THE FATAL RESOLVE.
The young planter strolled with a leisurely step through the doorway of
the conservatory, bowing to the two girls as he entered the room.
"At last!" exclaimed Adelaide; "so you have actually condescended to
honor my aunt's assembly with your gracious presence, my dear cousin.
Perhaps you were in hopes you would not see me."
"Perhaps you were in hopes I should not come," retorted the young man.
"On the contrary," said Adelaide, "I was awaiting you with impatience.
But pray don't be alarmed, it was not on my own account, but on that of
Miss Leslie that I wished to see you. My friend is anxious to ask you
about her father."
"I was just about to beg you to introduce me to Miss Leslie," replied
Mortimer.
"Mr. Mortimer Percy, cotton merchant and slave proprietor, my cousin
and my future husband, as my aunt says--"
"Stop, Adelaide, this is no time for jesting," said Mortimer, gravely.
"Is your news bad, then?" exclaimed his cousin.
"It is not altogether as favorable as I should wish."
"Oh, in Heaven's name, speak, Mr. Percy," cried Cora, pale with
agitation, "what has happened to my father?"
"Reassure yourself, Miss Leslie," replied Mortimer, "when I left New
Orleans your father was rapidly recovering."
"He had been ill, then?"
"He was wounded in a revolt of the slaves on his plantation."
"Wounded!" exclaimed Cora; "oh, for pity's sake, do not deceive me, Mr.
Percy! this wound--was it dangerous?"
"It was no longer so when I left Louisiana, I give you my honor."
Cora sank into a chair, and buried her face in her hands.
"You see, Adelaide," she murmured, after a few moments' silence, "my
presentiments were not unfounded. Dearest father, and I was not near to
watch and comfort you!"
Adelaide Horton seated herself by the side of her friend, twining her
arm affectionately about Cora's slender waist.
"Strange," thought Mortimer Percy, as he watched the two girls, "one
word from me, and my cousin would shrink from this lovely and innocent
creature with loathing and disdain."
The prelude of a waltz resounded at this moment from the orchestra and
Gilbert Margrave appeared to claim his partner.
"Ah!" exclaimed Adelaide, "it is you, Mr. Margrave! My poor friend has
just heard some sad news."
"Sad news, Miss Horton!"
"Yes, there has been a revolt of the slaves, in which her father well
nigh fell a victim. Thank Heaven, the result was less terrible than it
might have been."
While Adelaide was speaking to Mr. Margrave, Mortimer Percy approached
the chair on which Cora was seated, and bending over her for a moment
said, in a low voice, "let me speak to you alone, Miss Leslie."
"Alone!" exclaimed Cora, with new alarm, then turning to Gilbert, she
said, calmly, "I trust that you will be so kind as to excuse me, Mr.
Margrave, and ask Adelaide to favor you with her hand for the next
waltz, I wish to speak to Mr. Percy about this sad affair."
"Cora insists upon it, Mr. Margrave," said Adelaide, "and you must,
therefore, resign yourself. But remember," she added, turning to
Cora, "that we only consent on condition that we find you smiling and
altogether restored to good spirits on your return. Now, Mr. Mortimer
Percy, after this I suppose you will leave off praising the virtue of
your pet negroes."
"What would you have, my dear cousin?" replied Mortimer; "when dogs are
too violently beaten, they are apt to bite."
"They should be tied up then," retorted Adelaide as she took Gilbert's
arm and hurried to the ball-room where the dancers were already
whirling round in valse a deux-temps.
Cora rose as she found herself alone with the young planter, and no
longer attempting to conceal her agitation, exclaimed, anxiously.
"And am I indeed to believe what you say, Mr. Percy; do you really mean
that it is ill-usage which has urged my father's slaves to this revolt?"
"Alas, Miss Leslie," replied the young South American, "the planter
finds himself between the horns of a terrible dilemma; he must either
beat his slaves or suffer from their laziness. I will own to you that
Mr. Leslie is not considered too indulgent a master; but he only
follows the example of the greater number of our colonists. However,
it is not he, but his overseer who was the chief cause of this revolt.
Your father would have interfered; in attempting to do so he was
seriously wounded; but let me once more assure you that he was entirely
out of danger when I left New Orleans."
"And did he give you no message for me--no letter?" asked Cora.
"No, Miss Leslie."
"What, not a word?"
"Your father did not know that I should see you," replied Mortimer,
"and it is on this very subject that I wish to ask you a few questions;
not prompted by any vain curiosity, believe me, because you inspire me
with the warmest interest."
"Speak, Mr. Percy," said Cora, seating herself.
Mortimer drew a chair to the side of that on which Cora was seated, and
placing himself near to her, said gravely,
"Tell me, Miss Leslie, in what manner do you usually receive your
father's letters?"
"Through one of his correspondents who lives at Southampton."
"Then they are not directly addressed to you."
"They are not."
"Were you very young when you left Louisiana?"
"I was only five years old," replied Cora.
"So young! Your memory can recall nothing that occurred at that time, I
suppose."
"Oh, yes," answered Cora; "but memories so confused that they seem
rather to resemble dreams. But there is one recollection which no time
can efface. It is of a woman, young, beautiful, who clasped me to her
arms, sobbing as she strained me to her breast. I can still hear her
sobs when I recall that scene."
"Has Mr. Leslie ever spoken to you of your mother?" asked Mortimer.
"Was it she?" cried Cora, eagerly.
"I do not know, Miss Leslie, for at that time I was still in England,
where, like you, I received my education."
"Alas," exclaimed Cora, her beautiful eyes filling with tears, "who
could it be if it was not her? No, Mr. Percy. I have never known even
the poor consolation of hearing people speak of my mother. Every time
I have ventured to address my father on the subject, he has replied in
harsh and cold tones that have chilled my heart. All that I could ever
learn was that she died young, at New Orleans. I dared not speak upon a
subject which caused my poor father such painful emotions."
"But he has always evinced the greatest affection for you, Miss Leslie,
has he not?" asked Mortimer.
"Oh, Mr. Percy," replied Cora, her eyes kindling with enthusiasm, "what
father ever better loved his child? Every whim, every childish wish has
been gratified, but one; alas, that one prayer he would never grant."
"And that prayer was--?"
"That I might join him in New Orleans. On his first visit to England, a
year ago, I implored him to take me back with him; but he was deaf to
all my entreaties. 'It is because I love you,' he said, 'that I refuse
to take you with me'; perhaps it was the climate of Louisiana that he
feared; that climate may have been the cause of my mother's death."
"I was sure of it," thought Mortimer, "she is entirely ignorant of her
origin."
"All that I could obtain from him in answer to my prayers," continued
Cora, "was a promise that this separation should be the last; that he
would sell his plantation at the earliest opportunity, and come and
establish himself in England."
"And since then," said Mortimer, "has he renewed that promise?"
"With reservations that have made me tremble," replied Cora; "I feel
that his affairs are embarrassed, and will detain him from me long
after the promised time of our reunion."
"Alas, Miss Leslie, you are not deceived," said Mortimer earnestly;
"Mr. Leslie has experienced great losses. The death of Mr. Treverton,
his partner, who was killed in a duel a year ago, at the very time of
your father's return from England, revealed deficiencies that he had
never dreamed of. He was obliged to have recourse to heavy loans; and
since that, the revolt of his slaves, in damaging the harvest, has
given the finishing blow to his difficulties."
"Then my father is ruined, Mr. Percy," cried Cora, clasping her hands:
"oh, do not imagine that the aspect of poverty alarms me; it is not of
myself that I think, but of him. What a life of anxiety and effort he
has endured, in order to establish a position, which he only seemed to
value on my account! Never has he allowed me to hear one expression of
uneasiness drop from his lips; never has he denied the most extravagant
of my caprices. Ah, if he but knew how gladly I would exchange all this
worthless splendor for the happiness of sheltering my head upon his
noble breast. If he could but tell how dear the humblest home would be
to me after the long isolation of my youth. Who can tell how long our
separation may endure!"
"Nay, Miss Leslie," said Mortimer soothingly; "your father's
position is far from desperate, though he may require a long time
and considerable courage in order to extricate himself from his
difficulties."
"A long time! Some years, perhaps?" asked Cora.
"I fear so."
"And during this heart-rending struggle," exclaimed the young girl, "he
will not have a creature near him to comfort or sustain him. And if
new dangers should menace him--for this revolt has been avenged by the
blood of the slave-leaders, has it not?--and fresh cruelties may cause
new rebellion. Oh, heaven! the thought makes me tremble! No, my father
shall not be alone to struggle! If he suffers I will console him; if he
is in danger I will share it with him."
"What do you mean, Miss Leslie?" cried Mortimer.
"You leave England in a few days with Mrs. Montresor and your cousin
Adelaide. I will accompany you."
"But, Miss Leslie, remember--" remonstrated the young man.
"I remember nothing but that my father is in danger, and that a
daughter's place is by his side. See, here comes Mrs. Montresor; I know
she will not refuse to grant my request."
The good-natured hostess had come to the ante-chamber to look after her
wall-flowers, as she called them.
"You running away from us, Cora!" she said; "we shall certainly not
allow this matter-of-fact nephew of mine to deprive us of the belle of
the room."
"Oh, my dear Mrs. Montresor," exclaimed Cora; "a great misfortune has
happened to my father."
"I know it, my dear child," replied Mrs. Montresor, "but, thank Heaven,
that misfortune is not an irreparable one."
"No, madam, nothing is irreparable but the time which we pass far away
from those we love in their hour of trouble. I implore you to take me
back to him."
"But Cora," answered Mrs. Montresor, "do you forget that your father
formally expressed his wish that you should remain in England?"
"Yes, madam; but the motive of my disobedience will render it
excusable, and my first duty is to go and console my father."
"Pardon me if I still interfere, Miss Leslie," said Mortimer Percy,
earnestly; "but think once more before you take this rash step. Your
father may have some very serious motive for forbidding your return to
New Orleans."
"What motive could a father have for separating himself from his only
child? But stay," added Cora, struck by the earnestness of Mr. Percy's
manner, "perhaps there is some secret mystery which you are aware of.
Tell me, sir, is it so? Your manner just now--the strange questions
which you asked me, all might lead me to suppose--"
"Those questions were only prompted by my interest in you, Miss
Leslie," replied Mortimer; "but it is the same interest which bids me
urge you to abandon the thought of this voyage. Your father's welcome
may not be as warm as you would wish."
"I know his heart too well to fear that," exclaimed the excited girl;
"be it as it may, my resolution is irrevocable; and if you refuse to
take me under your charge, Mrs. Montresor," she added, "I will go
alone."
"What?" cried Adelaide who had entered the ante-chamber, followed by
Gilbert, in time to hear these last words. "You would go alone, Cora;
and who, then, opposes your departure? We will go together; will we
not, dear aunt?" exclaimed the impetuous girl.
"Yes, Adelaide, since your friend is determined on leaving, it will
be far better for her to accompany us," replied Mrs. Montresor; "but
I must own that I do not willingly give my consent to Miss Leslie's
disobedience to her father's wishes."
"But my father's thanks shall repay you for all, dear madam," said
Cora; "I shall never forget his goodness."
"Come, come, then, naughty child, let us return to the ball-room. You
must bid adieu to all your acquaintance to-night, for our vessel, the
Virginia, sails in three days. Come, children, come."
Mrs. Montresor led the two girls away, while Mortimer Percy flung
himself onto a sofa, Gilbert Margrave watching him anxiously.
"Why did you not tell Mrs. Montresor the truth?" asked Gilbert.
"What would have been the use, since I cannot tell it to Miss Leslie?
That is what seals my lips. Her father has concealed from her her real
origin. She thinks she is of the European race--I discovered that in my
interview with her--and I dare not reveal a secret which is not mine to
tell."
"And you fear that her return to New Orleans will cause sorrow to
herself?" said Gilbert.
"I do," replied the young South American; "every door at which she
dares to knock will be closed against her. Even my cousin, her friend,
will turn from her with pity, perhaps, but with contempt. You, who
dwell in a land where the lowest beggar, crawling in his loathsome
rags, is as free as your mightiest nobleman, can never guess the
terrors of Slavery. Genius, beauty, wealth, these cannot wash out the
stain; the fatal taint of African blood still remains; and though a man
were the greatest and noblest upon earth, the curse clings to him to
the last. He is--a slave!"