“I had intended to have left it some minutes sooner. I only stayed to have an opportunity of telling you what I think of you.”
“What is that, sir? what is that?”
The angry youth had summoned to the top of his tongue a few of the strongest epithets he could think of, and was about to hurl them into his uncle’s teeth, when, on glancing up, he caught sight of an object that caused him to change his intention. It was the beautiful face of the young creole, that appeared through the half-open lattice of the window opposite. She was gazing down upon him and his uncle, and listening to the dialogue with an anguished expression of countenance.
“He is her father,” muttered Herbert to himself; “for her sake I shall not say the words;” and, without making any reply to the last interrogatory of his uncle, he strode out of the kiosk, and was walking away.
“Stay, sir!” cried the planter, somewhat taken aback by the turn things had taken. “A word before you go—if you are going.”
Herbert turned upon his heel and listened.
“Your letter informs me that you are without funds. It shall not be said that a relative of Loftus Vaughan left his house penniless and unprovided. In this purse there are twenty pounds currency of the island. Take it; but on the condition that you say nothing of what has occurred here; and, furthermore, that you keep to yourself that you are the nephew of Loftus Vaughan.”
Without saying a word, Herbert took the proffered purse; but, in the next moment, the chink of the gold pieces was heard upon the gravel walk as he dashed the bag at the feet of his uncle.
Then, turning to the astonished planter, and measuring him with a look that scorned all patronage, he faced once more to the path, and walked proudly away.
The angry “Begone, sir!” vociferated after him, was only addressed to his back, and was altogether unheeded. Perhaps it was even unheard: for the expression in the eyes of the young man told that at that moment his attention was occupied elsewhere.