Nebraska Newspapers

    vViiir 7IEKAU): iSMOUiH, .NEBRASKA. CCTO II It
1 wO.
THE OCTOROON
JL KTOItr OF M.AVEKY It AYS.
BY SJIiJS M. i:. DlCADDON.
CHAI'TEIt XX.
the far depths
mm
dilapidated build
-MS';
ing, which had
been deserted by
former fltlTrt,
and neglected by
thoso who now
dwelt !:i it.
n
4
1 .i'USf
The rough wooden shutters that hhcl
tcred tlx; oi! solitary wiudow wort;
rotting upon their li i uprnri ; tho wind
whistled in shrill wuleucM through tho
crevices of tho logs.
As far an tho eye could reach there was
no vestige of uny human habitation,
while tho rustling t the leaves and tho
hungry howls of tut; wolves only broke
the silence of tho night.
It was difficult to Imagine this plaeo to
be the dwelling of any civilized being;
but jot it was tenanted by two men, who
had lived In it for the bout part of a yoar,
nttentled by a ru'gro slave, an honest
fellow, who served them as faithfully in
that dreary retreat a if they had dwelt
in a palace.
The night had fallen; the winds
shrieked, like sorno troubled spirit,
amid the branches of the trees ; red
streaks of light gleamed through the
cracks of the window shutters and tho
crevices of the rude timber edifice ; tho
door of the hut is securely closed, though
In that hnelv region there is little need
of bolt and bar.
Lot us peep into the neglected build
ing, and gaze unseen upon it.- occupants
The two men are seated on either side
of a blazing tire of brushwood and
broken timber, while the negro hits on
low stool, at a respectful distance
waiting till his masters may have need
of his services.
His honest face beams with good toin
per and contentment, even in that dreary
abode.
Dut it is not so with bis masters
They are both smoking long cherry
Btemnied meerschaum Dipes, and they
sit in silence, their eyes gloomily fixed
upon tho blazing tire.
It is impossible to judge of their rnk
in life, for they are both dressed in cuta
way velveteen coats, corduroy breeches
and great hob-nail boots serviceable
garments suited to their rude life, but
which elsewhere would be worn only b
laboring men.
They are both in the prime of life, and
one is rather handsome ; but they have
allowed their hair and whiskers to grow
in the roughest fashion, and their laces
are bronzed by constant . exposure to
every variety of weather.
The elder of the two is the first to
6peak
"Well, Brown," he say6, with a 6igh of
weariness, "nearly a year has gone since
we 6etfoot in this dreury district and no
good done yet-
The younger man shrugged his 6houl
ders as he removed his pipe from his
mouth and knocked out the ahes of to
bacco upon' the rough stone hearth.
"Yes, a year, a year," he muttered.
"and no hope f return yet. No hope ol
justice Deing aone to the innocent, and
N
L.fyfi zip i California
Vv;; forest, t he timber
Vxv. roof of a Holitiirv
Srr'tf'f;! is hut peeped
'1 V) 'ji'v through lh
t1fy.WWP'.r4l trees.
I !
trie guilty.
i "Brown," said his companion, "do you
f remember our first meeting ?"
"Yes, we met in the streets of San
Francisco ; both penniless, yet both de
termined to conquer fortune, and to ring
from the bowels of our mother earth the
gold which should enable us to achieve
the purposes of our lives."
"You remember we formed a chanoa
acquaintance, which afterward ripened
into friendship."
"It did." answered the other man.
"But at the same time we entered into a
singular agreement. Wo resolved that
whatever our past history might be, it
should remain buried in oblivion, so long
as we dwelt together in the wilds of
California. We agreed that neither
should tell his companion the secrets of
his life, or the purpose which he had to
accomplish in the future ; that even our
names should be unknown to each other,
and that though living together upon
the footing of friends and brothers, we
should address each other merely a3
Brown and Smith."
"Yes, this was our bond."
We further resolved that we would
spend the last dollars we possessed in
the purchase of a set of implements, and
that we would penetrate into the lone
liest tract in the continent, into recesses
never visited bv the herd of gold dig
gers, whose labors exhaust the soil in
districts where the precious ore has
been found. Wo determined 1o searoh
for our prize where none had sought be
fore us, and we resolved to brave every
hardship, to endure every peril, for the
several ends of our lives
"We did."
At an Francisco, we picked up oul
faithful Sambo yonder," said the man
known as Brown, looking to tho negro,
"and we got a bargain."
"Because poor Srambo was Inme,
massa. Very few gentlemen will buy
lante niggers."
J.amo or not, we found you a treas
ure, Sambo, and between us we soon con
trived to cure your lame leg, and made
you as sound as the best of us."
"Yes," cried the negro, grinning from
ear to ear, "you did, massa, you did.
Kind good massa. Sambo never forget."
"Well, Smith, alter eight good months'
labor in this district we lind ourselves "
"About as well off as when we came
here," answered the other; "we con
trived to find a little gold dust during
our first month's work, and that has ena
bled us to pay for the supplies we've had
from the nearest village, and to keep up
the war all the time; but beyond that
we've had no luck whatever."
"None; therefore my proposal is that
wa leave this place to-morrow at day
break, and try a fresh district."
The eyes of the man who called him
self Smith, sparkled at this proposition,
but the negro interposed with an ex
clamation of terror
"You'll nebber go to-morrow, massa,"
he cried ; " 'scuse poor nigger what ought
to mind his own business, but surely
massa will rtebber go to-morrow?"
"And why not to-morrow?" asked
Brow r.
"Because to-morrow Friday; massa,
Friday bery unlucky day."
'An unlucky day. Sambo, is It?" an
swered his master ; "faith I think every
iay has been precious unlucky to us for
the last eight months."
The negro shook his woolly bead, and
showed two rows of white teeth.
"Friday bery unlucky day, massa," he
said.
Hut." answered Brown, laughing, "if
ICS an unincKT oay tvr i;ttintix ,it pman,
1 fupposo it's just as unlucky for staring
and do In 3 another turn at the pickax."
"Don't know that, massa," said the
negro, "but Friday bry unlucky day."
I'll tell you what then," continued
Brown, "suppose we take Sambo's ad
vice, for once in a way. Smith, and put
off moving to new quarters till the day
after to-morrow. We can spend to-mor
row in digging the ground about that
littlo creek three miles to the eastof this.
Y'ou remember our passing the spot once
on our way home after a ha id day's
work."
"Perfectly! u miserable, unlikely-looking
placo enough ; I don't faucy if we dug
for a twelvemonth we should ever get any
good out of it. However, wo'o wasted
so many days that we can't grudge one
more, so I'm quite agreeable to stop."
"So be it, then," answered Brown.
"Sambo, g-t our tools in order beforM you
i go to bed, and be sure you cull us early
to-moriow morning.
Tho two friends tlung themselves down
upon a couple of rough btraw mat tresses
and the i.i-io brought out a heap of
dried grass and withered leaves which
nerved loin u-i a bed, and upon which ho
laid himself down lifter eare'e'lv orenar
iii.' l iko ioiih lor the morning o wor.7.
The two diggers, before they lay down,
oilered up a short but heartfelt prayer,
that Heaven would be pleased to smilo
upon their honest endeavors and bless
tiieir labois.
During tho elht months in which they
had dwelt in that dreary region they had
never once tailed to make this supplica
tion, ami, fruitless as their toil hud been
hitheito their faith had never failed
them.
They still trusted that a divine and
gracious Providence would, in duo time,
reward their efforts.
At daybreak the next morning, tho
three men set out, and walked to the
creek at whicli they were to work before
they eat their rough breakfast.
Then after offering up another prayer,
they took their spades and pickaxes and
went to work with good will.
But the day wore on and no result at
tended their labors.
The negro, Sambo, worked untiringly,
and cheered his masters' toil by his
merry ttongs and grotesque capers.
It grew toward evening, and Brown
proposed that they should collect their
tools and waik homeward, but Smith was
anxious to work for half an hour longer,
and his companion was too good-natured
to oppose his fancy.
The half hour had nearly expired, the
dusk was rapidly gathering around them,
the lower branches of the trees were
streaked with crlmeon aud gold by the
last lays of tlie setting sun, and Brown
was thinking sadly how many a day such
as this they had wasted, and how many
a sun had gone down upon their disap
pointment, when he was aroused from
his reverie by a loud exclamation from
Smith, and a wild shout of joy from the
negro.
iiis companion's spade had struck
against a nugget of gold.
He had dug tho precious lump of ore
from its watery bed, and he had fallen
upon his knees in the clay and dirt to of
fer up a thanksgiving to that Eternal
Being who alone can give or withhold
ail blessings.
The man called Brown clasped his
hands ami iiUed his eyes to Heaven,
"Oh, merciful Providence!" he cried,
"we have waited Thy good pleasure.
hopefully, for we knew Thy unfailing
justice.
rue tnrce men wonted tin the moon
rose high above teir heads. They had
struck upon a vein of gold, and their la
bors were amply rewarded.
They returned home 'laden with the
dull yellow metal, which is the master
key of all earthly power, tho magic influ
ence which can make all men slaves.
They returned the next day to the same
spot, and worked again, and continued to
do so till they were rich beyond their
wildest hopes.
Then they packed their wealth in such
a manner as to escape suspicion from
any unscrupulous travelers they might
encounter, and Btill followed by their
faith follower, Sambo, set out for San
Francisco.
"When we once more 6et foot In the
east." said Brown, a3 they turned their
backs on the dilapidated log-hut, "I
will tell you my paat history, trie secret
ot mr life, and the purpose I have to
achieve in the future. In the mean
time let us remain as we have been
before, ignorant of all concerniug each
other, save that.we are both iionest men
who trust in Providence. Shall it be so?"
"Yes," answered Smith; "friend.
brother, it shall be as you say. Heaven
shield those we go to save."
CHAPTER XXI.
tf us return U
New Orleans and
to the Villa Mora
quitos. An hour
after Augustus
Horton left the
boudoir of Camil
lia, the Spanish
'leiress and hei
ompanion Paul
ine Corel were
evateil, side by
7
trine, :n u deeji
recess of a win
out upon t :e shining water
Jow. Ioo'im
o: the liis..-sipDi.
"So yo'i have rejected him, Carnillia?"
said Pauline.
"Rejected him !" repeated the Spanish
girl, contemptuously, "could you ever
dream that I should do otherwise?"
"And yet Augustus Horton is rich.
young, hanctsorue, distinguished
"He may bo all that, interrupted
Carnillia. "Yet I have no feeling for
him but indifference nay, contempt."
"Shall I tell you the secret of that
indifference?" said Pauline, with a smile.
"If vou please," answered Carnillia
carelessl-.
"The secret is your love for another.
Ay, that stait and blush would betray
vnu hail nancrht else already done so.
My foolish Carnillia, did you think to
conceal the truth from one who had
known you from childhood? On the day
of Paul Lisimon s apprehension I told
him that I had long known all."
"Forgive me, dear Pauline, lr-I have
seemed wanting In candor," eald Carnil
lia; "but it was Paul who bade me be
6ilent."
"Y'es, Paul, who feared that the gov
erness might betraj her pupil, ftow,
listen to me, Carnillia. The story of my
life is a strange one. The day may come
when I may choose to reveal it, but that
day has not yet arrived. The history of
th rat may have done much to imoitter
heart that was not once all base,
am ambitious. rroud though
policy has taught me to conceal my pride
dependence, even on those I like, is
Eainful to me ; all this I have learnt to
ide beneath a gay exterior."
".rauline. vou terrify me ! exclaimed
Camlllla. "this powec I concealing your
feelings"
"Is akin to fabu&ed. is it not Carnil
lia? No mattes. For the first time I
speak the truth to you about myself.
You have been kind, generous; affection
ate I should be worse than a murder-
- ....1.1 T 1. ; j r.w t vj;
mam. .
I your heart w'ouhl "bYo kill you and yet,
! Carnillia. three days ago I should have
I been capable of that infamy."
"Pauline Pauline !"
"Ah. well may you open thoee large
black eyes with that gaze of horror and
amazement. Yes, I repent, three day
ago 1 should have been capable of this ;
because I am ambitious, and the ambi
tious will trample on the most sncied
ties to attain tlie golden goal of their
wishes. But thi i pat. Another road
has opened to me, and henceforth,
Carnillia lloraqultos, I will be jour
friend. Say, will you trust me?"
Pauline Cori fixed her large, limpid
blue eyes upon the face of her pupil with
an earnest gluiieM of inquiry.
"Will you '.rust me, Carnillia?"
"Yes, Pauline! your words have ter
rified ami bewildered me, but I feel that
whatever you may be. you are not de
ceiving me now."
"I am not, indeed!" answered Paulino;
"it is aiced then vou wi.l trust nje?'"
"I wiii ! "
"Tell me, then, do you lovo Paul Lisi
mon?" Truly, elerunlij-!"
"And for that love you are prepared to
sacrifice ail ambitious hopes? You, who
have much of your father's haughty na
ture, can reconcile youie!f to u life of
comparative poverty and obscurity for
the sake of him you love?"
"It would be no f-aerilice," answered
Carnillia ; "poverty would have no trials
if shared with him."
"But, remember, Carnillia Moraqui
tos, think of his unknown birth low
and obscure no doubt as are all mysteri
ous lineages would not that cause you
to blush for your lover your husband?"
"I could never blush for him while I
knew, him to be honest and honoiable."
"Ay, but even then how bitter would
be your trial! Do not forget -that his
honor has been sullied by a foul suspic
ion that he has been branded as a
thief!"
'T forget nothing. I know that I love
him and trust him. We cr.nnot love
those we do not trust."
"Enough,'' answered Pauline, "now
listen to me. I tell you a new road has
opened to ray ambit ious hopes. I shall
win wealth and stnt.ion, without sacrific
ing you or your lover. Nay, more, I
promise you that the day that sees the
fulfillment of my wishes, shall also see
you the bride of Paul Llslmon."
"Pauline, what mean you?"
"Seek to know nothing only trust
me. There are dark obscurities in tho
pathway of guilt, which I would not
have you penetrate. I have promised to
befriend you In all things. What it the
foul plot, which, as I believe, has been
hatched by that villainous attorney, Silas
Craig, were brought to light by my
agency? Would you thank me for that,
Carnillia?"
"Thank you, Pauline? Oh, ir you
could but clear him I love from tho vile
accusation brought against him, I would
be your grateful slave to the end of
life."
"I do not ask that I only ask patience
and confidence. I hold a power over
Silas Craig, which none other possesses,
and on the day which crowns ray hopes,
he shall be made to confess his infamy,
and withdraw the charge against Paul
Lisimon."
"Pauline, Pauline," exclaimed Carnil
lia; "my benefactress, my preserver."
"Hush !" said the Frenchwoman, lav-
lng her linger on her lips, "remember,
patience and caution.
As she spoke, Peplta, Camlllla's old
nurse entered the room. "Oh, missy,"
said the faithful mulattress, "there is a
sailonnan below, who has fine silks and
laces to show you, if you'll only look at
his merchandise, tsuch bargains, he says,
missy."
"But I don't wan't to &ee them," re
plied Carnillia, indifferently; "tell the
man to take his goods somewhere el6e,
Pepita."
Stay," interrupted Pauline;" we may
as well look at these bargains."
"Ay. do, ma'moselle," said Pepita: "it
will amuse poor missy. Poor missy verv
ill lately."
"Why do you wish to see this man?"
asked Carnillia. when the mulattress had
left the ..parlmenfe.
"Becau-e I have an ide that we
eiraiiia ov trfong in nmasra;; iv auinn
him. We shall see whether I am right
or not."
Pepita ushered the sailor into her mis
tress' presence. He was a black-eyed,
dark haired fellow, with a complexion
that had grown copper-colored by expos
ure to the wind and sun. Ho opened a
bale of silks and spread its contents at
the feet of tho Spanish girl.
Carnillia glanced at them with listless
iadiffereuce.
"They are handsome," she said ; "but
I have no occasion for them."
"But you'll not refuse to buy some
thing of a poor sailor, kind lady?" said
the man. In an Insinuating tone; "even
If you do not wish for a silk dress, there
may be something else among my stores
that may tempt you to bid for it; seo
here !" he added, feeling in one of the
pockets of his loose trousers. "I've some
thing here that perhaps you may take a
fancy to."
He produced a red morocco case, large
enough to contain a chain or biacelet.
"Look here," he said, opening it. ad
holding it toward Carnillia, so that sha
alone could see its contents. "You
won't refuse me a dollar or two for that,
eh, lady?"
Camiilia could not repress a 6tart of
surprise. The case contained an imita
tion gold chain or the commonest work
manship, coiled round in a circle, in the
center of which was a note folded into
the smallest possible compass. Upon
the uppermost 6ide of thi4? note was writ
ten the word Fidelity," in a handwriting
which was well known to the Spanish
girl.
"Will you buy the chain, lady?" asked
the sailor.
Carnillia opened an ormolu casket on a
table near her. and took out a handfull
of dollars, which she dropped into tho
ample palm of tho sailor.
will that requite vou for your trou
ble, my good friend?" she asked.
"Bight nobly, lady."
"If you can come again to-morrow, I
may purchase something moro of you."
The sailor grinned ; "1 11 come if I
can, my lady, he answered, and with a
rough ealute he left the room, followed
by Pepita.
Was I right, Carnillia' " asked Made
moiselle Corel.
You were, dear Pauline; see, a note
in Paul's hand !"
"Shall I leave you to devour its con
tents?"
"No, Pauline, I have no secrets from
you henceforth," answered Camiilia, un
folding the precious scrap of paper.
It contained these words :
"Fr not, deareat, nd do not thick it ia guilt
which baa prompted my flight. H faithful and
trust me that all trill yat be well, and remember
that I may be near yen when leaat you look for
me. Affect an otter indifference to my fati, and
mingle in the (ay world aa yon haTe erer done.
Thla la neceeaary t disarm suspicion. Above all.
throw Aufoatua Horton off the Meat, and let hua
fcelltvt that I aTi Uft Asarica forayer.
"Irtr sod aver yours.
"Vvru"
CamllUa iloraquitos .obeyed tho in-
end whn Don Juan entered hr boudoir
half an hour afterward, he found hi
daughter apparently In hr uual spirits.
Deiighteii at thin change, he proposed
that Caiinllia and Faulme bhould go to
the opera that evening, attended by him
self, and the la lies assented with every
I semblance of grat iflcation.
The Opera House was thronged that
night with all tho rank and fashion of
New Orleans. It wa the occasion of tho
reappearance of a brilliant Parisian
actress and singer who had lately re
turned to Louisiana after a twelve
month's absence in France.
Tho box occupied by Don Juan was
one of the bet in the house, and au.ong.it,
all itPs-crftbleil, ihcre was none lovelier
or moro admired than Carnillia Moraqui
tos. The Spanish girl wore a drees of rich
amber tilk, fiounced with the costliest
black la e
Her classically molded head wa encir
cled by a simple baud of gold, s'uh'.ed
with diamond -.
She waveii a pel fiimeil, fun of ebony
and gold in her bmall yloed hand
Tliey hud L'ot been long seatei! in tint
box when they were joined by A.igu:ti.s
Horton. who plac ed himself at the l.io
of the chair occupied by CamiJIia.
She wus not a little surprised at this,
after the interview of that morning, and
the terrible ami insulting repulse which
the young planter had received.
t: . . I . . t. l..r-.- U. I I
I nnesne was vvouueriiiK wiiai couiu
have induced him to forget this, he bent
his bead and whispered in her ear
"Let us forget all that passed this
morning. Donna Carnillia," he said; "for
get and forgive my presumption as I for
give your cruelty! Let us bo what wo
were beforo today, friends and friends
only."
Carnillia raised her eyes to his face
with a glance of surprise. Waa this tho
man whose words that morning had
breathed rag and vengeance? Had she
wronged him in imagining him vindictive
and treacherous?
Don Juan knew nothing of Ids daugh
ter's rejection of Augustus Horton. He
imagined, therefore, from the planter's
presence in the box, that his wilt had
prospered.
About half an hour after the rising of
the curtain, a letter was brought by one
of the boxkeepers addressed to Don Juan
Mornquitos.
"Who gave you this?" asked the Span
iard. "A colored lad, sir, who said he was to
wait for an answer," replied the box
keeper. "Tell him that I will see to it."
The man left the box and Don Juan
opend the letter.
It was from Silas Craig, and contained
only a couple of lines, requesting te see
his employer without delay, m business
i of importance.
Don Juan rose to leave the box.
"I am never permitted to enjoy the
society of my only daughter for a few
hours without interruption," he said,
bending gently over Carnillia. "I am
summoned away on some annoying busi
ness, but I will not be gone long, dar
ling." "But how long, dearest father?
"An hour at most. Meanwhile I leave
you in the care of Mr. Horton."
"I accept the trust," answered Augus
tus, with enthusiasm.
In spite of the letter she had that
morning received, Carnillia found it lm-
j possible to simulate a gayety which she
did not feel,
She was silent and absent-minded, and
replied In monosyllables to the gallant
speeches of her admirer, bhe was think
ing of the events of the day Pauline
Corsi's promise and the letter from Paul
Lisimon.
Ones In looking downward at the crowd
of faces In the pit of the theater she
recognized one which was turned to the
box in which she was 6eated, instead of
to the stuge.
It was tlie copper-colored visage of the
sailor who hud that morning brought her
Paul's letter.
She knew not why, but she felt a thrill
of pleasurable emotion vibrating through
her breast as she beheld the roach face
of this man. He knew, aad was Known
to Paul. He could not then be other than
o mf-nn i ncr.
The watchful eye of Augustus Hortca
fjerceived her start or surprise as she be
leld this man.
"Ono would think," he said, with some
thing of a sneer, "that the lovely Donna
Camilla Moiaquito had recognized an
acquaintance in the pit of the theater."
Camiilia did not reply to this remark.
It was growing late and Don Juan had
not returned. His daughter was unable
to repress a feeling of uneasiness at his
lengthened absence. The Spaniard's af
fection for hie only child was tho one
strong passion of his heart. No lover
could have been more attentive than ho
to his daughter's slightest wish.
"Strange," murmured Camiliia, as the
after-piece drew to a close, "my father
never fails to keep his word, yet it is now
three hours since he left u."
The curtaiu fell, and the audience rose
to leave the house.
"I 'will go and look for your carriage.
Donna Camiilia." said Augustus; "par
haps I may find your father waiting fox
you in the corridor without."
He loft the box and returned In about
three minutes to say that the carriage
was rt the door. Camillia's anxious
eye detected something of agitation in
his manner.
"My father," she said; "did you see
him ? '
"No, no," he answered, in rather a
confused manner, offering his arm to
Camiilia, "I have not seen him yet. But
pray let me lead you to your carrige, the
corridors and lobbies are crowded.' '
He took no notice whate-.er of Pauline
Corsi, who followed as she best could,
but who was speedily separated from
them by the crowd, and by tho rapidity
with which Augustus hurried Camiilia
through the passages and down the
staircase.
By the time they had reached the por
tico of the theater, they had completely
lost 6lght of the French governess.
Augustus handed the Spanish girl so
quickly into a carriage that she was not
able to take any particular notice of the
vehicle; but when seated inside, she saw,
from the gleam of the lamps without, that
the cushions and linings were of a differ
ent color to those of her own equipage.
"Mr. Horton," she exclaimed, "this is
not my carriage." Augustus was stand
ing at the door as she spoke.
"No matter!' he said; "we have no
time to lose; drive on," he added, ad
dressing the negro on the box, and at the
same moment he sprang into the car
riage and drew up the window.
Camiilia was bewildered and alarmed
bj his conduct.
"Tou have forgotten Pauline," 6he ex
claimed ; "wo are leaving her be
hind us."
"Mademoiselle Corsi must shift fop
herself," answered the planter, as th
carriage drove rapidly away, and turn
ing out of the brilliantly lighted thor
oughfare, plunged into one of the dark
est streets in New Orleans. "I hare
wished to spare you all anxiety. Donna
Camiilia. but concealment can no longer
&va; i n. r tutt:er lids Lc u t.ut-u ill,
1 RU Bent loT yrtt..
"My father 111 ! dangerously ill?"
"I (Id not say t hat."
"But perhaps It 1 so. (ih. Heaven,
my beloved and In nored father that
noble and generous friend who never de
nied a wish of my heart tell them to
drive faster, for pltj-'s sake ! Let us los
no time in reaching him ! '
She turned to Augustus Horton with
clasped hands raised in supplication.
At tho very moment when she thus ap
pealed to him, the carriage passed a
corner of a street at which there was a
lurn p.
The light of tills lamp 11a died upon tho
face of the planter as they drove raj
h.ly by.
Brief us t In? moment wits, Camiilia fan
cied she delected n smil of triumph
upon the counlemiiH . of Augustus Hor
ton. A thrill of horror crept through her
Veins a- she thought that perhaps thi-t
nlnriii abont her fut her was some vilo
silb'erj'iJL'e of her rejected lover.
She had often heard heard with a
eaiel-'us ami unheeding ear. of deeds of
dark!!
'SS t
lone ill the cil v of her bit til.
She knew that, it" wealthy members
of New Orleans society were not oer
rcrupuloii-i in the gi a' ilieat ion ot their
i!er passions and she tromMed as she
thought of her helplessnes but she
had the brave spirit of her father's race,
and she h.id suflicient presence of mind
to conceal her terror.
She determined upon testing her com
panion. "Why did not my father send his own
carriage for rue?" she asked.
"Because Don Juan was not taken 111
at the Villa Moraquito. Ho was at
tacked in a gaming house at the other
end of tne city, and it is thither I'm
taking you."
"My father sti iekon with illness in a
gaming-hou-e V said Camiilia. "My
father a gambler?"
"Ah, ttiat surprises you no doubt.
There art; many secrets in this city of
ours, Donna Camiilia, and your father
knows how to keep his. It was to avoid
allftcamlal that I brought you away from
tho opoia house by a species of strata
gem. It would not have done for that
brilliant assembly to know whither I
was bringing you."
"It is to somo infamous haunt then?"
said Carnillia.
"All vices are infamous," answered
the planter. "It is to the haunt of tho
rich and Idle the aristocratic and dis
sipated. But -rliaps your womanly
nature shri:i!:s lro:n this ordeal. If it
be so, I will drivo you homo without de
lay. There Is no absolute necessity for
your seeing your father tonight. To
morrow he may be well enough to re
turn 9b the Villa Moraqultos, and In the
meantime I do not think there is any
serious danger."
These last words were uttered slowly
and hesitatingly, as if the speaker felt
them to bo untrue, tnd only spoke them
in his desire to coD'fort his companion.
Camillia's suspicions were completely
dispelled.
"You do not think be is in danger?"
she exclaimed. "Can you imagine Ca
iimnii .3101 aqunos 60 poor a covara as
to shrink from visiting her beloved
father because he lies In a gambling
house? Had ho been stricken in the
most infamous den in Now Orleans, I
would enter it alone to comfort and
succor him."
Had there been a lamp near to illu
mine the planter's face at this moment,
Camiilia might have again beheld the
triumphant smile which had before
alarmed her.
Five minutes after this the carriage
stopped at a low door, In a dark but
highly respectable looking street.
The negro coachman kept his 6cat,
but Augustus sprang on to the pave
ment and handed Camiilia out of the ve
hicle. The door before which they had
stopped appeared to bo closed so se
curely, as to defy all the burglars In
New Orleans.
Y'et Augustus Horton neither knocked
nor rang for admission ; there was a
brass-plate upon the door; he simply
preset! his finger against one of the let
ters engraved upon this plate, and the
door opened 6lowly and noiselessly.
The passage within was unillumlned
by ono ray of light. "Give me your
hand, Donna Camiilia," whispered the
planter. The brave-hearted girl obeyed,
and Augustus led her cautiously onward.
As he did so she heard the door close
behind her with a muffled sound.
They ascended a narrow winding stair
case, at the top of which they entered a
long corridor, lighted by ehacfbd gas
lamps, which emitted a subdued radi
ance. At the end of the corridor Augustus
Horton opened the door of a room, into
which he led Camiliia.
In this roctn she expected to find her
father; but she was cruelly disappointed.
The apartment was handsomely fur
nished, and lighted with a lamp which
hung from the ceiling, and which, like
those in the corridor, &hed a subdued
and shadowy light; but it was empty.
Camiilia looked hurriedly around" her.
All her suspicions had returned at the
aspect of t he place to which th nlante
had brought her.
CHAPTER XXII.
S tho planter ut
tered the horrible
threat, contained
In our last chap
ter, every drop
of blood fled from
the cheeks and
lips of Camiilia
Moraquitos, leav
ing them pale and
colder than mar
ble. "This morning
you insulted
me to-night vou are in my power!"
It was then as 6he expected as she
had feared. She was entrapped ca
joled in the power of a villain and a
hypocrite.
She knew not even in what quarter of
the city this mysterious house was situ
ated. She was utterly ignorant of it3 charac
ter or its occupants.
It might be the den of a band of
thieves the haunt of a gang of mur
derers and she was alose. alone with a
man who evidently hated her with the
vengeful hate of a wicked and indictive
soul.
Y'et even in this terrible emergency,
her courage did not forsake her.
Her high and noble spirit rebounded
after the shock which had, for one brief
moment, depressed it.
She looked at Augustus Horton, gaz
ing upon him with such a glance of
mingled horror and loatnlng, that the
meanest hound would have shrunk from
the contemptuous expression of her su
perb countenance. '
"I thought you a villian," she said,
with cold deliberation, unmixed with
terror; "but I did not think you were ca
pable of such a deed as this. There
were dept hs of black infamy which I had
yet to fathom. I thank you for teaching
me their black extent."
"You shall thank me for a better les
son ere wo part, Camlllla Moraquitos."
j2"n the Spanish glr) looked at hlca
"I do not fear jou," she mui murei
I between her clinched teeth; "1 can suf
fer but I t an iiIm) di! '
Her rwnail white hand wandered a 1
( most mechanically to tint boom of hr
liken drcsM, where, concealed by tho
1 rich folds of blucK luce, lurked the Jew
' cletl hill or a small dagger.
J It was u glitteilng toy, a bauble uhlcu,
I after the custom of her Spanish ancest ry,
! she wore sometimes when the whim
' M-lzed her but, plaything though. It Was.
the blade was of tho finest Toledo steel
and workmanship.
T can die," she repeated, as her fin
; gers entwined themscHc- convul-lvely
' about tho gemmed hilt of this tiny
' weapon.
"Ay, l.nly," answered Augustus, with
the bitter li ony of son, e ti iuiiiphaut (lend,
'you can ll'! here, sfub'c-d to the heart
by yoi.r own In ml. that Vweled dagger
bin ied in you! i,i ca-i . And when your
corpse is louiiil here to-morrow, by th
astounded poin-e, what think you will bo
said by tl.v M-ari'iinu. "tiger of Now )r
leniirt? If yo'i kii'".v them, J'onnii Ca
Inlllia, Us well as J, you would bit abln
to guess w hat they will say. They will
w lii' per to i a h other how the lovely
and naughty daughter of Don J nan .Mora
quitos went to meet her lover fit mid
iiignt, in one of tht secret chambers of
a certain gambling hou-e; whore, ou
being pursued thither by her Infuriated
father, tie- unhai py gii I, overcome by
despair, drew a ua.uger from her bosom
anil slabbed heisell' to the heart. Tuba
is what will bit said, unless I hui much
deceived in human nature."
"Oh, hii-eiy r" exclaimed Camlllla.
"And even should the worthy clll.on
of New Orleans fail to put this interpre
tation upon your death, a few judii-iout
whispers dropped by my chosen friend
a smile of triumph, and a shrug of the
f-houlders from myself will soon set
afloat any report I please. So think
twice before you use that pretty play
thing, Donna Camiilia," added tne plan
ter, pointing to lint hilt she grasped in.
her hand ; think tw ice if you are pru
dent, and remember that death to-night,
and in this house. Is not death alone it
is disgrace !"
The young girl buried her face In her
hands. She shuddered, but the did not
speuk.
Augustus liorlou perceived that In
voluntary shudder, and an exclamation
of triumph escaped his lips.
"Ah, proud Spanish woman, you whom,
the wealthiest and most anstocratiu
Creole of New Orleans is not worthy to
wetl, you no longer defy me then. You
tremble though those stubborn lips re
fuse to entreat those haughty knee
cannot stoop to kneel you tromblot
Now listen to me !"
He pushed a chair toward her.
She bark Into it and, as if with an ef
fort, removed her hands from her face.
Whatever struggle she had endured
in these few brief moment-, she hawi
conquered herself once more, and her
face, though pale as death, was calm as
that of a statue.
"Listen to me, Carnillia Moraquitos,"
repeated the planter, resting his hand
upon the back of her chair and address
ing her with deliberate and icy distinct
ness. "I sought to wed you for your
beauty, your aristocratic bearing, and
your wealth. You. umidst all tho
beauties of Louisiana, were the only
woman whom I should have wished to
place at the head of my table to maka
the mistress of my house. Your beauty
would have been mine a part of my pos
sessions ; my pride, my boast. It wouM
have pleased me to 6eo you haughty ami
capricious treading the earlh as if tha
soil were scarcely good enough to b
trodden by your Andaluslan foot. Your
wealth would have swelled my own large
fortune, and made me the richest man in
New Orleans. This, then, is why I
sought, to wed you. This is why I seek
to wed you still."
"And more vainly now than ever,"
murmured Camiilia.
"Not so fast, lady ; we will test your
resolution by and by. I have told you
w hy I wooed you, but I have something
yet more to tell you."
"I am listenim?, sir."
"I never loved you ! No, beautiful a
you are, I can gaze with rapture upon
your gorgeous face, but it is the raptur
of uii artist who beholds a priceless pic
ture in some Italian gallery. I admire,
and that is all. No throb of warmer
emotion disturbs the even beating of my
heart. I love but. like yourself, who
have stooped to bestow your affectloav
upon the obscure and penniless depend
ent of jour father I love one below me
in slatiou below me so Infinitely that
even were I so weak a fool as to wish it.
the law of New Orleans would not per
mit me to make her my wife. I love a
daughter of the accursed race a slave
an crctoroun."
"What motive, then, could you have
In bringing me hither?" said Camiilia.
"What' motive!" exclaimed th
planter; "a motive far stronger than
love that motive is revenge. Y'ou have
Insulted me. Donna Camiilia, and you
have to learn that none ever yet dared to
Insult Augustus Horton with impunity..
I threaten no terrible punishment," bv
added, looking at his watch; it is now
two o'clock ; when the morning sun rises
upon New Orleans, and tho streets begin
to fill with trafflc, I will conduct you to
the Villa Moraquitos. You will suffer
from thi night's business in no other
way save one, and that is your reputa
tion, which you can only repair by ac
cepting your humble servant as a hus
band". "Coward, dastard, do you think I will
ever consent to thisv"
! "I think on rellection you will gee tha
' prudence of doing so."
I For a few moments Camiliia remained
I silent, then turning upon the planter
j with sudden energy that threw him oom-
pletelyoff his gtiard, she exclaimed
j "Augustus Horton, you talk to me of
prudence. Shall I tell you what you will
do if you are wise."
" Yes, Donna Camiilia. I am all at
' tention."
i "You will kill me here upon thi3 spot.
Y'ou will conceal my corpse In one of tha
! secret recesses with which this den of In
I famy no doubt abounds. If you have,
' one spark of prudence you will do this,
j for I swear to you by the stars of heaven
' tha If over I "leave this place alive you
' shall pay dearly for your conduct of to
i night."
j " You threaten me, Donna Camiilia
i here !"
"Ay. here, though this house were .
tenanted with murderers. Doyouthinlt.
: my father, Don Juan Moraquitos, wlU.'
; ep'are the destroyers of his daughter"
unsullied name?"
"Don Juan will believe that which th
rest of New Orleans will believe. You.
will tell your story, but your father.
fondly as he may love you, will smile aix
Its Incredulity. Y our midnight abduction,
your being brought hither to a &trang
house whose very locality you will b
unable to name your Inability to call
upon one witness to support your story -all
will confirm the scandal; and yonr
father, who, yesterday morning, refuse
to coerce your wishes, will to-momrW-compel
you to become my wife."
"Sooner than my father should thlnfe:
me the base and degraded wretch yoa
would make me appear, I will die by m
4