"I understand. As a worthy member of society, then, as a Christian and a gentleman--in the sense in which we regard these things--he may send his daughter to toil sixteen hours a day on his plantation; he may hand her to his overseer to be flogged, if she is too weak (or too lazy, as it will most likely be called) to work; he may sell her, if he will, no matter to what degradation--no matter to what infamy; but let him dare to love her--let him dare to look upon her with one thrill of fatherly affection--let him attempt to elevate her mind by education, to teach her that there is a free heaven above her, where slavery cannot be--let him do this, and he has committed a crime against society and the laws of Louisiana." "Exactly so," replied Craig, rubbing his oily hands, "I see you understand the law of the land, Mr. Percy. No wonder that Gerald Leslie is a ruined man, he has wasted a princely income on the education of this girl--this slave." "Poor Cora!" exclaimed Adelaide. "What, Miss Horton, did you know her?" asked Craig. "I did, indeed," replied Adelaide, "we were educated at the same school--we were bosom friends." "Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Craig, sanctimoniously; "to what pollution are our daughters exposed, when the children of slaves are foisted upon society in this manner!" "No, Mr. Craig," cried Mortimer, with, a bitter laugh; "the pollution is in the very atmosphere of a clime in which a father's first duty to society is to trample on the laws of humanity--the ties of flesh and blood." "Hold your tongue, Mortimer," said Augustus Horton, "you know nothing of these things; Gerald Leslie has acted disgracefully, and this girl must pay the penalty of her father's folly." "That is Louisiana justice." "Excuse me for two or three minutes, Mr. Craig," said Augustus, rising; "I have a few words to say to my cousin. I will rejoin you almost immediately; in the meantime the ladies will amuse you. Come, Mortimer." The young man followed his cousin, after bowing coldly to Craig. The truth of the matter was that Augustus Horton wished to get his imprudent partner out of the way, as he felt that Silas Craig would take care to spread the report of Mortimer Percy's revolutionary principles among the outraged Southerners. Left alone with the two ladies, Silas Craig felt himself very much at a loss for conversation. He had never married, and he was always silent and ashamed in female society. Accomplished hypocrite as he was, he trembled before the keen instincts of a woman, and felt that his real nature stood unmasked. But on this occasion he was relieved from his embarrassment in a manner he had little expected. Just as he was preparing himself to utter some commonplace remark, a stentorian voice resounded through the vestibule without. "Oh, you needn't announce me," said the intruder; "everybody knows me. It's old Craig, the lawyer, I want to see, and I know he's here."