“What! the Jew?”
“Jacob Jessuron, Esquire.”
“You think so, Trusty?” inquired Mr Vaughan, with an earnest and gratified look. “Has the young fellow said anything?”
“No,” answered the overseer; “it’s not anything he has said. I heard something a day or two ago about a runaway the Maroons have got among them—a slave belonging to the Jew. It appears they don’t want to give him up.”
“Whom did you hear it from?”
“Why, not exactly from any one, your worship. I should rather say I overheard it, quite by accident. One of the Trelawney Maroons—a big fellow that comes down here occasionally after Black Bet—was telling her something. I was passing Bet’s cabin, and heard him talking about this runaway.”
“Don’t want to give him up! And for what reason do they refuse?”
“Can’t tell, your worship. I could only make out part of the conversation.”
“So you think it’s about that the young fellow has come?”
“I think it likely, your worship. He’s close, however, and I couldn’t get a word out of him about his business. He says he must see you.”