Plattsmouth weekly herald. (Plattsmouth, Nebraska) 1882-1892, September 18, 1890, Page 3, Image 3
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.