“Ha!” significantly ejaculated the Maroon, while an expression of joy came over his countenance; “what makes you think she don’t love him? Have you a reason, Yola?”
“Missa me say so. She me tell everything, Cubina.”
“You are sure she has said that she don’t love him?”
“She laugh at him—she no care for him. Girl no love one she laugh at—never.”
“Vaya! I hope you will never laugh at me, then! But say, dearest; do you know why she is going to marry Mr Smythje?”
“Massa her make marry. He Mr Mongew very, very rich—he great planter. That why she him go to marry.”
“Ho!—ho!” thoughtfully ejaculated the captain of Maroons. “I suspected there was some compulsion,” continued he, not speaking to his companion, but muttering the words to himself.
“Can you tell me, Yola,” he asked, turning again to his sweetheart; “do you know why your mistress does not like this grand gentleman? Has she told you any reason?”
“Very good reason, Cubina. She another love; that why she Mongew not like.”
“Ah! she’s in love with somebody else! Have you heard who it is, Yola?”