“Quasheba! that is a very singular name.”
“Do you think so, cousin? I am sometimes called Quasheba myself—only by the old people of the plantation, who knew my mother. Lilly Quasheba they call me. Papa does not like it, and forbids them.”
“Was your mother an Englishwoman?”
“Oh, no! she was born in Jamaica, and died while I was very young—too young to remember her. Indeed, cousin, I may say I never knew what it was to have a mother!”
“Nor I much, cousin Kate. My mother also died early. But are you my only cousin?—no sisters nor brothers?”
“Not one. Ah! I wish I had sisters and brothers!”
“Why do you wish that?”
“Oh, how can you ask such a question? For companions, of course.”
“Fair cousin! I should think you would find companions enough in this beautiful island.”
“Ah! enough, perhaps; but none whom I like—at least, not as I think I should like a sister or brother. Indeed,” added the young girl, in a reflective tone, “I sometimes feel lonely enough!”