The interrogatory was put as if suggested by some sudden thought--and the questioner seemed to wait with considerable anxiety for the answer.
"Of hish cousin Kate, you mean?"
"Why, who should I mean!" demanded Judith, bluntly. "There is no other _she_ in Mount Welcome the young fellow is likely to be talking about; nor _you_ either--unless, indeed, you"ve still got that copper-coloured wench in your head. Of course, it"s Kate Vaughan I mean. What says he of her? He must have seen her--short as his visit seems to have been; and, if so, you must have talked about her last night--since you sat late enough to have discussed the whole scandal of the island."
With all this freedom of verbiage, the Jewess seemed not to lose sight of the original interrogatory; and her frequent repet.i.tion of it was rather intended to conceal the interest with which she looked for the answer. If her words did not betray that interest, her looks certainly did: for, as she bent forward to listen, a skilled observer might have detected in her eyes that sort of solicitude which springs from a heart where the love-pa.s.sion is just beginning to develop itself--budding, but not yet blooming.
"True, Shoodith, true," admitted the slave-merchant, thus bantered by his own bold offspring. "The young man did shpeak of hish cousin; for I hash a wish to know what wash hish opinion of her, and ashked him. I wash in hopes he had quarrelled with her too; but, ach! no--he hashn"t-- he hashn"t."
"What might that signify to you?"
"Moch, moch, daughter Shoodith; a great deal."
"You"re a mysterious old man, father Jacob; and, though I"ve been studying you for nearly a score of years, I don"t half understand you yet. But what did he say of Kate Vaughan? He saw her, I suppose?"
"Yesh. He had an interview with her. He saysh she behaved very kind to him. He"sh not angry with _her_. S"help me, no!"
This information appeared to produce no very pleasant impression upon the Jewess; who, with her eyes downcast upon the floor, remained for some moments in a thoughtful att.i.tude.
"Father," she said, in a tone half serious, half in simplicity, "the young fellow has got a bit of blue ribbon in his b.u.t.ton-hole. You have noticed it, I suppose? I am curious to know what he means by wearing that. Is it an order, or what? Did he tell you?"
"No. I notished it; but, ash he shayed nothings about it, I did not ashk him. It"sh no order--nothing of the kind. His father was only a poor artisht."
"I wonder where he procured that piece of ribbon?" said Judith, speaking in a low tone, and half in soliloquy.
"You can ashk him for yourself, Shoodith. There ish no harm in that."
"No, not I," answered Judith, suddenly changing countenance, as if ashamed of having shown the weakness of curiosity. "What care I for him, or his ribbon?"
"No matter for that, Shoodith, dear; no matter for that, if yoush can make him _care for you_."
"Care for _me_! What, father! do you want him to fall in love with me?"
"Joosh that--joosh so."
"For what reason, pray?"
"Don"t ash know. I hash a purpose. You shall know it in good time, Shoodith. You make him in luff with you--over head and earsh, if you like."
The counsel did not appear averse to her who received it. Anything but displeasure was in her looks as she listened to it.
"But what," asked she, after a reflective pause, and laughing as she spake, "what if, in luring him, I should myself fall into the lure?
They say that the tarantula is sometimes taken in its own trap."
"If you succeed in catching your fly, mine goot shpider Shoodith, that won"t signify. So much the better ish that. But fusht catch your fly.
Don"t let go the shtrings of your heart, till you hash secured hish; and then you may do as you pleashe about falling in luff with him. Hush! I hear him coming from hish shamber. Now, Shoodith dear, show him every reshpect. Shower on him your sweetest of shmiles!"
And terminating the dialogue with this parental injunction, Jacob Jessuron walked off to conduct his guest into the great hall.
"Ah! worthy father!" said Judith, looking after him with a singular expression upon her countenance, "for once, you may find me a dutiful daughter; though not for you or your purpose--whatever that may be. I have my suspicion of what it is. No: not for that either--grand destiny as it might be deemed. There is something grander still--a pa.s.sion perilous to play with; and just for that peril shall I play with it.
Ha--he comes! How proud his step! He looks the master, and yon old Israelite his overseer--his book-keeper--ha! ha! ha!"
"Ach!" she exclaimed, suddenly checking her laughter, and changing her smile to a frown; "the ribbon! he wears it still! What can it mean? No matter now! Ere long I shall unravel the skein of its silken mystery-- even if this heart should be torn in the attempt!"
Volume One, Chapter x.x.xIII.
ANOTHER OF THE SAME.
On that same morning, and about the same hour, a scene of remarkable parallelism was pa.s.sing at Mount Welcome. Loftus Vaughan was holding dialogue with his daughter, as Jacob Jessuron with Judith--the subject very similar--the motives of planter and penn-keeper equally mean.
"You have sent for me, papa?" said Kate, entering the great hall in obedience to a summons from her father.
"Yes, Catherine," replied Mr Vaughan, in a tone of unwonted gravity.
The grave tone was not needed. The "Catherine" was enough to tell Kate that her father was in one of his serious moods: for it was only when in this vein, that he ever p.r.o.nounced her baptismal name in full.
"Sit down there," he proceeded, pointing to a fauteuil in front of where he was himself seated. "Sit down, my daughter, and listen: I have something of importance to say to you."
The young lady obeyed in silence, and not without a little of that reluctant _gaucherie_ which patients display when seating themselves in front of a physician, or a naughty child composing itself to listen to the parental lecture.
The natural gaiety of "Lilly Quasheba" was not easily restrained; and though the unusual gravity depicted in her father"s face might have checked it, the formality with which he was initiating the interview had an opposite effect. At the corners of her pretty little mouth might have been observed something that resembled a smile.
Her father did observe something that resembled it.
"Come, Catherine!" said he, reprovingly, "I have called you out to talk over a serious matter. I expect you to listen seriously, as becomes the subject."
"Oh! papa, how can I be serious, till I know the subject? You are not ill, I hope?"
"Tut, no--no. It has nothing to do with my health--which, thank Providence, is good enough--nor yours neither. It is our wealth, not our health, that is concerned--our wealth, Catherine!"
The last phrase was uttered with emphasis, and in a confidential way, as if to enlist his daughter"s sympathies upon the subject.
"Our wealth, papa? I hope nothing has happened? You have had no losses?"
"No, child," replied Mr Vaughan, now speaking in a fond, parental tone; "nothing of the sort, thanks to fortune, and perhaps a little to my own prudence. It is not losses I am thinking about, but gains."
"Gains!"
"Ay, gains--gains, Catherine, which you can a.s.sist me in obtaining."
"I, papa? How could I a.s.sist you? I know nothing of business--I am sure I know nothing."
"Business! ha! ha! It"s not business, Kate. The part which you will have to play will be one of pleasure--I hope so, at least."
"Pray tell me what it is, papa! I am sure I"m fond of pleasure at all times--everybody knows that."
"Catherine!" said her father, once more adopting the grave tone, "do you know how old you are?"
"Certainly, papa! at least, what I have been told. Eighteen--just past last birthday."