As the two men turned in the direction of the negro village, a figure started up in the path—having just emerged out of the bushes. In that semblance to the imp of darkness, seen under the distant glare of the conflagration, Herbert recognised his old acquaintance Quashie.
Quashie had already identified him.
“Oh, young massr!” cried the darkey, as he rose to his feet; “de Buff am a-blazin’! It be all burn up!”
“Crambo! tell us something we don’t know!” impatiently demanded Cubina. “Who has set it on fire? Do you know that!”
“Did you see the incendiaries?” hurriedly added Herbert.
“See who, massr?”
“Those who set the house on fire?” inquired Herbert, still speaking with anxious haste.
“Yes—massr, I seed dem—when dey first rush up de front ’tairway.”
“Well—speak quickly—who and what were they? What were they like?”
“Law, massr, dey war like so many debbils. Dey were nigga men, an’ some had mask on dar faces. Folks say it war de Maroon ob de mountains. Black Bet she deny dat, and say no. She say ’twar some robbers of de mountains, an’ dat dey come fo’ carry off—”