“He go morrow morning.”
“Ha! so soon! Well, so much the better for us, and maybe for somebody else. You must meet me here to-morrow night. Tell your mistress it concerns herself. No, don’t tell her,” he added, correcting himself, “she will let you come without that excuse; besides, it might be that—never mind! Come, anyhow. I shall be waiting for you at this same hour.”
Yola gave her willing promise to keep an appointment so accordant to her inclinations.
For some time longer the lovers conversed, imparting to each other the ordinary news of life—the details of common things—to be at length succeeded by words only of love, of far, far deeper interest.
Cubina swore eternal truth—by the trees around—by the sky above—by the bright moon, and the blue heavens.
He had done the same a score of times; and as often had he been believed. But lovers never tire of such vows—neither of hearing nor repeating them.
The African maiden answered with promises of faithfulness, alike free, alike fervent. She no longer sighed for her far Gambian home—no more mourned the fate that had torn her from a court to consign her to slavery. The dark hours of her life seemed to have ended; and her future, as her present, was full of hope and bliss!
For more than an hour did the enamoured pair indulge in this sweet converse. They were about to close it with a parting kiss.
The Maroon stood with his strong arms tenderly entwined around the waist of his mistress, who willingly yielded to the embrace. Her slender form, under the shadow of the ceiba, looked like the statue of some Egyptian maiden in bronze antique.
The adieu had been spoken more than once; but still the lovers lingered, as if loth to give the parting kiss. There had been more than one, but not that which was to end the interview.