HERALD; PLATTSMOUTH NEHR'EA 2E?TEM3rH 18,
' p.
.LVOV.
THE OCTOROON
MTOItr Or BLjirKJlY DATS.
BY MISS M. E. 13KADDON.
C1IAPTEB IX.
EITHER Cora
nor Toby was
ware that thero
had been a lis
tener during tho
latter part of
their conversa
tion ; but it was
not the lens a fact.
Gerald Leslie had
returned unob
served by either
of the excited
speakers, and, ar
rested by the passionate gestures of the
mulatto slave, had lingered in the back
ground, anxious to dlbcover the cause of
his agitation.
Ills anger was terrible when he found
that the fatal eocret which it had been
the business of his life to conceal from
Cora, was now revealed. But he still lin
gered, anxious to hear all.
"Toby," murmured Cora, rising from
her knees; "tell me where did thoy bury
my mother T"
. "Her grave Is half hidden in the thick
est depths of a wood of magnolias upon
the borders of Silas Craig's plantation. I
carved a rustic cross ana placed it at the
head."
"lou will conduct mo -to the fpot,
Toby?" asked Cora.
At this moment Gerald Leslie rushed
forward, and, springing toward Toby,
lifted his riding-whip as if about to strike
the mulatto, when Cora Hung herself be
tween them.
"Strike me rather than him 1" she ex
claimed ; then turning to the elave, she
said quietly, "Go, Toby 1 I swear to
you that while I live- none shall harm so
much as a hair of your head."
The mulatto lingered for a moment,
looking imploringly at Gerald Leslie.
"Forgive me, master, if I have spoken,"
he murmured pleadingly.
"I will not have you excuse yourself,"
said Cora. "You have only done youi
duty. Go!"
Toby bent his head and slowly retired.
Cora stood motionless, her arms folded,
her eyes fixed upon Gerald Leslie.
"Well," she said, "why do you not
strike mo? Who am I that your hand
has not already chastised my insolenco?
Your daughter? No! The cnild of Fran
cilia, a quadroon, a slave ! Prove tome,
sir, that I am before my master; for if I
am Indeed your daughter, I demand of
an account of your conduct to my
mother."
"You accuse me ! You, Cora I" ex
claimed Gerald Leslio.
"I am ungrateful, am I not?" Yes, an
other father would .have allowed this
ciina to grow up to slavery ; wnno you,
ashamed of your paternal love, as if it
had been a crime, you tore me from my
mother's arms, in order that I might for
get her ; in order to withdraw mo from !
the curso which rested upon mo ; to ef
face, if possible, the last traeo of this
fatal stain I"
"What could I have done more than
this, Cora?"
"You could have refrained from giving
me life ! You sent me to England ; you
caused me to be educatod like a princess.
Do you know what they taught mo in
that free country? They taught mo
that the honor of every man, the love
of every mother, are alike sacrod."
"It is. then, with my affection that you
would reproach me!" replied Gerald Les
lie mournfully. "I would have saved
you, and you accuse me, as if that wish
had been a crime ! I snatcned you from
the abyss that yawnod before your in
fant feet, and in return you curse me 1
Oh, remember, Cora, remember the cares
which I lavished upon you ! Remember
my patient submission to your childish
caprices ; the happiness I felt In all your
baby Joys; my pride when your little
arms were twined about my neck, and
your rosy lips responded to my kisses !"
No, no 1" exclaimed Cora ; "do not re
mind me of these things. I would not
remember them, for every embrace I be
stowed upon you was a theft from my
unhappy mother."
"Your mother! Hold, girl! do not
speak to me of her ! for though I feel that
she was innocent of the hazard of her
birth, I could almost hate her for having
transmitted to yon one drop of the &
ennsod blood w!i U.h flowed in h?r ve-iB."
"Your hatred was 8at.'.s3d, replied
Cora bitterly. "Yon sold hor. The par ,
ohase-monoy whioh you received for her
perhaps served to pay lor the costly
dresses which you bestowed upon mol
The diamonds which have glittered upon
my neck and arms wore perhaps bought
with tho price of my mother's blood !"
"Have a care, Cora ! Buwaro how you
goad mo to desperation. I havo tried to
forget nay, I have forgotten that that
blood was your own ! Do not force me to
remember !"
"And what if I do remind you ! what
would you do with m?'' asked Cora.
"Would you send me to your plantation
to labor beneath the burning sun, and
4Ie before my time, worn out with super
human toll? No! sell me rather. You
may thus repair your ruined fortunes.
Are you aware that one of your creditors.
Augustus Horton, offered, not an hour
ago, the fifty thousand dollars that j-ou
owe him at the price of your daughter's
honor?"
"Oh, Heaven !" exclaimed Gerald Les
lie ; "all this is too terriblo !" and flinging
himself upon hia knees at Cora's fret, he
clasped hir hands passionately in his
own. "Cora, Cora, have pity upon me I
What would you ask of me? What
would you have me to do? My crime is
the crime of all. Is the punishment to
fall upon me alone? Am I alone to suf
fer? I, who have sacrlliced my honor
yes, Cora, my honor as a colonist to the
claim of paternal lovo? Do you know
that every cit lzen in New Orleans would
blame and ridicule me for my devotion to
you? Do you know that I am even
amenable to the laws of Louisiana for
having dared to educate your mind and
enlighten your understanding? See, I
am on my knees at your feet. I, your
father, humiliate myself to the very dust 1
Do not eccujo me; in mercy, do not ac
cuse me !"
Cora's beautiful face was pale as ashes,
her large dark eyes distended, but tear
less. "Upon my knees, beside my mother's
grave" she said, solemnly, "I will ask
her spirit if I can forgive you."
She released herself from ber father's
grasp, and hurried into the houeo before
he could arrest hor. The planter ioe
from the ground and looked mournfully
after his daughter, but he did not at
tempt to follow her.
Later in the evening Gerald Leslie re
turned to New Orleans, and spent tho
long hours of tho night alone in his soli
tary offlco face to face with ruin and
despair.
The one crime of his youth had rlson
to torture, h!s remorseful eo'd truisHv
and horriDle shaddw; it "pursued tie sig
ner 1b every place ; it appeared at every
moment. Itepeatanoe only could lay the
fhantom at rest, sad he was now only
earning to repent.
He had never before looked upon his
ooaduot to the beautiful quadroon, Fran
cilla. in the light of a crime. What bad
he done which was not done every day
by others? What was she, lovely and
Innocent being as she win, but a slave
hie property bought with his sordid
gold his to destroy as he pleased?
Ber melancholy death he looked upon
ae an unhappy accident, for which he
himself was in no way responsible. That
I crime rested udod Silas Crate's over
burdened soul.
Gerald Leslie utterly forgot that had
he not been heartless enough to sell the
mother of his only child, this cruel fate
would never have been hers.
But now the oonsequenoes of his
crime had overtaken him in a manner he
had never dreamed of; Cora, his be
loved, his Idolized child, accused and
cursed him as the murderer of her
mother.
It was too horrible.
lie dared not remain at the summer
pavilion. He dared not meet the re
proachful glances of those eyes which
appeared to him as the ghostly orbs of
the late Francllla. No, alone in his of
fice, surrounded only by the evidences
of commerce, and the Intricate calcula
tions of trade, he endeavored to forget
that he had a daughter, and a daughter
who no longer loved him.
And where all this time was Cora?
With the Venetian shutters of her apart
ment closed ; with the light of day ex
cluded from her luxurious apartment,
she lay with her bead buried in the
satin cushions of her couoh, weeping for
the mother whose mournful face she
could scarcely recall weeping for the
father whose youthful sins aho so lately
learned.
Bitter, bitter were tho thoughts of the
young girl, whose life had heretofore
boon one long summer sunshine.
She, the courted, the caressed, the
admired beauty of a London season
she was a slave an Octoroon a few
drops only of the African race were
enough to taint her nature and change
the whole ourrent of her life.
Her father loved her, but he darod
only love her in secret. The proud col
onists would have laughed aloud at the
planter's affection for his half-caste
daughter. And he, too, Gilbert Mar
grave, the poet painter; he, whose every
glance and every word had breathed of
admiration, almost touching upon tho
borders of love ; he would doubtless ere
long know all ; and he, too, oh, bitter
misery, would despise and loathe her I
CHAPTER X.
AMILLIA and
Paul Lisimon
were no longer
children. T h e
young helre.,3
had attained hor
nineteenth year,
while Don Juan's
protege was, as
our readers are
aware, two years
her senior.
Panl still lived
at t he Villa Maro
quito. Ho oc
cupied a small
but. neatly fur
nished apartment
..7i-, ;; IJ
upon tho upper floor. Hero were ar
ranged the books he loved ; hero lie
often sat absorbed in study till the early
morning hours sounded from tho clocks
of New Orleans, and the palo stars faded
in tho purple river.
Deep in tho qulot night, when all the
household were sleeping; when the
faintest footfall awoke a ghostly echo in
the awful 6tlllness of the house, the
young student, forgetful of the swiftly-
passing hours, tolled on, a steady trav
eler on tho stony road which leads to
greatness.
It was to Silas Craig, the attorney,
that Don Juan Maraquitos had articled
his protege, much to the dislike of the
young man, who had a peculiar aversion
to tne usurer.
"Let me be with any other lawyer In
New Orleans rather than that man," he
said; "I can never tell you how deep a
contempt I have for his character."
Don Juan laughed aloud.
"His character I my dear Paul," he re
plied, "what in mercy's name have you
to do with the man's character? Silas
Craig is a hypocrite ! a profligate, who
covers his woist vices with the all-sheltering
cloak of religion. Granted! He
Is net the less one o the cleverest law
yers in New Orleans, and the fittest
person to be intrusted with the cultiva
tion of your splendid intellect."
Those conversations were perpetually
recurring between Don Juan and hia
protege prior to the signing of the arti
cles which were to bind Paul Lisimon to
the detested attorney; and tho young
man, finding that all his remonstrances
were in vain, and fearing that if he ob
jeolcd loo strongly to being articled to
Si!a '' ; the business would terminate
in : - i -Jig compelled to lend a life ol
he; -lienors i:ia;,t' no further difH-
;!;' ! i the matter; and some weeks
after - igning of the articles, he took
hiu e! o i the office of Air. Craig.
It was not long before Paul Lisimon
discovered that there was a decided dis
inclination on the part of the attorney to
initiate him even in the merest rudimenti
of his profession. He might have sat in
the office reading the paper and lolling
In a rocking chair all day if he had
pleased, but whenever he sought for em
ployment he was put off with some ex
cuse or other, more or less plausible.
An idle young man would have been
delighted with this easy life not so
Paul Lisimon. Kind and liberal as Don
Juan Moraquitos had been to him, the
proud spirit of the young man revolted
against a life of dependence. He yearned
not only to achieve a future career, but
to repay the obligations of the paet
to erase the stain of dependence from
his youth ; to pay for the education
which had been given him by favor.
Thus, where another would havo rejoiced
in the idleness of Silas Craig's office;
where another would have abandoned
himself to the dissipated pleasures that
abound in such a city as New Orleans ;
where aaother would havo enatched the
tempting chalice which youthful passion
offered to his lips, Tanl Lisimon, iu very
defiance of his employer, slowly but
surely advanced in the knowledge of the
profession whose ranks he was predes
tined to join.
SLrauire to say, Don Juan, instead of
praislDg and encouraging the industry
of his protege, laughed and ridiculed
him for his determined labors.
"i'miare the most extraordinary young
man I ever met with, Paul," said the
Spaniard. "Where, others of your ago
will bo haunting the gaming-house,
which, iu spite of our laws for their sup
pression, secretly exist in New Orleans
where others would be nighly visitants
of the theater and the cafe, you are for
ever brooding over those stupid book."
"Other men are perhaps-born to for
tune," answered Paul, with quiet dig-
4 Ms,
VI I
i
aeex sir. x nave to
achieve it.
"Nay, Taul ; how do yon know what
Intentions a certain elderly Spanish
gentleman may have with regard to a
doeument called a will?"
"Heaven forbid, eir," replied Paul,
"that I should ever seek to fathom those
Intentions ; and if you allude to yourself,
permit roe to take this opportunity of de
claring that I would not aooept one dol
lar, even were your misguided generos
ity to seek to bequeath It to me.
"Santa Maria, Mr. Lisimon, and why
not, pray?" asked Don Juan laughing at
the young man's impetuosity.
"Because I would not rob her who has
the eole claim upon your fortune."
"My little Camlllla; she will be rich
enough In all conscience. Ah, Paul,"
added the Spaniard, looking somewhat
eearohlngly at Lisimon, "it le a serious
matter for a father to have such m
daughter as Camilla Moraquitos to dls-
Joee of; a beauty and an heiress ! Where
n all New Orleans shall I find the man
rich enough or noble to be her hus
band?" Paul Lisimon winced as If he had re
ceived a thrust from a dagger.
"You will consult your daughter's
heart, sir, I trust" he murmured hesitat
ingly, "even before " the elalms ol
wealth?"
The old Spaniard's brow darkened,
and hi somber blaok eyes fixed them
selves upon Paul's face with a sinister
and penetrating gaze that boded
little good to the young man. No more
was said upon the subject between the
two men. Paul did not relax bis indus
try by one Iota after this conversation.
The enervating pleasures of the rich
could not win him from the stern routine
of toil and study.
Perhaps the reader has already guessed
the fatal truth,
Paul Lisimon, the unknown dependent
upon a rich man's bounty, the penniless
lad who knew not even the names of his
parents, or of the coutttry which had
given him birth Paul lova the peerless
daughter of the wealthy Pan Juan Mora
quitos; and was it to no wondered that
he loved her?
From her childhood he had seen her
daily, and had seen her every day more
beautiful moro accomplished.
She possessed, it Is true, much of the
pride of her father's hauurhty race: but
chat prion was teiupereu Ty lije sweet
ness of Olympia Crivelli; and it was a
high and onerous sentiment that led
the young girl to hate a meanness or a
falsehood with even a deeper loathing
than she would have felt for a crime.
But to Paul Lisimon, Camlllla was
never proud. To him she was all gentle
ness; all confiding affection. The very
knowledge of his dependence, which had
been dinned into her ears by Don Juan,
rendered her only the more anxious to
evince a sister-like devotion which should
tako the sting from his position.
Instinctively she knew, that 6pite of
all outward seeming that position was
galling to tho proud boy. Instinctively
sho folt that nature in exeating Paul
Lisimon had never intended him to fill a
subordinate position. Ho was one of
thoMO who are born for greatness, and
who, constrained by tho cruel trammels
of ciroumstances, and unable to attain
their propor level, perish in the flower of
youth, withered by the blighting hand
of despair.
So died the poet Chatterton, a victim
to the sulcido's rash madness. So dies
many a neglected genius, whose name is
never heard by posterity.
Paul loved tho heiress ; loved her from
the first hour in which 6be had soothed
his boyish anguish at tho loss of his pa
tron Don Tomaso; loved hor in the tran
quil years of their youthful studies ; loved
her with tho deep devotion of manhood,
when his matured passion burst forth in
its full force, and the flickering light be
came an unquenchable and steady flame.
He did not love in vain.
No, as years passed on, and the bud
changed to the lovely blossom. Camilla's
feelings changed toward her father's
protege. No longer could she greet him
with a 6ister's calm smile of welcome.
The ardent gaze of his dark eyes brought
the crimson blush to her cheek and
brow ; her slender hand trembled -when it
rested in his trembled responsive to the
thrill which shook the young man's
strong frame ; her voice faltered as ehe
addressed him, and her Southern eyes
veiled themselves beneath their shelter
ing lashes, and daied not uj14ft them
selves to his.
She loved hhn !
Happy and cloudless sunshine oi
youth. They loved, and earth became
transformed into a puradise the sky a
roof of sapphire glory ; the sunny river a
flood of melted diamonds. The maglo
wand of the young blind god, Cupid,
changed all things round them Into
splendor.
They dreamed not of the future. They
thought not of the stern polisy of a
father, Implacable In tho pride of wealth.
No, the distant storm-cloud was hidden
from their radiant eyes.
"My Camillia I" exclaimed the young
man ; "think you I can fail to achieve
greatness when your lovo i to be the
crown of the struggle? Think you I can
falter on the road that leads to success,
when your eyes will be the loadstars to
guide my way?"
The reader will see, therefore, that
love and ambition went hand in hand in
the soul of Paul Lisimon, and that higher
motives than the mere lust of gain, or
even the hope of glory, beckoned him on
to victory.
It Is not to be expected that Camillia
Moraquitos was without suitors amongst
the higher olasaes of New Orleans.
Had she been blind, lame, hump
backed, red-haired, a vixen, or a fury,
there would yet, doubtless, have been
hundreds ready to kneel before the
charms of her father's wealth, anU to de
clare the heiress an angel. But when
it is remembered that her future fortune
was only exceeded by her glorious beauty,
it will be thought little marvel that she
had a host of admirers ever ready to
flock around her at her father's soirees,
to attend her in her drives, to haunt her
box at the opera or the theater, and to
talk of her beauty in all the coffee-houses
of New Orleans. Our readers must re
member that there is much in this chief
cltv of Louisiana which resembles rathe
a French than an English town. The in
habitants are many of them of French
extraction. Tho coffee-houses or cafes
as they are called resemble those of
Paris ; tto gambling-houses and theaters
are Parisian in arrangements, and the
young men of the upper classes have
much of the polish of our Gallic neigh
bors, mingled with not a little of their
frivolity.
Amongst the many suitors for the hand
of 1'amihia Moraquitos was no less a per
son than Augustus Horton.
But the young planter d-id not love the
bpani-h beauty ; there was something ter
ribly repel. ent in the haughty spirit of
Camillia to those whom she did not love,
and Augustus Horton'-? pride was wounded
by the thought thnt .is attentions could
possibly be Ii-greeable to any woman
whom he condescended to honor by a
preference. Itv.-a- r.ot love, therefore,
wl.ii'h marie him so constant in attend
ance on the yoong beauty. No; mer- j
cenary motives, ruinjied with the obstin- i
nicy ; --reinemver,
wvJT oi tj cruuu-a priae. rut -wtraia
confess, even to himself, that there was
any fear of his falling to obtain the prise.
He despleed the young fops who whis
pored soft speeches and high-flown com
pliments Into the unheeding ear of the
dlsdaiaful girl, and, thinking these his
only rivals, dreamt not of defeat.
In all the planter's visits to the Villa
Moraquitos he sad never yet met Faul
ueunon.
The young Mexican scrupulously held
hlmeei!.&loof from the rich and frivolous
splendid mansion.
In Tain did the Spaniard bid his pro
tege to loin In the festivities of the villa,
In vain did Camillia reproach her lover
with coldness and neglect. Paul was In
exorable. "No, Camlllla, he said, when the
young girl remonstrated with him.
should hear your father's guests ack each
other In the superb disdain of their Creole
Insolence, 'Who is this Mr. Lisimon?'
I wait the time, Camillia, when my own
exertions shall have made this simple
and now unknown name of Lisimon
familiar to everv citizen of New Orleans."
While the soft echoes of piano and
guitar floated through the luxurious
saloons; while the rich contralto voice
of Cacnlllia. mingling with the chords of
her guitar, enchanted her obsequious
listeners, Paul tolled in his lonely cham
ber, only looking up now and then from
his books and papers, to listen for a
few brief moments to the sounds of rev
elry and laughter below.
"Laugh on 1" he exclaimed, as a sar
castic smile curved his finely-molded
lips ; "laugh on, frivolous and Ignorant
ones whisper unmeaning compliments,
and murmur inanities to my peerless Ca
millia I I do not fear you ; for it le not
thus Bhe will be won.
Augustus Horton was a rich man ; he
bolongod to one of the bost families In
New Orleans, and the old Spaniard knew
of no one better suited as a husband for
his beloved daughter.
Don Juan therefore encourag d the
young planter's addresses, thougli at the
same tin thoroughly resolved to throw
, him off, should any richer or moro aris
tocratic suitor present himself.
Camillia knew nothing of hor father's
Intentions. All her admirers wore alike
Indifferent to her, for her heart was ir
revocablv (rivn, and hor faith irrevoc-
obnr pirufjra to ram urmmou.
While these changes had been 6lowly
working amongst the heads of the house
hold, tho hand of Time had not been
idle in the humbler chambers of the Villa
Moraquitos.
White hairs were mingled in the black
locks of the mulatto woman Pepita ; the
negress Zara was bent with age, and
Tristan, the negro lad, had become a
man a man with powerful passions and
a subtle and cunning nature, hidden be
neath tho mask of protended Ignorance
and simplicity.
He could 6ing grotesque songs and
dance half-savage dances, as in tho early
days of his young mitrese's j-outh, when
he was Camlllla's only playmate. He know
a hundred tricks of jugglery, sleight-of-hand
by which ho could amuse an idle
hour, and even now, he w.n often ad
mitted to display his accomplishments
before the Spanish girl, her devoted at
tendant, Pepita, and her old governess,
Mademoiselle Paulino Corel, who stiil re
mained with her, no longer as an instruc
toress, but In the character of companion
and friend.
We have as yet refrained from speak
ing of tho Frenchwoman ; but as she maj
by and by play by no means an inslgniil
cant part in the great life drama wo art
relating, it is time that the reader should
know more of her.
Paulino Corsi was but seventeen yean
old when she first came to Villa Moraqui
tos as the preceptress of Camillia, then
a child of six. She was therefore thirtj
years of age at the time of which we write.
But although arrived at this compara
tively mature period of life, she still re
tained much of the girlish beauty of ex
treme youth.
Unlike most of her countrywomen, sht
was very fair, with large, limpid blu
eyes and a wealth of showery flaxer
curls. Small and slender, with delicat
little feet and hands, there was much in
her appearance to indicate patrician ex
traction. Yet 6he never alluded to hei
country or her friends.
She told Don Juan that she was an or
phan, homeless, penQiless and friend,
less, glad to ieave the shores of he
6unny France for the chances of finding
better fortune in the New World.
"And I have found Letter fortune,"
she would say, lifting her expressive
evea to the dark face of her hauchtv em
ployer; "for where could I have hoped
to meet a nobler patron, or to nnd dearei
friends or a happier home than I have
here. Ah, bless you, noble Spaniard, for
your goodness to the helpless stranger."
It was in the summer that Pauline
Corsi first came to Villa Moraquitos, and
it was in the winter of the same year
that Don Tomaso Crivelli expired in the
arms of his brother-in-law.
We must request the reader to bear
this in mind, for on the truth of certain
dates hangs much of the tale of mystery I
and crime which we are about to reveal.
The gossips of New Orleans wer
ready to Insinuate that the Spaniard's
heart would surely be in a little danger
from the presence of so young and lovely
a woman as the French governess, but
thoy soon grew tired of whispering this,
for it was speedily perceived by all who
knew Don Juan Moraquitos that his
heart was burled in the mausoleum of
his fair young wife, Olympia, and that
all the love of which his proud nature
was capable was lavished on his only
child.
Some girls in the position of Pauline
Corsi might have nourished ambitious
hopes, and might have angled for the
heart and hand of the wealthy Spaniard :
but it was impossible to suspect the
light-hearted and frivolous young
Frenchwoman of the moan vices of tho
sohemer. She was a thing of sunshine
and gladness-gay and heedless as the
birds she tended in her chamber, care
less of the morrow as the flower that
perfumed her balcony. So-thought all
who knew Pauline Coral.
Did any of them know her rightly?
The hideous skeleton. Time, whose
bony hand lifts, inch by inch and day by
day, the dark and pall-like curtain that
hangs before the vast stage of the fu
ture, can alone answer this question.
Camillia Moraquitos was much at
tached to her old governess. All her
varied accomplishments she owed te
Mademoiselle Corsi; and, far tooeener
ous and high-minded to consider the
handsome salary paid to the French
woman a sufficient recompense for her
services, sho looked upon Pauline's de
votion to her as an obligation which
could be only repaid by gratitude and
affection.
The young heiress had often endeav
ored to bestow 6ome handsome presest
upon her instructress fa valuable article
of Jewelry a ring, a chain, a bracelet),
but always to be firmly, though kindly,
repulsed.
"No, Camillia," Mademoiselle Corsi
would reply, "I will take no gift from
you but affection that Is a priceless
treasure. Bestow that upon me, and
you would amply reward me for a life
time ot aevonon ; tne lew one years i
have given to your instruction have
been more than repaid by my pupil's
lore."
Haughty and reserved as Camlllla was
to mere acquaintances, she was almost
foolishly confiding to those whom she
loved.
She had never kept a secret from Pau
line Coral until within this last year, and
even then ehe would have told all to hei
trusted companion, had she not beer
forbidden to do so by one whom eh
loved even better than the French
woman. This secret was the engagement be
tween herself and Paul Lisimon.
"You will not brfuthe one word to i
mortal of the vows which bind us until
death, will you, ray Camlllla?" said the
young man, as, intoxicated with happl
nss, he pressed his betrothed to hli
wildly throbbing heart.
"To no one. d-arett," answered Ca
millia, "until your position will warrant
you in asking mv father's consent to
our union. That is to say," she added
hesitatingly, "to no one but Pauline. I
shall be so anxious to talk of you, and
know I can trust her."
";sot one word to her, camillia, ai
you love mo," exclaimed Paul, with
energy.
"What? you mistrust my faithful
Pauliuer"
"I mistrust no one," answered Llei-
mon ; "yet. paradoxical as it may seem
I trust scarcely any one. To give your
uecrets into the keeping of another, la
to give your life nay, the better part ol
lile ; ror those secrets appertain to the In
most r ntiment of your heart. No
Camillia, tell nothing until that day
comes, when, proud and triumphant. I
can claim you before your father and the
world.
"But you believe Pauline to be all thai
Is good?" urged Camillia, her affectionate
ncure wounded by the warning of Paul
j -"1
"ut, young as I am in tho winding ways
of the world, I am older than you, and
the experience of Silas Craig's office hae
taught me many iniquitous secrete."
Augustus Horton had, as our readers
are aware, many business transaction
with the attorney and usurer, Craig.
Despising the man most completely, rt
yet suited tho young planter's purpose
to employ him, for Kiia was a master In
buo cn tii ib ui umutiuur- , a usoiui law
yer for all business, but above all useful
in such affairs as were of too dark and
secret a nature to bear exposure to the
light ol day.
He was the attorney employed by Au
gustus Horton, by Don Juan Moraquitos,
and by most of the wealthiest men in
tho city of New Orleans ; men who af
fected ignorance of his character, bo-
cause his style of doing business faulted
their purpose.
It was at Silas Craig's office that Au
gustus Horton first saw Paul Lisimon.
The two men encountered each other
in an office opening out of the private
room occupied ny tho attorney.
Paul was seated at his desk, copying
a deed ; he looked up only for a moment
aa tno planter entered the apartment.
and Immediately returned to his work.
lie knew that the visitor was his rival,
Augustus Horton, but, secure In the love
of Camillia, ho was utterly indifferent to
hii presence. Not so tho planter. He
looked long and earnestly at the hand
some and Spanish face of the young
Mexioan.
JSimnly as Paul was dressed. In the
loose liuen coat and trousers suitable to
the climate, with an open 6hirt collar of
the finest cambric, under which was
knotted a black silk handkerchief, there
was something so distinguished in hi3
appearance that Augustus norton could
not help wondering who this elegant
stranger was who had found hia way into
Silas Craig's office. So trreat was his
curiosity, that when his business with
the lawyer was ended, ho lingered to
ask a few questions about tho strange
clerk.
"In goodness' name. Craia." he said.
ag he Ht a eisrar from a box of allumertes
Ipon the attorney's desk, "who is that
young aristocrat whom you have secured
as a pigeon lor piucsing, under pretens?
of teaohing him the law?"
"A young aristocrat !"
"Yes, a young man I saw in the nexl
office. A Spaniard, I phould imagine,
from his appearance. Very dark, witi
black eyes and curling black hair.
bllas Craig laughed aloud.
"An aristocrat 1" he exclaimed, "why,
surely vou must mean Faul Iileiruon?
"Who is Paul Lisimon?'"
Why I thought you were a constant
visitor at Villa Moraquitos !"
"I am so," replied Augustus.
"And you have never met Paul List,
mon?"
"Never, man ! Don't question me,
but answer me. Who Is this Paul Lisi
mon?" "My articled pupil, a young Mexican,
a protege of Don Juan's who is studying
for the law."
"Who is ho, and where did he com
from?" asked Augustus, eagerly.
"That no one knows," answvvrcd Craig;
"the brother-in-law of Don Juan Mora
quitos, Don Tomaso Crivei'l, brought
him to New Orleans thirteen years ago,
when tho little heiress was about six
years old."
"Indeed !" muttered Augustus, biting
hia lip fiercely; "and the children wen
brought up together, I suppose?"
"They were."
"That explains all," said the planter,
striding toward the door.
"All what?" asked Craig.
"No matter," replied Augustus Hor
ton ; and, without another word to the
lawyer, he left the apartment and passed
once more througn the office where Paul
Lisimon was seated.
This time it was with a glance of in
tense malignity that he regarded the
young man, who, scarcely conscious oi
his presence, sat with his head bent over
his work.
"So," exclaimed the planter, when he
found himself alone : "I thought that you
were an iceberg, Camillia Moraquitos,
and that the burning breath of pas&ioa
had never melted your frozen nature. I
never dreamt that I had a rival ; but the
mystery is solved. This Mexican, this
nameless dependent on your father's
bounty, is doubtless he for whom you
scorn the proudest suitors New Orleans
can offer. I should have known that a
woman is never utterly indifferent to a I
man's attentions save when she loves
another. No matter, Camillia, you will
find it no trifle to brave the hatred of
Augustus Horton. My rival is younger
and handsomer than I ; it would be hope
less to attempt to win her lovo while he j
is by to sue and be preferred ; but before
5theyear is out, I will have thrust him
from my pathway as I wotild an insolent
slave on my plantation."
To He Continue 1,
Special Sale of Dry Coeds.
Good carpets. Notions, Ciiliiney,
j Cloaks, flannels, blankets, canton flannel
wool, in fat everything y u need for
fall anil winter ; embroidery and a fine
stock of staple poods, boots and shoes
at the lowest p-'ces in the city.
J. V. Weckbacb & Sox.
ON A RUNAWAY ENGINIL
CONGRESSMAN
FEAT A3
CRANE'8 PERILOUS
AN ENGINEER.
H Conplrd Hia Tn1er t a Wild
Biotiv and Ssveil I-lf and Property
A Thrilling 8 lory oi How lie Wa
OvartHkrn t y t'n throttled MoaiUik
CongreHsnian Crano. of Texas, was in
high good glee, spinning yarns to sv
coterie of nu'iiitwrs.
'In my young days." wild the oonv
grensijian. 'I was an engineer on the
Santa Fe railroad. Do you fellows know
what a trying thin;? it U to 1h a loco
motive -nxiner? Well. 1 can toll yojuv
that it will do u man's nerves more harm
than anything elso. Alcohol and to
bacco are usere trifles in comparison,
even if they tx used to mciiw. I didn't
t;y long in the bnt-iue.s.-t. 1 like excite
ment, but running a cannon ti.ill ex-pie.-.
whose sc hedule time wan flixty
: j ! ill an hour is a little ten) i.-itirti evom
lot me Hut the three nioiiths time
t!i;:t I No. 7(1 wan not Hiiflicieiit for
to r: -uU-'.i' the injury it was doin.mj
nervous system. So that was not the
re.-.l reason that led to my abandonment
of the throttU forever
I had only been on. n 1 said. nlont
thro i:;oiitIis. whoii by some carelessness
or virion ness one of tin engines, knowu.
as a mountain climber, got nwiiy witli
full steam on and started down thi road
on a r:!("-saf;e' of death mid destruction.
I h."d just finished a long run nid was
prcp.ii in;? to go homo, when tin- train
;': piti-her rushed wildly out of bisollica
in:d told the news The track had I iron
rli-.-ireii, lie mid. and there wa. not lnn;r
to sio') tl;; mad rush of tho locomotive
until it should d:i.-i!i into the station at
(J:lve ;o i und ,!ov its' way through.
1). :(!:.' :i: mortar until both the buihl
invc a:: 1 t!. loco:. lot ivv were mined,
ins uiii:.T n::kvh:
1 li.-id plentv of nervo then, and 1 sujh
po! e by your laiir.ffji':;r you think I have)
Ui'-t ri()';o of it. but I am frcr to confess
th -i I I v.o.il l not d;;.v to undertake thi
t:1.; ': I M'.rci'K.-.l'ui! v accomplished that
day IVrh.ips it was the excitement
arid ei.tLu.';:.!s:n of the moment which
It il me to volunteer t la;v.o that locomo
tive I always s:.'!ile when I recall the
loo! of incredulity t'.Kit met i:iy conii-
(li-iit insertion that I could catch and ur-
rev.t the mad fii,;!it of the runaway, but
1 v,
;;s so confident that
ring, nid I finally
they gave men
neenred the ser
Le
vi
In
s of a Kturdy Iri'-h lad as (iremin.
-s tliari three minutes after tho dis
ci: lud been received I was on my cn--.
witli hfe;:ii .-.Jowly co;.;in up
in, and pulli;:;; out as rapidly as pos-
I
to i-)f: t tK
'oi ; t -rror.
" for the train dis
n. y ;lcc irate idea as
U'ay was. Tile best
ay that it had passed
it
wi'.s l.n
:o.;::l
irr to
UTJVe me
where tne run,
con! 1 (3 ) was ; o
he
a
in. -i
t ion
abovit ?"i niii.!s up the
;-!,it.'r before moving at
(;! ! so
:e t -n
aimul
') tn
!
l I
nr. A
lew l.i;
rn ..
T.-v !;
more ai 1 with st
;i:-e movi yj; at the
-.:r '..-id goin; strai
.;; the ':.i- track.
a!.,-nr 1 "sity-ive
:: nr its ! (,. cah
a:;i up I
r-.i of O)
.;ht at tho
I 7:in this
minutes
nl.a', the
hn.I
le ., i
n.v
!!
c:i :
c:i
1 and I had
c:il;tti;:r.:i wer
'.rne miles
i :n ::L;ine that
1 i-n;;::;n-.f di
; .-ere ;.ny
11 1 reversed
If
; hen
! '.IS.
.ere
-t von
.( r:
I ve;-
: t:i"
but
pie
r.iit
gine e.nd
illy inere.i
started
-in my
running away,
s;e;:d until w
: I. d ilov.-i to a comfortable 30 miles
:n hour, the Irish hid rnennwhilci keep-
; on a ten iiic pret snre of ste;.m.
ON THE S A Llli TRACK. 01
'We miyht have run into aliaost any
thing, for 1 did not looh ;;he.id at all;
nv eyas were strained until they pained
looking up the t:ick for the run
ay It might have he-en ten minutes.
uore or leas it seemc-'i iiKe years tome.
Fhirdly we heard the rumble and roar of
the monster. It didn't take her long to
heave in sight, and sho wis coining a-
bumming, t or tho first time', I confess.
lost my nerve. It was only momentary.
lowever. and then 1 opened my tlirottto
1 away we went. There was a good
in:; oi straight xracs w.-tvean us v.-.u-n
first caught Fight of her; then wo
mi d a curve and the was out of bight
f not ont of hearing. Wh.n t;he did
ine she h:hl gained ,n us pretty nearly
oi a mils.
'I shut off steam a trifle, and when
we struck a level piece of track but a
uarter of a rnilo separate J tis. I told
Irish to keep up pressure, and the way
e lid it it's a wonder the boiler of 7G
i.Int bust. She Kent getting nearer
nd nearer, and it was all I could do to
ef p from throwing wide the throttl
nd speed ii: away from her. But I
kept my nerves as steady as though they
were of iron. Nearer and nearer she
;.me, until I could actually imagine she
was plowing her way through us. Final-
fhe closed in upon us, and 1 assu.ro
on triat so nearly equal nad 1 succeeded.
in making the ppeed that the shock was
ttle. if any, greater than that felt upon
the -or -ling of two cars.
'1 did net hesitate an instant, but
ammed down the steam valve tight.
sprang npon the tender of my engine a
difficult task even for an athlete like I
then wfis and from there swung myself
upon the engine. It was the work of
scarcely half a minute to -l.i:n!er in V
ab and jab down th steam valve therwt
We ran possibly a mile before we came
to a FtaiuiPtill,' and by that tune I waar
is limp us a rag jind shaking, like a mail
vntn tee fc.crne YVecounu-d tne eriief?-
id in he.lt j-.n honr had them both sal", -
hurled in (j-.ilvt-ston.
'That was my last experience as a lo
comotive engineer. Vou coil J UvVer get
; cie tc Kteer a cab t'giiiu." Pitt.-.hiurj
j Press.
i
t
flow Ho Huiipenetl to Fail.
Senator Stafford tnr.de his rt dol
lar by celling horseradish." remarked..
Snively.
"That accounts for my poverty," added.
Snodgrass. "1 don't know horseradish.,
when I sr? it " Judge.