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About Plattsmouth weekly herald. (Plattsmouth, Nebraska) 1882-1892 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 23, 1890)
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