"Stay, my dear aunt, you will forgive Mr. Margrave when I tell you that he is as determined an abolitionist as yourself, or any of your friends in New York. He means sailing for South America in a month, armed with some new inventions in machinery, which he declares ought to supercede slave labor." "Yes, madam," said Gilbert, earnestly; "your nephew well knows my opinion upon this subject, and though his interests may be allied to the hateful barter, which should call a blush to the cheek of every honest American, I know that his heart is with us, the abolitionists of slavery." "Let me shake hands with you, Mr. Margrave," exclaimed Mrs. Montresor; "I declare to you that so hateful to me is the slave trade, and all connected with it, that were it not necessary for me to escort my niece home and assist at her marriage with this hare-brained boy, I would never again set foot upon the accursed soil of Louisiana; but I must not say more to you now, for here come the young ladies. Adelaide is but a child as yet, and has never thought seriously of the matter; while her brother Augustus, like his father before him, is a determined advocate of slavery. Once more, adieu!" and the elegant, although portly, Mrs. Montresor glided from the room, her rich robes of sky-blue moire antique rustling around her. "Gilbert," said Mortimer, hurriedly, as soon as his aunt was out of hearing, "remember, I beg, do not breathe to a mortal one hint of what I just now told you, with regard to Miss Leslie's origin. I suspect some painful mystery here, and I would not, for the world, that any idle talk of mine should cause this poor girl's gentle heart one throb of sorrow or one thrill of shame." "You may rely upon me, Mortimer," exclaimed Gilbert, with enthusiasm. "My lips are sealed forever." He had scarcely spoken, when the two young girls approached, arm-in-arm. There was a marked contrast between the two friends. Young as Adelaide Horton was, she had already all the finished elegance and easy confidence of a woman of fashion. Frivolous, capricious, and something of a coquette, she was born to charm in a ball-room, and to shine in a crowd. Cora Leslie was a creature of an utterly different nature. Like some wild flower from the luxuriant forests of her native South she seemed destined to bloom with a sweeter perfume in loneliness. To blossom for the silent stars and the midnight skies; to expand her fairest petals to the sunshine of one loving heart. "I do not care to see my cousin just now," said Mortimer, "so I will leave you, Gilbert, to make yourself agreeable to the young ladies, while I go and smoke a cigar in the balcony opening out of the conservatory." The young man strolled through the curtained doorway, leading into the cool retreat, as his cousin and her friend entered from the ball-room.