"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!"