Camillia did not reply to this remark. It was growing late and Don Juan had not returned. His daughter was unable to repress a feeling of uneasiness at his lengthened absence. The Spaniard's affection for his only child was the one strong passion of his heart. No lover could have been more attentive than he to his daughter's slightest wish. "Strange," murmured Camillia, as the after-piece drew to a close, "my father never fails to keep his word, yet it is now three hours since he left us." The curtain fell, and the audience rose to leave the house. "I will go and look for your carriage, Donna Camillia," said Augustus; "perhaps I may find your father waiting for you in the corridor without." He left the box and returned in about three minutes to say that the carriage was at the door. Camillia's anxious eye detected something of agitation in his manner. "My father," she said; "did you see him?" "No, no," he answered, in rather a confused manner, offering his arm to Camillia, "I have not seen him yet. But pray let me lead you to your carriage, the corridors and lobbies are terribly crowded." He took no notice whatever of Pauline Corsi, who followed as she best could, but who was speedily separated from them by the crowd, and by the rapidity with which Augustus hurried Camillia through the passages and down the staircase. By the time they had reached the portico of the theater, they had completely lost sight of the French governess. Augustus handed the Spanish girl so quickly into a carriage that she was not able to take any particular notice of the vehicle; but when seated inside, she saw, from the gleam of the lamps without, that the cushions and linings were of a different color to those of her own equipage. "Mr. Horton," she exclaimed, "this is not my carriage." Augustus was standing at the door as she spoke. "No matter!" he said; "we have no time to lose, drive on," he added, addressing the negro on the box, and at the same moment he sprang into the carriage and drew up the window. Camillia was bewildered and alarmed by his conduct. "You have forgotten Pauline," she exclaimed; "we are leaving her behind us." "Mademoiselle Corsi must shift for herself," answered the planter, as the carriage drove rapidly away, and turning out of the brilliantly lighted thoroughfare, plunged into one of the darkest streets in New Orleans. "I have wished to spare you all anxiety, Donna Camillia, but concealment can no longer prevail. Your father has been taken ill, and has sent for you." "My father ill! dangerously ill?" "I do not say that." "But perhaps it is so. Oh, Heaven, my beloved and honored father--that noble and generous friend who never denied a wish of my heart--tell them to drive faster, for pity's sake! Let us lose no time in reaching him!" She turned to Augustus Horton with clasped hands raised in supplication. At the very moment when she thus appealed to him, the carriage passed a corner of a street at which there was a lamp.