But there was at that very moment one upon the ground who might have been better spared—one whose proximity was a thousand times more perilous than that of the harmless Smythje.
As we have said, Cubina had no apprehensions about the return of the robbers; but there was a danger near, and equally to be dreaded—a danger of which neither he nor any of the others could have had even the slightest suspicion.
The Maroon had delivered his report at the kiosk, and with Quashie attending on him, had gone back to the spot where the dead body still rested. He had gone thither to ascertain which of his own men had fallen in the late struggle, and also the better to acquaint himself with the direction which the robbers might have taken.
Just as he had turned his back upon the kiosk, a human figure—gliding so softly that it might have been mistaken for a shadow—passed through the wicket-gate in the rear of the garden, and, with stealthy step, advanced in the direction of the summer-house.
Notwithstanding an ample cloak in which the figure was enveloped, its contour could be distinguished as that of a woman—one of boldly-developed form.
The blaze of the still-burning timbers was no longer constant. At intervals some piece—losing its equilibrium under the effect of the consuming fire—would fall with a crushing sound; to be followed by a fresh glare of light, which would continue for a longer or shorter period of time, according to the circumstances that created it.
Just as the silent figure, approaching along the path, had arrived within a few paces of the summer-house, one of these sudden coruscations arose, lighting up not only the interior of the summer-house, but the whole enclosure to its furthest limits.
Under that light, had anyone been looking rearwards across the garden, they would have beheld a beautiful face—beautiful, yet disfigured by an expression of mingled rage and pain, that rendered it even hideous. It was the face of Judith Jessuron.
It is not necessary to explain why she was there. The fire of jealousy was still burning in her breast—more furiously, more bitterly than ever.
In another instant she had placed herself in a position that commanded a view of the interior of the kiosk.