‘But, Quita, my dear, supposing you should be ill in the night, and no one near you!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, I shouldn’t be able to sleep myself for thinking of it. Let me sleep in the next room to yours, my darling. The curtain can be drawn over the open door, and you will be as much alone as if it were shut. And I should be within call if you required me.’
‘No, no,’ replied the girl fretfully. ‘That would be worse than having Jessica in my room, for I should never be certain when you were coming. I want to be alone, mother—really and truly alone—and when the darkness falls, I shall sleep soundly.’
‘Very well, my dear,’ said Mrs Courtney. ‘If it is your whim, you shall be indulged in it, but I shall not dare tell your father that I have consented, or he will insist on sitting up with you himself.’
She kissed her daughter then, and professed to leave her for the night, but she whispered to old Jessica that after she had prepared everything that was necessary, she was to lie down on the mat outside the door of Maraquita’s chamber, and listen to every sound that issued from it.
The old negress obeyed with alacrity. She possessed the faculty, common to coloured people, of staying awake for hours if necessary, and even of sleeping with one eye open. The inner door of her young mistress’s apartment opened on a corridor, paved with marble, but there were two other doors to it which led out to the garden. Jessica sat down on a white bear-skin mat in the corridor, and listened for a possible summons. The night drew on apace. The lamps were extinguished throughout the White House, and the master and mistress had retired to rest. The coloured servants were sleeping on mats in the verandahs, and everything was hushed in silence, when midnight struck from the large clock over the stables. The old negress’s eyes were just about to close in slumber, when she was startled into consciousness again by the fall of a light footstep on the matted bedroom floor. Maraquita had left her bed. Jessica sat up straight and listened. The light step became more palpable. Quita had put on her shoes and stockings, and was passing through the door that led to the plantation. Quick and stealthy as a panther, and almost as noiselessly, old Jessica crept round another way, just in time to see a dark-robed form walking down the path towards the overseer’s bungalow.
‘I thinking so,’ mused the old woman; ‘I sure dat man at de bottom of it! Curse him! He’s stolen away my poor missy’s heart, and brought her into all dis trouble, and now she’s out of it, she can’t rest without him. Ah, if the massa only knew, he’d kill him. And I’ll kill him if he don’t let my missy alone. I’ll make him drink obeah water and he shall die. My poor little missy to go through all dis trouble for a man who don’t care for her no more than he do for Jerusha. If I only tell Jerusha! Dat would finish him once and for ever.’
Meanwhile, Maraquita (for it was indeed she) was making what haste she could towards her lover’s home. She felt very weak as she tried to walk, and her limbs trembled under her, but she would not give in, for her reputation was at stake, and what will a woman not do to save her good name? Henri de Courcelles’ study or room of business was at the back of the bungalow, and he was in the habit of sitting up there late into the night, reading. Well did the poor girl know her way to that room at the back of the house—well did she know her lover’s habits and customs—too well, unfortunately, for her own peace of mind. Henri de Courcelles was surprised and delighted—but not startled—when her slight form passed through the open door, and stood before him. He knew that she would come to him as soon as she was able, but he had hardly expected she would have been able to do so so soon. He leapt from his chair and clasped her in his arms.
‘Quita, my darling,’ he exclaimed, ‘you have returned to me at last!’
The girl did not speak, but she clung to his embrace as if she would never leave it.
‘You are trembling, my dearest! You were imprudent, perhaps, to risk visiting me so soon. Sit down, and let me lie at your feet and hear all you have to tell me.’