“Well, my love, there’s one not far off; he that I said I had captured this morning—only a little while ago. And I’ll tell you why I’ve kept him here: because I fancied that he was like yourself, Yola.”
“Like me?”
“Yes; and that is why I felt for the poor fellow something like pity: since it is to this cruel old Jew he belongs. From what I can make out, he must be one of your people; and I’m curious to know what account he will give of himself.”
“He Foolah, you think?” inquired the African maiden, her eyes sparkling with pleasure at the anticipation of seeing one of her own race.
“Yes; I am as good as sure of that. In fact, he has called himself a Foolah several times, though I can’t make out what he says. If he is one of your tribe, you will be able to talk to him. There he is!”
Cubina had by this time conducted his sweetheart round the tree, to that side on which the runaway was concealed between the two spurs.
The young man was still crouching within the angle, close up to the trunk of the ceiba. The moment the two figures came in front of him, and his eyes fell upon the face of the girl, he sprang to his feet, uttering a cry of wild joy. Like an echo, Yola repeated the cry; and then both pronouncing some hurried phrases in an unknown tongue, rushed together, and became folded in a mutual embrace!
Cubina stood transfixed to the spot. Surprise—something more—held him speechless. He could only think:—
“She knows him! Perhaps her lover in her own land!”
A keen pang of jealousy accompanied the thought.