UiTIUi- V IA"
.4 a tout or slavery vats.
BY MISS II. E. BHADDON.
They descended tho ntps "iln by eidfl,
and traveled tho winding pathway, fol
lowed by Toby.
At the door of the carriage Oilbrt
Margrave clasped tha Octoroon In his
arms, and, pressing hrto hi5 h';irt, ex
claimed wiih oiaotion, "farewell, my
beloved ! Even this brief t nrtin;; Is pata
and anguish to iue. May Ilea von bless
and guard you."
Thoro had been a si'.enl spectator of
the interview between Gilbert Margrava
and Cora.
Gerald Leslie had ben standing be
hlnH tho striped blinds in hi apartment,
which overlooked t:io torruce, watchiDg
the meeting of hia daughter and her
lover.
lie saw them descend th terrace
steps, and lie thought that Cora had
readily consented to depart.
Ho heard the carriage wheels roll
away upon the smooth gravel road, and
tho bitterness of his feelings utterly
overcame him. "She is k(juj !" ho ex
claimed ; "gone, without casting one re
gretful look upon the home she is leav
ing. She is glad to fly with this man;
she loves him; she is his! Ungrateful
girl ! Uut what then, was it not my
wish? She is saved at last. Thank
Heaven for that ! biio is s.ived, and I
am alone I I shall never see my child
again."
Overpowered by his grief he sunk into
a chair, while his head fell fm ward on
his clasped hands.
Ho had remained thus for some mo
ments, when the door behind him. was
gently opened, and a soft footstep stole
toward him.
Ho raised his head, and beheld hl3
daughter kneeling at his feet.
She twined her arms about his neck,
and he clasped her to his heart with pas
sionate emotion.
Cora." he exclaimed: "Cora, is it
von?"
"Dearest father, how could you think
that your daughter would consent to de
part without you !
"Alas, alas, my unhappy child !" mur
mured Gerald.
"But, my father, why this terror, this
agitation ? What is it you fear?"
"Nothing, nothing, Cora. Shall not I
be here to guard and save you? My
Cora, my darling, you love me then, you
forcive me?"
would ask forgiveness."
Once more the planter strained her to
his heart.
"This moment repays me for all I have
Buffered," he exclaimed, "Oh, Heaven, I
am too happy !" Then rising with a ges
ture of terror, he cried, "Happy, did I
say? Happy, when hark !"
lie paused, clasping Cora in his arms,
and listening Intently.
The voices of several men were to be
heard in the vestibule below, and at the
same time hurried footsteps sounded on
the stairs. Toby rushed breathless into
the room.
"Oh, massa, ma6sa, the dreadful day
has come at last! Mr. Craig is below
with the sheriffs ; he has come to take
possession of the estate of all I"
"Already? exclaimed oerald resile;
'then we are lost."
The agitation of the morning had been
oo much for the Octoroon ; this last
ihock completely prostrated her, and
he sunk, fainting, into her father's
arms.
"My daughter 1" cried Gerald: "my
child Toby, the child you nursed is
there no escape, no way to save her?"
The mulatto wrung his hands in silent
anguish ; then, with a gleam of hope il
luminating his dusky face, he ex
claimed "Stay, massa ; the garden below this
communicates with the plantation; if
we could reach that they could never
find us. They are all below in the ves
tibulewait, waitl"
He rushed from the room, leaving
Gerald Lesliu in utter bewilderment as
to what he was about to do ; but in three
minutes he appeared at the open window
of the apartment, standing at the top of
a ladder.
"See, massa," he cried, "we will eav
her yet. Give her into Toby's arms, and
he will save her, though his own life
pays the price of her liberty."
It was too late. As tho faithful mu
latto stretched forth his arms to receive
the prostrate form of the unconscious
girl, a harsh voice in the garden below,
exclaimed :
"What are you up to, there, you nig
ger? I see you. If you don't come
down quicker than a streak of greased
lightning, I guess you'll get a bit of lead
in your precious carcass that'll bring
you down a sight faster than you went
up. Come down, you old cuss, will
you?"
The speaker was ono of the men em
ployed by the sheriff, who had crept
round from the vestibule to the gardens
to see if there 'Trore any doors or win
dows by which some of the live stock
ini-jht escapo.
The ltvk stock" is the name given to
the slaves upon a plantation.
Human beings, with hearts capable of
grief and affection, fidelity and love but
in the eyes of the auctioneer, mere cat
tie to bo knocked down by his hammer
to the highest bidder.
Amongst the live stock wa3 counted
Cora, the Octoroon, the lovely and ac-
comjdished daughter of Gerald Leslie,
the destined
bride of Gilbert llar-
rave.
CIIAITEn X11V.
LL hope of es
cape was over.
The mulatto
i i . '7.1
slowly descended
the ladder, mut
tering to the man
below that he
had onlv been
making some al
terations in the
window shutters.
C'oia Leslie reopened her eyes to be
lie. 11 her father bending over her, his
race almost'ghastly with agitation.
The Octoroon was terriiied by that
pale and horror-stricken countenance.
"Is it all a dream?" she murmured, pass
ing her hand across her forehead ;
"speak, dearest father, what has hap
pened?" "I am ruined, Cora," answered Gerald
Leslie, in a hoaree whisper! "But como
the worst, we love each other. There
is no dark cloud between us now. We
may be penniless, but at least we are
united."
Tho reader must understand that, as
yet the Octoroon wag unawaro of all
tho miseries of her position. Educated
in England reared upon a free soil,
where slavery Is unjthovro, she never
dreamt that she would be sold because
of her father's inaolvenoy. She bad pef
ther seen nor heard of a slavt sale. Hojr
trt 1a I
sold with all the other goods and chat
tels upon the estate
"Come the worst, dearest father," she
repeated, "wo will never part again."
Gerald Leslie was silent.
He bad no power to speak. Taking .
his daughter by tbo hand, he led her
down stairs into the laigot apartment
fn tho ravlllon, where Silas Craig, with
the hheriil and his assistants, were as
sembled. The haidest heart might have been
melted as tliu father and daughter en
tered tho room. Cora, pale and trem
bling, jet lovely in her pallor, robed in
white, and graceful a? those lilies which
f-eemed tho best emblems f her delicate
beaut-.
Gerald Leflb), proud, calm, and erect,
although despair was stamped on every
feature of his face.
But the brutal nature of Silas Craig
was incapable of pity; he felt only a
fiendish joy in tho humiliation of one
who had always despised him.
"I expected to see you, Mr. Craig,"
said Gerald, addressing tho lawyer, with
icy contempt,' "but I thought that you
would como alone. May I ask why you
are aecorai anied by thebe people?"
"Merely as a matter of precaution,"
answered Silas ; "I have no doubt these
gentlemen will lind their prosence use
less; for of course you are prepared to
meet your engagements. You have not
fbrgotton that this is tho day that your
acceptance for a hundred thousand dol
lars falls due. Mr. Horton has given
me full power to act in his name as woll
as my own. Have j-ou tho money ready,
my dear Mr. Leslie?"
Gerald Leslie felt the sting of the
mocking sneer with which these words
were accompanied.
"I am not yet prepared with tho
money," he answered ; "but I have every
reason to hopo that the New York
steamer will bring tho required sum be
fore night."
"It is from the house of Richardson
you expect the money, I believe," said
Silas Craig.
"It is."
"In that case I am sorry to inform you
that a telegram has just reached lew
Orleans announcing tho failure of that
house."
Gerald Leslie clasped his hands in si
lence. "Was that your only resource, Mr.
Leslie?" askad Craig
Still the planter made no reply,
"You se, then," continued the lawyer,
"that the presence of these gentlemen
is not altogether useless. You can pro
ceed at once to business," he added, turn
lng to the men.
Cora Leslie wondered at the 6llent de
spair of her father.
"Why bow your head, dearest father?"
she said, "if your ruin leaves no stain
upon your honor. We do not fear pov
erty. Let us go 1"
Grata looked at the Octoroon with a
eardonlo smile.
"I could have wished that your father
had explained to you why you cannot
follow him from this place, Miss Leslie,"
he said; "it will be a painful disclosure
for me to make."
"What, sir?" exclaimed Cora, looking
alternately from the lawyer to her
father.
Gerald Leslie clasped her in his arms.
"My daughter was born In England,
Mr. Craig," he said. "She has nothing
to do with this business 1"
"Your memory fails you this morning,
Mr. Leslie." answered Silas ; "your
daughter was born on this plantation,
and is the child of a certain Quadroon
slave, called Francillla. Tho proofs are
In my possession."
"What of that?" asked Cora; "what
matters whether 1 was born in England
or Louisiana?"
The lawyer took a memorandum-book
from his pocket.
"Since your father will not enlighten
you. Miss Leslie," he said, "the law must
answer your question." He opened the
book and read aloud from one of its
pages :
" 'The children of a slave belong to the
owner of the mother.' In other words,"
added the lawyer, as he replaced the
book in his pocket, "Mr. Leslie is your
master as well as your father ; you are,
therefore, his property, or that of his
creditors."
"Father1." cried Cora, wildly; "do you
hear what this man 6ays? You are si
lent ! Oh, heaven, it is then true !"
For a moment her anguish overcame
her; then, turning to Craig, she said:
"What, then, would you do with mo,
sir?"
"Alas, my poor child," answered Silas,
with affected compassion, "you will be
sold with the others."
With a shriek of horror the Octoroon
buried her face upon her father's breast.
"Sold 1 she exclaimed, in a stineo
voice ; "sold !"
The mulatto Toby stood by, contem
plating the scene with mute despair.
"Mr. Craig," said (Jerald Leslie, "will
not all that I possess suffice to pay the
debt I owe? Why this useless cruelty?
Do you fear that the produce of the sale
will not be enough to repay you? If it
ehould be so. I swear to you that I will
employ the last hour of my life to en
deavor to liquidate your claim. If, then,
there yet remains one sentiment of pity in
your heart, do not rob me of my child,:"
"If I were disposed to grant your prayer,
Mr. Leslie," answered Silas, "the law ia
JlieOT&Di. ailiriiisioe eumi'"
"N'o, no ; who could question your right
to do as you please in the matter !"
"You forget," answered the lawyer;
"you forget the fifty thousand dollars
due to Augustus Hoiton; I am h3re to
represent his interests as well as my
own." ,
"Augustus Horton," cried Cora; "you
hear, father, you hear. It is to deliver
me to him that they would separate me
from you."
"Ileafcsure yourself, Miss Leslie," 6aid
Silas Craig; "the law requires that the
slaves upon a property shall bo sold by
public auetion. That auction will take
piaco at noon tomorrow. Mr. Leslie has
only to repurchase you if he can com
mand the means."
But Cora heard him not.
The name of Augustus norton awak
ened all her terror of the persecution oi
a base and heartless prolligate.
She imagined herself already in hia
power his slave I1I3 to treat as his vil
passion prompted.
Wild with terror, she clung convulsively
to her fattier.
"No, no,"she cried ; "do not abandon
me. I shall die ; I shall go mad. Do you
forget that 1 hat man is the murderer oi
my mother?"
"Silence, silence!" whispered Gerald:
"unhappy girl, do not infuriate him."
"I hope, Mr. Leslie," aid Craig, aa
Cora still clung to her father, "that you
will not oblige us to have recourse to vio
lence." "Kill mc, kill me, sooner than abandon
m to that man," cried Cora.
The mulatto drew a knife from his
pocket and handed it to the agonized
father.
"Kill her, master," he whispered;
'better that than she should meet the fat
of her mother."
Gerald Leslie pushed the 6lave from
Ll with a Mature of horror. "No. no r
iciaimCi- "W nope u art ItlH
nurtured, tenderly beloved, was to be
Xievweeu iBitUiiuliMiiunon ouxxnr eomv
thing can be done. I will see Gilbert.
We will save you, Cora, my beloved; t
will save you."
Two of the men approached the fathei
and daughter to take tho Octoroon from
Gerald's, arms.
But Cora only clung to him more con
YulMvely.
"Father, father!" 6he shriekod.
At a gesture from Craig they seized her
In their arms and dragged h? r away.
Happily for the wretched girl, con.
sclousness once more deserted her, and
she sunk fainting in the arms of the
brutal wretches whoso business it was to
secure her. ,
Silas Craig looked on at this heart
rending scene with an evil light shining
in his red, rat-liko eyes.
"For yeara and year, Mr. Gerald Les
lie," he said, "you and the like of you
have carried it with a hljh hand over
me. But my turn has como at last, I
guess. You look rather small today.
It's a hard thing for a man to be so poor
as to have, to tell his favorite daughter."
"Wretch !" cried tho agonized father;
"this is your hour of triumph; but re
member that Heaven puffers mich as j-ou
to prosper for a while, that it may the
better confound them in the end. A
being capable of infamy such as thla
must also be capable of crime. Guilty
deeds long forgotten are sometimes
strangely brought to light, and it may be
your turn to grovel in tho dust and ask
for mercy of mo."
In spite of hia hardihood in crime the
color forsook Silas Craig's face, and left
It of a dusky white. The random shot
had struck him too forcibly. The man
of guilt trembled.
CHAPTER XXV.
LL things went
on at the Villa
M o r a q u i tos as
calmly as if noth
ing out of the or
dinary course had
happened. Camil
lia and her father
met constantly
and the Spaniard
still displayed his
absorbing love
for his daughter;
but, a few days
after the 6cene in the gambling house, ho
announced to her his intention of making
Fauline Corsi his wife.
The young girl's surprise at this an
nouncement knw no bounds. Nothing
could have' been more remote from her
thoughts than the possibility of her
father's marrying a second time.
She knew of his devotion to her mother
knew the anguish that had been caused
to him by Olyrapla's early death, and to
hear that he was about to wed the young
and frivolous Frenchwoman filled her
with bewilderment.
This, then, was the 'fulfillment of the
ambitious hopes to which Pauline Corsi
had alluded.
Being utterly without avarice or mer
cenary feelings of any kind, the an
nouncement of her father's marriage
gave no pain to Camiliia.
On the contrary, it pleased her to
think that he should win a companion
for his declining days, and her only
prayer was that Pauline might prove
worthy of his affection and might learn
to make him happy.
Her innocent mind could little dream
of the terrible secret which was involved
in this intended marriage.
Again, 6he remembered that no donbt
her fortune would be much reduced by
this unlooked-for event; there would
be, therefore, less objection to her union
with Paul.
This thought filled her with hope, and
she seemed to recognize the hand of
Providence in the turn which events
were taking.
But we must retrace our steps, in order
to throw a light upon the timely appear
ance of Paul Lisimon. Captain Prender
gills, and the sailor Joe, in the secret
gambling-house in Columbia street.
It will be remembered that Camiliia
Moraquitos had recognized the coppercol
ored visage of the sailor in the pit of the
crowded Opera-house.
The beautiful Spanish girl had also
been recognized by honest-hearted J oe,
whose breast was overflowing with grati
tude for the noble handful of dollars
which she had only, that morning given
him.
The Amazon woe anchored in the har
bor of New Orleans, and Joe had been
commissioned by Paul Lisimon to de
liver the letter to Camiliia, and had at
the same time received his Captain's per
mission to take a night's holiday on
shore.
With his pockets full of money the
sailor was determiened to enjoy himself,
and, attracted by the blaze of lights and
brilliant crowd, he had strolled into the
ODera-house.
"Here, the entertainment being not very
much to his liking, he amused himself
by staring at the audience.
It was then that he perceived Camiliia
Moraquitos. From the moment of recog
nizing her he scarcely ever took his eyes
from the box in which she was seated.
Was she not the sweetheart of his Cap
tain's particular Iriend, the -new first
mate of tho Amazon, and was it not there
fore his duty to look after her?
He saw Augustus Horton leaning over
Camillia's chair, and immediately set turn
of Paul .Lisimon.
By and by he saw tbo planter leave the
box to order the carriage at the close oi
the performance.
Determined to watch to the last, he
quitted the pit at tho same moment, and
reached the portico before the theater iu
time to see Augustus and Camiliia enter
tho carriage that was waiting for them.
He also heard tho brief dialogue that
passed between "them at tho door of the
vehicle.
But the indignation of the honest sail or
was unbounded when ho saw ugustua
take his seat in the carriage by thu sida
of Camiliia.
Ho thought that his Captain's new
friend was betrayed, and immediately
resolved to know the truth.
As the carriage drove off, he flung
himself into the io.adway, almost, under
the hoofs of the horses 01 other vehicles,
in order to follow that which contained
Camiliia and the planter.
In this manner he pursued it until it
turned out of tho principal thorough
fare. Then, favored by the obscurity of the
street and the darkness of the night, he
sprang forward, and, clambering like a
monkey, contrived to seat himself on
the board at th back of the vehicle.
He was sufficiently well acquainted
witn inow urieans to recognize uie quar- (
tor through which thev drove ; and when
the carriage stopped, he slipped noise
lessly from his position, and, lurking ia
the shadow, watched Camiliia and Au
gustus as they entered the gambling
iiouee.
.He saw enough to convince him that
some description of treachery was on
foot, and (hut in any case. Paul Llsi
mon's happiness was in danger.
The carriage drove off without the
black coachman having noticed Joe.; and
the 6ailor had ample time to examine th
exterior of the house, and the street Is
wkflk Utm litjiftt?
1 111 IS
II CBI m
street.
Then, without a moment's hesitation,
he ran to the quay, and got a boat to con
vey him on board the Amazon.
Late as H was, neither Taul nor the
Captain bad retired to rost.
They were both seated in tho cabin,
with a pilo of charts before them, and
Iho j-ouns lawyer was taking a lesson ia
navigation.
Joa Io3t no time In relating what he
had just wit nessed ; and ten minutes af
terward Paul LiMmoa and Captain I'ren
dergills wero on shore.
Tho captain knew the house on Colum
bia Ftreet.
"Many a dollar have I lost within its
accurd wall?." he said, as the three
men hurried through the deserted city ;
"but that's in our favor now, for the
keepers of tho houf.o know me, and I
know the trick of tho door, which is a
secret only confided to the habitual
visitors of the house; so we shall get
into the infernal den without any diffi
culty, and once in wo'll find out what
all this means, and whether Don Juan's
daughter is deceiving you."
"She deceive me!" exclaimed Paul, in
dignantly; "8he is all truth, all purity;
but if the man who was with her is ho
whom I imagine, she is the victim of
treachery as vile 0,4 that from which I am
a sufferer."
Thanks to Captain Prendergills, thoy
had no difficulty in penetrating tho mys
terious building.
A man. Beated in a little anteroom on
tho stairs took their hats from them, and
told them which way to go to the
gambling-saloons ; but at the very mo
ment thoy reached the top of the princi
pal stalrcaoO the thrilling 6hrlek of Ca
milla Moraquitos echoed through tho
house.
The ear of Paul Lisimon sharpened by
anxiety, told him whence this shriek pro
ceeded. It came from a long corridor to
their left.
They rushed down this corridor, and
burst open the door at the end as a sec
ond shriek pealed through the building.
The result is already known to the
reader.
The letter written by Silas Craig, which
Bummoned Don Juan Moraquitos from
the opera-box, was a part of the plant
er's base plot, and had been planned
between him and the lawyer.
The business relations between Silaa
and Don Juan were so complicated that
it was easy for the artful attorney to oc
cupy the Spaniard in discussing them till
long after midnight.
The two men sat talking till nearly
three o'clock in that very apartment or
namented with the map of the United
States, and communicating with the
gambling house in Columbia street.
But the two houses were separated by
a passage of considerable length, and
Don Juan was too far from his beloved
daughter to hear that terrible shriek of
distress which alarmed every player at
the gaming table.
w
Upon the day on which Silas Craig, ac
companied by the limbs of the law, en
tered the house of Gerald Leslie, taking
with him desolation and anguish, Pauline
Corsi and Camiliia Moraquitos wore once
more seated In the boudoir of the Spanish
girl.
The Amazon had sailed from New Or
leans, carrying Paul Lisimon away from
danger of apprehension away also from
her he loved.
Matters were rapidly drawing toward a
crisis within a few days the French gov
erness was to become the bride of Juan
Moraquitos.
But the wealthy Spaniard had little of
the aspect of a happy bridegroom.
He rarely entered the apartments of
either his daughter or Pauline Corel, but
he spent his hours in gloomy meditation
in his study, and admitted no one to his
presence.
Camiliia was cruelly distressed by this
change, yet she dared not interrogate
the haughty Spaniard.
Sometimes she imagined that he re
proached himself for contracting a sec
ond alliance which might lesson hia
daughter's wealth.
"If ho knew how little SI care for the
gold which others so value," she thought ;
"if he knew how happy I could be in the
numblest home shared with those I love,
he would not fear to rob mo of a few
thousand."
The confidence commenced between
Camiliia and Pauline upon the day of
Augustus Horton's plotted defeat had
never been discontinued, and it was to
the Frenchwoman alone that Camilla
looked fcr hope and comfort.
Strange anomaly of human nature ! The
ambitious and unscrupulous being who
could rtoop to purchase a wealthy hus
band by means of a vile and guilty secret,
had yet some better feelings left.
Taurine loved her pupil loved her with
tho light love of a selfish nature it is true,
but it is something that one spark of af
fection remained in her perverted nature.
"T'ou are sad, Camiliia?" she said, aa
she looked up from her embroidery frame
to watch the thoughtful face of the Span
ish girl.
Camiliia was seated with her handa
lying idle In her lap, her eyes fixed va
cantly upon the river, shining through
the open window.
"You are sad, Camilla?" repeated
Pauline.
Camiliia aroused herself as if with an
effort.
"Can I be otherwise," phe said, "when
I think of him? When I remember that
he is away I know not '"here his
name branded with disgrace, a wanderer
and an outcast."
".Silly child ! Have I not already told
you that tho clay which c rowns my ambi
tion shall also c rown your love?"
"Ah, Pauline ! If I could but believe
you !'' sighed Camiliia.
"And can yoa not believe me? Do I
look like one who has no will to accom
plish her wish? Look in my face, and see
if there is one line that tells of weak
ness there?"
Camiliia raise 1 her eyes to tho face ol
her late governess with an earnest and
wondering gaze.
Youthful as was that countenance, deli
cate as were the features and complexion,
brilliant though the azure of the ej-es,
there was a look of decision, a glance oi
determination rarely seen in the faces of
strong men.
There was a power for good or evil
terrible, incalculable, if employed for the
latter the power of a great intellect and
an unyielding will.
"Pauline!" exclaimed Camilla, "you
are an enigma."
"Not so," answered the governess, her
clear blue eyes dilating, her l.p quiver
ing with suppressed emotion. "Not so,
Camiliia; I am an injured woman."
"Injured !"
"Ye.-. You, whose life has been
smooth as yonder river, sleeping be
neath the sunshine that gilds its breast
vou have never known what it is to'
writhe beneath a sense of injury to feel
that your whole existence has been
blighted bv the crimesjof others. Therg
to a fiend ; so do not wonder when you
see me cold, heartless, ambitious, de
signing. My nature was poisoned by
the events of -my youth. I said that I
would one day tell you taj story. Shall
tteliit srovftpirt" .... ....
tee, x-aunuu, yvj v m uotparnrui
to you." '
"It la painful; but I foel a savage
pleasure In the pain. I gnash my teetb
at the remembrance of tho old and bittet
wrongs ; but I love to recall them, foi
the thought of them makes me strong.
Have you ever wondered at my pat his
tory. Camiliia?"
"Never."
"I was born beneath a princely roof,
cradled In the luxury of a palace; the
man I called my father was u duke the
woman, whose gorgeous beauty smiled
upon my infancy, was a duehosa !''
"They were your parents?" exclaimed
Camiliia.
"I was taught to think so. They were
i of the Italiun race, and sprang from one
of the most powerful families of the
; south a family whose pride had become
i a proverb throughout ItHly.
! "Thoy had been rnurrlej for soino
years, and had grown weary of hoping
for an heir to the ancient naino which, if
they had died without posterity, would
have become extinct. Disappointed in
his hope of perpetuating his noble race,
the duke had grown indifferent to his
beautiful wire; nay, something worue
than indlfferenco had arisen something
bordering on dislike, which, in spito of
his efforts, he waj unablo to con
ceal. The duchess came of a house al
most as noble as that of hr husband.
She was a haughty and imperious woman
and she was not slow to perceive thU
change in the manner of the duko. She
discovered, that in the very prime of her
youth and beauty she was despised by
tier kusband. Tho bitterness of this dis
covery changed her very nature. Every
day she grew more haughty, more ex
acting, more capricious. Shs shut her
self from the gay world In which sho had
been admired, and abandoned herself to
a mute but terrible despair."
"Poor woman, she suffered !" mur
ium od Camiliia.
"She did. She was wronged, but it did
not make her more pitiful to othors when
their thno of suffering came. It hard
ened her nature, and made her merci
less, as all injustice must ever do. The
duke observed this gloomy silence this
dumb despair. He could not restore to
her an affection which he no longer felt;
but he sought to revive her spirits by
change of sceno, and by those hollow
pleasures which are the sole iesourceof
the idle."
"Vain solace I Poor lady, sho was In
deed to be pitied."
"Ay, but her haughty soul would have
rejected pity as the direst wrong. The
duke left Italy, and took her to Paris,
where, in the midst of tho gay and
frivolous, she mlvht forget her domestio
griefs; but in France, as in Italy, she
refused to share In the pleasures of the
world of rank and fashion, and obsti
nately shut herself in her own chamber."
"Yet she did not die! Strange that
such sorrow could not kill 1"
"Sorrow does not kill. Even her
beauty suffered no diminution. It was
still In the full splendor of its luxuriance,
dark, proud, commanding, queen-like.
Have you ever heard, Camill'a Mora
quitos, of the secrets of Paris? Have
you ever heard of the mysteries of that
wonderful city, in which almost every
6treet has its secret, known only to the
initiated In the winding ways of civilized
life? Three months after the arrival of
the duke and duchess in Paris, an event
occurred which changed tho whole cur
rent of their lives."
"And that event waa "
"Apparently a very simple one ; the
lady's-maid of the duchess was a frivo
lous girl; who had herself been educated
in France, but who had never before
tasted the delights ef the brilliant capi
tal. She was intoxicated with rapture,
and she ventured even to express her ad
miration for Paris in the presence of the
young duchess. Among3t the othF
wonders of this marvelous city, Jean
nette, as the girl was called, spoke of a
fortune-teller who had related to her
some of the events of her past life, and
whom she looked upon as a powerful
magician."
"But surely the duchess did not listen
to this peasant girl's foolish -babble."
"She did ! Despair is, perhaps, terri
bly near akin to madness. She listened
at first from pure abstraction, scarce
heeding what she heard ; but afterward
eagerly. She asked the girl a thousand
questions about this fortune-teller, and
finally it was agreed upon betweea the
mistress and maid that the woman
should visit the duchess late on the fol
lowing night, when the duke was absent
at a political assembly, and all the serv
ants of the establishment had retired to
rest "
"Stranae caprice !" exclaimed Camiliia. ;
"Grief is sometimes capricious. The
duchess doubtless, was ashamed of her
own folly, but she wished to hear what
this woman would say of the future,
which seemed so dark. What if she were
to prophesy the coming of an heir to
that haughty house an heir .whose
coming would restore all the power of
the now neglected wife? The duchess
passed the following day in a state of
restless excitement, eager for the com
ing hour which was to bring the fortune
teller. "It was nearly midnight when Jean
nette admitted the woman by a private
door at tho bottom of the grand stair
case.
"There was something terrible in th
look of the woman who crept with i
stealthy and silent tread over the luxu
rious carpets of that palace-like abode
She was old arid haggard; her yellow
skin disfigured by innumerable wrinkles:
her gray Hair falling in elf locks about
her low and narrow forehead. Hei
mall eyes were surrounded by red anc !
inflamed circles, and almost hidden bj j
the bushy eyebrows wtiicli projectec
over them. Her chin wa3 frinKed will
terrible gray brh ties ; her mouth disfig
ured by two enormous teeth, which re
sembled the fangs of a wild beast. Sh
was a creature calculated to inspire dii
gust and terror, and she seemed stil;
more horrible by contract with the ele
gance around her, as she entered th;
superb apartments of th duchess.
"THere is little do.:bt that the maid,
Jeannette. had told this woman all tha
secrets of her mit.tie.-s. Her task,
therefore, was an easy one. Sho de
scribed the troubles of the past, and
foretold that, before the year had
elapsed, a child would be born to the
duke and duchess. On hearing thia
prophecy from the lips of a miserable
impostor, the haughty Italian fell at her
feet, and burst into an hysterical flood
of tears.
"The woman saw in that moment the
first dim foreshadowing of a future
crime. A week afterward she came
again at the same hour. This time she
saw the duchess alone, and remained
with her for so long a period that Jean
nette's curiosity was excited. She con
trived to overhear the interview.
'Once more the duchess eeemed a
transformed being. She no longer shut
herself from the world. Gay and ra
diant f he re-enterrd society ; and in a
lew momns me arnce was inrunneo cixat
he would ere long become a father.
"On hearing this he was eager for an
Immediate return to Italy, in order that
the infant might be born upon the sot
which .t was by and by to Inherit; but
t duchess had a rasf eaprit poi
inn
thi4 point. I
la)u Paris, 1
?r., , mild not
l,V fa'-'- a.Dd "T:; wishes at
bring hlmiwii w wFfw'
uch a time. mnnu from the first
..Within a twelvemonth rr oro i
,ilt of the 'une teller, a thWj
born .ad r rd indulged
1 was t. .-t f l.l.d. , narblMl i lux-
thai such gi..no-H loaded me
rested upon mo I ho i . mj
with pu-,.,, bu be rn , raoo
and J XL li-st "tii1
to love. A young ai tW.""0". , iovo
engaged to paint turned,
with me, and hi passion w"9 , d .
For the ilrst and only time I toe. a
devotedly, onduriugly. ..Kl
though handsome honorable
minded, distinguished, was drive" 1 ir
thatd.K-al mansion with sco.
tumeiy. What greater tu eouh ho h ,
committed? He had dared to lov . tho
daughter of one of Italy's proudest no-
bl"This was the first bitter wrongofjj
life Tho pride of others trampled cm my
hopes of happme.s, and at sixteen yoaia
of ago my breast was imbittered ry a
blighted affection. My lover wrote m e
a lftter of despairing rewell and lef t
the country for America, lo this aay 1
know not io what part of the mighty con
tinont he went."
"Poor Pauline 1"
"A twelvemonth after this. JpaMtw.
the servant of the duchess, (fled . and LOT
her death-bed she sent for the duke and
confided to him a terrible secret. I was
not the daughter of the duoh"9B ,,5
spurious child, born of low parouto. and
iutroduoed into the ducal mansion by tne
old Parisian fortune-teller."
"Oh Heaven, how terrible !
"It waa indeed terrible. The fury of
the duke knew no bounds. He was a
proud man. and for seventeen years ne
had been duped, fooled, imposed upon
by the child of some wretched French
woman the child he had Introduced into
the society of the noblest in the land,
and whose beauty and accomplishments
had been his boat. He had never
loved me ; there was no link of affection
between us to stay the torrent of nis
rage. That rage was more terrific aga,n
mo. the innocent 1 than even toward the
guilty duehoss. He drove me from hia
doore with loathing, and L the pampered
heiress, wandered forth into the streets
of Genoa, a beggar and aa outcast Be
fore I reached the gates of the town I
was overtaken by the steward of the duke,
who brought me a pookeVbook from hU
master. It contained notes to the amount
of three thousand pounds. My first im
pulse was to cast it in the dirt beneath
ny feet, and to bid the steward go back
and tell his lord how I had treated his
generous donation; but a sudden Idea
took possession of me. This sum ol
money would enable me to go where I
pleased. I might go to Amerioa I
might find him I loved. Two months after
this I landed in New York. I traveled
from city to city, but nowhere could I
obtain tidings of him I sought; and at
last, wearied by my Ineffectual search, my
funds nearly exhausted with the extrava
gant outlay of roy travels, I found my
self in New Orleans. You know tha
rest."
To Be Continued.
IMHENDERSO
109&lilW.NinthSt.,iCANSASClTY,ML
Tha only Specialist in th City who is a Begul&r
Graduate ia Kedidaa. Over 23 yein' Practice,
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