Ere their lips had met to achieve it, the design was interrupted. Voices fell upon their ears, and two forms emerging into the moonlight at the lower end of the glade, rapidly advanced in the direction of the ceiba.
As if by a common instinct, Cubina and his mistress stepped silently and simultaneously back, retiring together between the buttresses of the tree. There it was dark enough for concealment. Only an eye bent on purposed scrutiny could have detected their presence.
The forms drew near. They were those of a man and a woman. The moonlight shining full upon them, rendered them easy of recognition; but their voices had already declared their identity. Both the intruders were known to both the lovers. They were the Jew Jessuron and the slave Cynthia.
“Crambo!” muttered the Maroon, as he saw who they were. “What on earth can they be doing together, at this time of the night, and here—so far away from any house? Maldito! some wicked business, I warrant.”
By this time the brace of midnight strollers had got opposite to the tree, and the Jew was delivering himself of a speech, which was plainly heard by those who stood concealed in its shadow.
“Now, Cynthy—goot wench!—you hashn’t said yet why he hash sent for me! Do you know what it ish for?”
“I don’t, Mass Jess’ron, unless it be—”
“Unlesh what, wench?”
“Somethin’ ’bout the news I took him afore I come to you, when I went with his basket of provisions—”
“Ah-ha! you took him some newsh—what newsh, girl?”