The Maroon. Reid Mayne
there?”
The language was coarse and common – the manner that of a vulgar man flushed with wine.
“Oh, papa! cousin Herbert is here. He is waiting to see you.”
“Come you here, then! Come at once. Mr Smythje is waiting for you.” And with this imperious rejoinder Mr Vaughan reentered the house.
“Cousin! I must leave you.”
“Yes; I perceive it. One more worthy than I claims your company. Go! Mr Smythje is impatient.”
“It is papa.”
“Kate! Kate! are you coming? Haste, girl! haste, I say!”
“Go, Miss Vaughan! Farewell!”
“Miss Vaughan? Farewell?” Mystified and distressed by those strange-sounding words, the young girl stood for some seconds undecided, but the voice of her father again came ringing along the corridor – now in tones irate and commanding. Obedience could no longer be delayed; and, with a half-puzzled, half-reproachful glance at her cousin, she reluctantly parted from his presence.
Volume One – Chapter Nineteen
A Surly Reception
After the young Creole had disappeared within the entrance, Herbert remained in a state of indecision as to how he should act.
He no longer needed an interview with his uncle, for the sake of having an explanation. This new slight had crowned his convictions that he was there an unwelcome guest; and no possible apology could now retrieve the ill-treatment he had experienced.
He would have walked off on the instant without a word; but, stung to the quick by the series of insults he had received, the instinct of retaliation had sprung up within him, and determined him to stay – at all events, until he could meet his relative face to face, and reproach him with his unnatural conduct. He was recklessly indifferent as to the result.
With this object, he continued in the kiosk – his patience being now baited with the prospect of that slight satisfaction.
He knew that his uncle might not care much for what he should say: it was not likely such a nature would be affected by reproach. Nevertheless, the proud young man could not resist the temptation of giving words to his defiance – as the only means of mollifying the mortification he so keenly felt.
The tones of a harp, vibrating through the far interior of the dwelling, faintly reached the kiosk; but they fell on his ear without any soothing effect. Rather did they add to his irritation: for he could almost fancy the music was meant to mock him in his misery.
But no; on second thoughts, that could not be. Surely, that sweet strain was not intended to tantalise him. He caught the air. It was one equally appropriate to the instrument and to his own situation. It was the “Exile of Erin.”
Presently a voice was heard accompanying the music – a woman’s voice – easily recognisable as that of Kate Vaughan.
He listened attentively. At intervals he could hear the words. How like to his own thoughts!
“‘Sad is my fate,’ said the heart-broken stranger;
‘The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee,
But I have no refuge from famine and danger —
A home and a country remain not to me!’”
Perhaps the singer intended it as a song of sympathy for him? It certainly exerted an influence over his spirits, melting him to a degree of tenderness.
Not for long, however, did this feeling continue. As the last notes of the lay died away in the distant corridor, the rough baritones of the planter and his guest were heard joining in loud laughter – perhaps some joke at the expense of himself, the poor exile?
Shortly after, a heavy footstep echoed along the passage. The door opened; and Herbert perceived it was his uncle, who had at length found time to honour him with an interview.
Though so joyous but the moment before, all traces of mirth had disappeared from the countenance of Loftus Vaughan, when he presented himself before the eyes of his nephew. His face, habitually red, was fired with the wine he had been drinking to the hue of scarlet. Nevertheless, an ominous mottling of a darker colour upon his broad massive brow foretold the ungracious reception his relative was likely to have at his hands.
His first words were uttered in a tone of insolent coolness: —
“So you are my brother’s son, are you?” There was no extending of the hand, no gesture – not even a smile of welcome!
Herbert checked his anger, and simply answered, —
“I believe so.”
“And pray, sir, what errand has brought you out to Jamaica?”
“If you have received my letter, as I presume you have, it will have answered that question.”
“Oh, indeed!” exclaimed Mr Vaughan, with an attempt at cynicism, but evidently taken down by the unexpected style of the reply. “And what, may I ask, do you purpose doing here?”
“Have not the slightest idea,” answered Herbert, with a provoking air of independence. “Have you any profession?”
“Unfortunately, not any.”
“Any trade? – I suppose not.”
“Your suppositions are perfectly correct.”
“Then, sir, how do you expect to get your bread?”
“Earn it, the best way I can.”
“Beg it, more likely, as your father before you: all his life begging it, and from me.”
“In that respect I shall not resemble him. You would be the last man I should think of begging from.”
“S’death! sirrah, you are impertinent. This is fine language to me, after the disgrace you have already brought upon me!”
“Disgrace?”
“Yes, sir, disgrace. Coming out here as a pauper, in the steerage of a ship! And you must needs boast of your relationship – letting all the world know that you are my nephew.”
“Boast of the relationship!” repeated Herbert, with a smile of contempt. “Ha! ha! ha! I suppose you refer to my having answered a question asked me by this pretty jack-a-box you are playing with. Boast of it, indeed! Had I known you then as well as I do now, I should have been ashamed to acknowledge it!”
“After that, sir,” shouted Mr Vaughan, turning purple with rage – “after that, sir, no more words! You shall leave my house this minute.”
“I had intended to have left it some minutes sooner. I only stayed to have an opportunity of telling you what I think of you.”
“What is that, sir? what is that?”
The angry youth had summoned to the top of his tongue a few of the strongest epithets he could think of, and was about to hurl them into his uncle’s teeth, when, on glancing up, he caught sight of an object that caused him to change his intention. It was the beautiful face of the young creole, that appeared through the half-open lattice of the window opposite. She was gazing down upon him and his uncle, and listening to the dialogue with an anguished expression of countenance.
“He is her father,” muttered Herbert to himself; “for her sake I shall not say the words;” and, without making any reply to the last interrogatory of his uncle, he strode out of the kiosk, and was walking away.
“Stay, sir!” cried the planter, somewhat taken aback by the turn things had taken. “A word before you go – if you are going.”
Herbert turned upon his heel and listened.
“Your letter informs me that you are without funds. It shall not be said that a relative of Loftus Vaughan left his house penniless and unprovided. In this purse there are twenty pounds currency of the island. Take it; but on the condition that you say nothing of what has