"But this was not the fate with which you were threatened. Mr. Leslie had married a vain and capricious woman. They had no children, and his life was not a happy one. His love for you was intense--all the more intense, as he was compelled to conceal from all an affection which would have been considered a weakness. Your father's love for you had reassured Francilia, when one day (you were then four years old), he announced his determination of taking you to England. Francilia did not utter a word; the silent tears filled her mournful eyes. But when they tore you from her arms, she burst into a tempest of sobs, and fell insensible to the ground." "Yes, yes, I remember." "But all that is nothing!" cried the slave, his eyes flashing with vengeful fury; "nothing to--. Yet, no, no! I have no more to tell." "But I insist on knowing all," exclaimed Cora vehemently. "What became of my unhappy mother? How did she die?" "On his return from Europe, Mr. Leslie found her tranquil, and apparently resigned; but the glance of those mournful black eyes became an eternal reproach, which irritated and tormented him. He sent her to work on the plantation; but for some reason or other, go where he would, he was always meeting her, always encountering the same melancholy look, which seemed to ask him for her child. At last he could endure it no longer. He sold her." "Oh, Heaven!" exclaimed Cora. "He sold her to a man of the name of Craig--a bad man--who, under the mask of a sanctimonious life, concealed the base heart of a profligate and a villain. He thought, on purchasing the slave, that he would succeed her late master in her good graces; but finding that he could obtain nothing by persuasion, he would have had recourse to violence, when Francilia seized a knife and buried its blade in her heart." "Oh, my mother, my murdered mother!" "A negro belonging to this Craig stole the knife, which he gave to me. I have it still." Cora sank on her knees, the tears streaming from her eyes, her clasped hands uplifted to Heaven. "Alas, beloved mother!" she cried, "martyr to the base and cruel laws of this accursed land, it is after fifteen years that your daughter learns your unhappy fate; after fifteen years that she weeps for your memory!" CHAPTER IX. THE DAUGHTER'S ACCUSATION. Neither Cora nor Toby was aware that there had been a listener during the latter part of their conversation; but it was not less a fact. Gerald Leslie had returned unobserved by either of the excited speakers, and, arrested by the passionate gestures of the mulatto slave, had lingered in the background, anxious to discover the cause of his agitation. His anger was terrible when he found that the fatal secret, which it had been the business of his life to conceal from Cora, was now revealed. But he still lingered, anxious to hear all. "Toby," murmured Cora, rising from her knees; "tell me where did they bury my mother?"