Silas Craig bent his head. He had scarcely power to speak. "My second demand is that you produce the real will, signed by Don Tomaso Crivelli, in which he leaves the whole of his estate to his only and legitimate son, Paul Crivelli, known in this city as Paul Lisimon." Again the lawyer bent his head. "In conjunction with Don Juan Moraquitos, you will restore to this young man the wealth of his father, which you divided into equal portions soon after Don Tomaso's death. You will find no difficulty with Juan Moraquitos. Pirate and adventurer as he has been, he is not so fortunate as you. He has still a conscience." "Is that all?" gasped the lawyer. "It is. I think we understand each other a little better now than we did half an hour ago. Good night." She left the room before he could reply, and before he could summon the negro to usher her from the house. It was nearly eleven o'clock when Pauline Corsi left the lawyer's office, but the streets were lighted brilliantly by the full moon which sailed high in the heavens. The Frenchwoman drew her veil closely over her face. She was dressed in dark garments, which shielded her from observation, and she hurried rapidly through the lonely streets. About half way toward her destination she met two men walking side by side, smoking cigars. Suddenly she stopped, and, clasping her hand upon her heart, looked eagerly at the younger of these two men. "It cannot be," she murmured; "it cannot be. It is the moonlight which deceives me." At this moment they drew near a tavern, the door of which was brilliantly lighted. The lamp-light fell upon the face of the younger man. The two men entered the tavern, and Pauline Corsi remained a few paces from the threshold, looking after them. "Can I be mistaken?" she said, "and yet it seems like some bewildering dream. I might--after thirteen weary years--and to-night!" CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ABDUCTION. The same moonlight which illumined the meeting of Pauline Corsi and the strangers in the streets of New Orleans, shone on the smooth bosom of the Mississippi, and on the white walls of the villa residence of Augustus Horton. The house and plantation of Hortonville were some miles from the wood in which the duel between Augustus and Gilbert had taken place. The scenery which surrounded the villa was exquisitely beautiful, and the building itself, seen beneath the light of the moon with its lamp-lit windows gleaming like pale gems in the glory of the summer's night, had the appearance of some fairy palace rather than any earthly habitation. You might almost have expected to see those white walls melt into thin air and fade away from your gaze. It was nearly midnight, and the planter's small household had retired to rest. There were only two watchers in that luxurious habitation. The first of these was Augustus Horton; the second was Cora, the Octoroon.