"One moment," he said. "The sum which I offered just now for Miss Leslie was the extent of the ready money I possess; but it was not one-twentieth part of what I can command; communication with London, or even with New York, will bring me the funds I require. I ask you--as a gentleman appealing to a gentleman, upon a subject that is dearer to him than life--I ask you to do a great and generous action. Accept my note of hand for a hundred thousand dollars;--double the sum you have just given--and let me restore Cora Leslie to her father?" Augustus Horton shrugged his shoulders. "I would be very glad to oblige you, Mr. Margrave," he said; "but as I don't happen to want money just now, and as I've a fancy for keeping the Octoroon, I beg to decline your liberal offer." Gilbert Margrave glanced at him with a scornful smile. "I appealed to you as a gentleman," he said. "I was mistaken. You shall hear from me to-night." CHAPTER XXVII. THE EVE OF THE WEDDING. On the night of the slave sale, Don Juan Moraquitos sat alone in the apartment which he called his study. The following day was that appointed for the Spaniard's marriage with Pauline Corsi, and preparations had been made for the celebration of the ceremony with the splendor worthy of such a wealthy bridegroom. Pauline and Camillia were together in the young girl's apartments. On one of the sofas lay the dresses of white satin and lace, which the bride and bridemaid were to wear upon the following morning. On a table near stood a box, which contained the wreaths selected by the Frenchwoman for herself and Camillia. This box had not as yet been opened. "Come, dearest Camillia," exclaimed Pauline; "have you no wish to see the Parisian flowers which are to adorn that beautiful head to-morrow? You certainly are most devoid of that feminine weakness--curiosity." "I can trust to your taste, Pauline," answered Camillia. "That's just as much as to say you don't care a straw about the matter; and that you are thinking of nothing but that stupid lover of yours, who is, no doubt, thousands and thousands of miles away." Camillia sighed. Her face was averted, and she did not see the arch smile which lighted up the Frenchwoman's face. "However," continued Pauline; "I shall insist on your approving of my choice." She unfastened the cord which was tied about the box; and, lifting the lid, took out the two wreaths. They were both of the same pattern--coronet-shaped garlands of orange flowers and buds, purely white amidst their glistening green leaves; as true to nature as if they had been gathered from a hot-house, and breathing the delicious perfume of the flower. They were the perfection of Parisian taste and art. "Why, Pauline," exclaimed Camillia, "they are both bridal wreaths." "Can you guess why it is?" "No, indeed."