Smythje was not without a purpose in the proposed ascent to the natural observatory of the Jumbé Rock. In that hour when all the earth would be in chiaro-oscuro—as if shrouded under the pall of infinity—in that dark and solemn hour, Smythje had determined upon popping the question!
Why he had selected such a place and time—both pre-eminently sombre—must for ever remain a mystery. He may have been under an impression that the poetical reputation of the place, combined with the romantic solemnity of the scene and the hour, might exercise a dissolving influence over the heart of the young Creole, and incline her to an affirmative answer. Or, perhaps, au fait as he was to theatrical contrivances, he may have drawn his idea from something he had seen upon the stage, and chosen his climax accordingly.
Some two hours before the expected contact between the limbs of the two great luminaries—in time to allow of leisurely walking—Smythje started out for the Jumbé Rock, of course accompanied by Kate Vaughan.
Attendants there were none; for the exquisite, on such an occasion, preferred being alone; and had so signified—declining the sable escort which his host had provided.
The morning was one of the fairest. The sun was still shining brightly. Not a speck could be distinguished upon the azure arch of a West-Indian sky; and the scenes through which the path conducted Mr Smythje and his fair companion were among the loveliest to be found in the domain of Nature.
Around the dwelling of Mount Welcome—in its gardens and parterres—the eye delighted to dwell upon a variety of vegetable forms, both indigenous and exotic—some planted for shade; some for the beauty of their blossoms; and others for their fruit. There could be seen the genip, the tamarind of Oriental fame, palms of several species, the native pawpaw, and the curious trumpet-tree. Distinguished for their floral beauties, were the cordia, the oleander, and South-Sea rose, the grand magnolia, and the perfumed Persian lilac. Bearing luscious fruits, were the cashew, the mango, and Malay apple; the sop, the guava, with every variety of the citron tribe—as oranges, lemons, limes, and the huge shaddock.
Climbing the standard trunks, and twining around the branches, were parasites of many species—rare and beautiful flowering plants: as the wax-like hoya carnosa, the crimson quamoclit, barsavolas, ipomeas, and other magnificent orchids.
It was a scene to stir the soul of a botanist to enthusiastic admiration; resembling a vast botanical garden—some grand house of palms, having for its roof the azure canopy of heaven.
To the eyes of the young creole—all her life accustomed to look upon those fair vegetable forms—there was nothing in the sight of them to beget astonishment; and the Cockney cared but little for trees. His late adventure had cured him of all inclination for a forest life; and, in his eyes, a cabbage-palm was of no more interest than a cabbage.
Smythje, however, was not unmusical. Constant attendance at the opera had, to some extent, attuned his soul to song; and he could not help expressing some surprise at the melody of the Western songsters—so much misrepresented and maligned.