that be terminated, you are to be master, sweet
Kate. Where would you most like to go?"
"I have no choice, Herbert. Anywhere. In your company it is all the
same to me. You must decide."
"Well, then, dearest, since you leave it to me, I declare for the Jumbe
Rock. Its summit overlooks the piece of land we intend presenting to
our brother, Cubina. While we are there we can select the site for his
house. Is it agreeable to you?"
"Dearest Herbert," replied the young wife, entwining her arm around that
of her husband's, and gazing fondly into his eyes--"the very place I was
thinking of."
"Why of it? Tell me, Kate!"
"Shame, Herbert! Must I tell you? You know that I have told you
before."
"Tell me again. It gives me pleasure to hear you speak of that hour."
"Hour! scarce a minute was it, and yet a minute worth all the rest of my
life! A minute in which I learnt that the language of your eyes was
truer than that of your tongue! But for that belief, Herbert, I might,
indeed, have yielded to despair. The memory of that sweet glance
haunted me--sustained me through all. Despite all, I continued to
hope!"
"And I, too, Kate. That remembrance is as dear to me as it can be to
you. Let us seek the hallowed spot."
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An hour after, and they stood upon the Jumbe Rock, on that spot so
consecrated in their hearts.
Herbert appeared to have forgotten his purpose. Not a word was said
about Cubina or the site of his dwelling. Not a word of the Happy
Valley, or the unpleasant recollections it was calculated to call up.
All the past appeared to be forgotten, except that one sweet scene; and
on this were concentrated the thoughts of both--their words as well.
"And you loved me then?" inquired he, only to enjoy the luxury of an
affirmative answer. "You loved me then?"
"Oh, Herbert! how could I help loving you? Your eyes were so beautiful
then!"
"What! Are they not so now?"
"How cruel to ask the question! Ah! far more beautiful now! Then I
beheld them only with anticipation; now I look into them with the
consciousness of possession. That moment was pleasure--this is
ecstasy!"
The last word was perfectly appropriate--not a shade too strong to
express the mutual feeling that existed between Herbert Vaughan and his
cousin-wife. As their rounded arms became entwined, and their young
bosoms pressed fondly together, both believed that even in this unhappy
world ecstasy may exist.
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