Читать «Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid» онлайн - страница 696

That conditional phrase – “We may be too late!” – spoken as he urged his horse along the road; repeated as he came within sight of the burning mansion – once more found utterance on his lips; but now more emphatically and with a far more fearful significance.

His was a situation to stir the soul to its profoundest depths. Even had the victim of the vile abduction been no more than his cousin, he could not have failed to feel keenly the danger that threatened her.

But now that he viewed Kate Vaughan in another and very different light – certain, from what Cubina had told him, that she reciprocated his love – under the influence of this sentiment, his distress was tenfold greater. So late, too, had he become possessed of that knowledge – so sweet had been the ecstasy it produced – that the sudden revulsion was all the more dreadful to endure.

While murmuring the words “We may be too late,” he dare scarce trust himself to give thought to the form of danger whose dread was thus hypothetically predicted.

Cubina, though, perhaps, a little less anxious than before, was equally earnest in the pursuit; and, indeed, every one of the Maroon band showed to some extent the feelings of painful apprehension that actuated their leader, whom they knew to be the friend of the young Englishman. No one showed a disposition to lag. All were alike eager to aid in the rescue of the unfortunate young lady, known to most of them, and honoured by those to whom she was known.

The horses had been left behind. On the steep and tangled path, they would have been only an encumbrance.

Perhaps, never before, by man on foot, had that path been traversed in so short a space of time. There was no delay on account of the darkness. As if by Divine favour, the moon had opportunely arisen, just as they were passing through the wicket-gate, and by her light they were able to proceed without pause or interruption. No stop was made anywhere, till the pursuers stood upon the edge of the Duppy cliff, and looked down into that dark abysm, where they hoped to find the spoiler and his victim.

Scarce a moment there, either. One after another they descended the tree stairway, Cubina going first, Herbert next, the others following, with like rapidity.

With the instinct of trained hunters all made the descent in silence. Only on arriving at the bottom of the cliff did an exclamation escape from the lips of their chief – Cubina.

The sight of a canoe, drawn up under the bushes, had elicited this exclamation – which expressed surprise mingled with disappointment.

Herbert saw the canoe almost at the same instant of time, but without drawing the inference that had caused Cubina to utter that cry. He turned to the latter for an explanation.

“The canoe!” whispered Cubina, pointing down to the little craft half hidden under the leafy branches.

“I see it,” said Herbert, also speaking in a whisper. “What does it signify?”

“They have gone out again.”

“Oh, heavens!” cried Herbert, in an accent of anguish, the more expressive from the low tone in which the words were uttered. “If that be so, then we are too late – she is lost! – lost!”