The Maroon. Reid Mayne

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 fashion! 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 snatched a scarf from the fauteuil; flung it over her shoulders; and, gliding from the chamber, tripped silently along the passage that conducted towards the rear of the dwelling.

      Volume One – Chapter Eighteen

      The Encounter of the Cousins

      Opening the door, and passing 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 blushingly 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 naïvely 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, blushing with embarrassment, she stood in an attitude 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 attitude 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?”

      “No; my mother was called Quasheba.”

      “Quasheba! that is a very singular name.”

      “Do you think so, cousin? I am sometimes called Quasheba myself – only by the old people of the plantation, who knew my mother. Lilly Quasheba they call me. Papa does not like it, and forbids them.”

      “Was your mother an Englishwoman?”

      “Oh, no! she was born in Jamaica, and died while I was very young – too young to remember her. Indeed, cousin, I may say I never knew what it was to have a mother!”

      “Nor I much, cousin Kate. My mother also died early. But are you my only cousin? – no sisters nor brothers?”

      “Not one. Ah! I wish I had sisters and brothers!”

      “Why do you wish that?”

      “Oh, how can you ask such a question? For companions, of course.”

      “Fair cousin! I should think you would find companions enough in this beautiful island.”

      “Ah! enough, perhaps; but none whom I like – at least, not as I think I should like a sister or brother. Indeed,” added the young girl, in a reflective tone, “I sometimes feel lonely enough!”

      “Ah!”

      “Perhaps, now that we are to have guests, it will be different. Mr Smythje is very amusing.”

      “Mr Smythje! Who is he?”

      “What! you do not know Mr Smythje? I thought that you and he came over in the same ship? Papa said so; and that you were not to be here until to-morrow. I think you have taken him by surprise in coming to-day. But why did you not ride out with Mr Smythje? He arrived here only one hour before you, and has just dined with us. I have left the table this moment, for papa and him to have their cigars. But, bless me, cousin! Pardon me for not asking – perhaps you have not dined yet?”

      “No,” replied Herbert, in a tone that expressed chagrin, “nor am I likely to dine here, to-day.”

      The storm of queries with which, in the simplicity of her heart, the young Creole thus assailed him, once more brought back that train of bitter reflections, from which her fair presence and sweet converse had for the moment rescued him. Hence the character of his reply.

      “And why, cousin Herbert?” asked she, with a marked air of surprise. “If you have not dined, it is not too late. Why not here?”

      “Because,” – and the young man drew himself proudly up – “I prefer going without dinner to dining where I am not welcome. In Mount Welcome, it seems, I am not welcome.”

      “Oh, cousin – !”

      The words, and the appealing accent, were alike interrupted. The door upon the landing turned upon its hinge, and Loftus Vaughan appeared in the doorway.

      “Your father?”

      “My father!”

      “Kate!”