This was the substance of Cynthia’s report; and having been well rewarded for the communication, the mulatta returned to Mount Welcome.
Notwithstanding the gratification which her news afforded, it was far from tranquillising the spirit of Jacob Jessuron.
The absence of Herbert Vaughan still continued—still unexplained; and as the hours passed and night drew near, without any signs of his return, Jessuron—and it may be said Judith as well—became more and more uneasy about his disappearance.
Judith was puzzled as well as pained. Her suspicion that Herbert had had an appointment with his cousin Kate had been somewhat shaken, by what she had seen—as well as what she had not seen: for on leaving the Jumbé Rock she had not ridden directly home. Instead of doing so, she had lingered for a length of time around the summit of the mountain, expecting Herbert to show himself. As she had neither encountered him, nor any traces of him, she was only too happy to conclude that her surmises about the meeting were, after all, but fancy; and that no assignation had been intended. Kate’s coming up to the Jumbé Rock was a little queer; but then Smythje had followed her, and Judith had not heard that part of the conversation which told that his being there was only an accident—the accident of having discovered the retreat to which the young Creole had betaken herself.
These considerations had the effect of soothing the jealous spirit of the Jewess; but only to a very slight extent: for Herbert’s absence was ominous—the more so, thought Judith, as she remembered a conversation that had lately passed between them.
Nor did she feel any repentance for the dark deed she had designed, and would certainly have executed, but for the well-timed appearance of Smythje upon the scene. The words which had fallen from the lips of Kate Vaughan had been a sufficient clue to her reflections; and though he whose name she had mentioned was not present in person, the Jewess did not doubt that he, and only he, was the subject of that soliloquy.
There might have been remorse for the deed, had it been accomplished; but there was no repentance for the design. Jealousy, bitter as ever in the breast of Judith, forbade this.
Judith’s return did not make the matter any clearer to Jessuron. She had no story to tell, except that which she deemed it more prudent to keep to herself. Her not having encountered Herbert during her ride, only rendered his absence more difficult of explanation.