The Maroon Part 16

Loftus Vaughan was a common man; and the course he had followed--shallow and self-defeating--was proof of an intellect as low as its morality.

By his shabby treatment of his nephew, he was investing that young man with a romantic interest in the eyes of his daughter, that perhaps might never have been felt, or, at all events, not so readily. Misfortune-- especially that which springs from persecution--is a grand suggester of sympathy--that is, when the appeal is made to n.o.ble hearts; and the heart of Kate Vaughan was of this quality.

Moreover, this surrept.i.tious dealing with the poor relative--smuggling him into the house like a bale of contraband goods--was sufficient of itself to pique the curiosity of those whom it was meant to mystify.

So far as Kate Vaughan was concerned, that very effect it produced: for, on leaving the dining-room--from which, to say the truth, she was only too happy to escape--the young girl glided at once to that window that opened out upon the garden; and, parting the lattice with her fingers, looked eagerly through.

In the brief undertone that had pa.s.sed between her father and the overseer, she had heard the command, "Show him to the summer-house."

She knew that the summer-house was within view of her chamber-window.

She was curious to see what in all her life she had never beheld--a _cousin_. Her curiosity was not balked. On looking through the lattice, her cousin was before her eyes--pacing the little apartment as described.

With his braided frock, b.u.t.toned tightly over his breast--glittering Hessian boots on his well-turned limbs--his neat three-cornered hat set lightly over his brown curls--he was not a sight likely to terrify a young girl--least of all a cousin. Even the bold, somewhat fierce, expression upon his countenance--at that moment reflecting the angry emotions that were stirring within him--did not, in the eyes of the young Creole, detract from the beauty of the face she saw before her.

What impression did the sight produce? Certainly not terror--certainly not dislike. On the contrary, she appeared gratified by it: else, why did she continue her gaze, and gaze so earnestly? Why became her eyes filled with fire, and fixed, as by some fascination? Why did her young bosom heave and fall, as if some new, undefinable emotion was for the first time germinating within it?

For some moments she remained in the same att.i.tude, gazing steadfastly and silent. Then, without turning, there escaped from her lips, low murmured, and as if by an involuntary effort, the interrogatory,--"Yola!

is he not beautiful?"

"Beautiful, missa," repeated the maid, who had not yet beheld the object for whom this admiration was meant; "who beautiful?"

"Who? My cousin, Yola."

"You cousin--what cousin, young missa?"

"Look yonder, and see! That's my cousin."

"I see a man."

"Ah! and saw you ever such a man?"

"True, missa; never see man look so--he surely angry, missa?"

"Angry?"

"Berry angry. He go back, he go forward, like hyena in a cage."

"He is only impatient at being kept waiting. My word! I think he looks all the better for it. Ah! see how his eye flashes. Oh! Yola, how handsome he is--how different from the young men of this island. Is he not a beautiful fellow?"

"He curled hair, like Cubina!"

"Cubina! ha! ha! ha! This Cubina must be a very Proteus, as well as an Adonis. Do you see any other resemblance, except in the hair? If so, my cousin may, perhaps, resemble _me_."

"Cubina much darker in de colour ob him skin, missa."

"Ha! ha! that is not unlikely."

"Cubina same size--same shape--'zactly same shape."

"Then I should say that Cubina is a good shape; for, if I know anything of what a man ought to be, that cousin of mine is the correct thing.

See those arms! they look as if he could drag down that great tamarind with them! Gracious me! he appears as if he intended doing it! Surely, he must be very impatient? And, after his coming so far, for papa to keep him waiting in this fas.h.i.+on! I really think I should go down to him myself. What is your opinion, Yola? Would it be wrong for me to go and speak with him? He is my cousin."

"What am cousin, missa?"

"Why, cousin is--is--something like a brother--only not exactly--that is--it's not quite the same thing."

"Brudder! Oh, missa! if he Yola brudder, she him speak; she care not who be angry."

"True, Yola; and if he were my brother--alas! I have none--I should do the same without hesitation. But with a cousin--that's different.

Besides, papa don't like this cousin of mine--for some reason or another. I wonder what he can have against him. I can't see; and surely it can be no reason for _my_ not liking him? And, surely, his being my cousin is just why I should go down and talk to him.

"Besides," continued the young girl, speaking to herself rather than to the maid, "he appears very, very impatient. Papa may keep him waiting-- who knows how long? since he is so taken up with this Mr Montagu What's-his-name! Well, I may be doing wrong--perhaps papa will be angry--perhaps he won't know anything about it! Right or wrong, I'll go! I _shall_ go!"

So saying, the young Creole s.n.a.t.c.hed a scarf from the fauteuil; flung it over her shoulders; and, gliding from the chamber, tripped silently along the pa.s.sage that conducted towards the rear of the dwelling.

Volume One, Chapter XVIII.

THE ENCOUNTER OF THE COUSINS.

Opening the door, and pa.s.sing out, Kate Vaughan paused timidly upon the top of the stairway that led down into the garden. Her steps were stayed by a feeling of bashful reserve, that was struggling to restrain her from carrying out a resolve somewhat hastily formed.

Her hesitancy was but the matter of a moment; for on the next--her resolution having become fixed--she descended the stairs, and advanced blus.h.i.+ngly towards the kiosk.

Herbert had not quite recovered from surprise at the unexpected apparition, when he was saluted by the endearing interrogatory,--"Are you my cousin?" The question, so _naively_ put, remained for a moment unanswered: for the tone of kindness in which it was spoken had caused him a fresh surprise, and he was too much confused to make answer.

He soon found speech, however, for the hypothetical reply:--

"If you are the daughter of Mr Loftus Vaughan--"

"I am."

"Then I am proud of calling myself your cousin. I am Herbert Vaughan-- from England."

Still under the influence of the slight which he believed had been put upon him, Herbert made this announcement with a certain stiffness of manner, which the young girl could not fail to notice. It produced a momentary incongeniality, that was in danger of degenerating into a positive coolness; and Kate, who had come forth under the promptings of an affectionate instinct, trembled under a repulse, the cause of which she could not comprehend.

It did not, however, hinder her from courteously rejoining:--

"We were expecting you--as father had received your letter; but not to-day. Papa said not before to-morrow. Permit me, cousin, to welcome you to Jamaica." Herbert bowed profoundly. Again the young creole felt her warm impulses painfully checked; and, blus.h.i.+ng with embarra.s.sment, she stood in an att.i.tude of indecision.

Herbert, whose heart had been melting like snow under a tropic sun, now became sensible that he was committing a rudeness; which, so far from being natural to him, was costing him a struggle to counterfeit.

Why should the sins of the father be visited on the child--and such a child?

With a reflection kindred to this, the young man hastened to change his att.i.tude of cold reserve.

"Thanks for your kind welcome!" said he, now speaking in a tone of affectionate frankness; "But, fair cousin, you have not told me your name."

"Catherine--though I am usually addressed by the shorter synonym, Kate."

"Catherine! that is a family name with us. My fathers mother, and your father's, too--our grandmamma--was a Catherine. Was it also your mother's name?"