"Go, sir," said Cora, looking at Augustus for the first time since she had risen from her seat; "I am but a stranger in New Orleans, and you have done much to enlighten me as to the character of its inhabitants. You have done well to choose the hour of a father's absence to insult his only daughter. Go!" "I obey you, Miss Leslie," answered Augustus, white with rage, and trembling in every limb with suppressed passion. "Believe me, I shall not forget our interview of to-day, and shall take an opportunity to remind you of it on some future occasion. For the present I am your debtor; but trust me, the hour of settlement will come between us, when you shall pay dearly for this insolence. In the meantime," he added, turning to the mulatto, "in order to teach your young mistress her proper position, be good enough to relate to her the story of Francilia." With one savage glance at the indignant girl, he hurried down the terrace steps, sprang into the saddle, put spurs to his horse, and rode off at a gallop. "Francilia," exclaimed Cora; "Francilia! what could he mean? Speak, Toby, tell me, who was this Francilia?" The mulatto hung his head, and was silent. "Speak, I say," repeated Cora. "Francilia--was--a slave, belonging to Mr. Leslie, Miss Cora." "Well, then, what could she have in common with me? Why did that man cast her name in my face as an insult?" Toby made no reply. "You do not answer me. Good Heavens! A terrible light flashes upon me. Speak, speak!" cried the excited girl, grasping the arm of the slave in her slender hand, "Toby, speak!" The mulatto fell on his knees at the feet of his young mistress, and cried imploringly: "Miss Cora, in the name of mercy, do not look at me thus." "Toby, tell me," murmured Cora, in a voice hoarse with emotion; "who was my mother?" "Mistress, dear mistress, for pity's sake do not ask me. I have promised not to reveal--" "You said just now that you loved me," answered Cora; "if you spoke the truth, prove your affection; tell me who was my mother." "Your mother--" faltered the slave; "no, no, I cannot, I dare not." "But I command you--nay, I implore." "Your mother--was called--Francilia." "Oh, merciful Heaven, have pity upon me!" cried Cora, hiding her face in her hands; then, after a long pause--she said sorrowfully-- "And I did not even know the name of my mother. Francilia! A slave! This, then, is the secret of my life. Alas! She is dead: is she not?" "She is." "Dead, far from her child, who was not even permitted to weep for her." "Thank Heaven that you do not curse her memory," murmured Toby, rising. "Curse her!" exclaimed Cora; "Would that I could embrace her, as I do you," she added, throwing her arms about the old man's neck. "Me, Miss Cora! Me, a mulatto!" remonstrated Toby, gently repulsing her.