The light of this lamp flashed upon the face of the planter as they drove rapidly by. Brief as the moment was, Camillia fancied she detected a smile of triumph upon the countenance of Augustus Horton. A thrill of horror crept through her veins as she thought that perhaps this alarm about her father was some vile subterfuge of her rejected lover. She had often heard--heard with a careless and unheeding ear, of deeds of darkness done in the city of her birth. She knew that the wealthy members of New Orleans society were not over scrupulous in their gratification of their viler passions--and she trembled as she thought of her helplessness--but she had the brave spirit of her father's race, and she had sufficient presence of mind to conceal her terror. She determined upon testing her companion. "Why did not my father send his own carriage for me?" she asked. "Because Don Juan was not taken ill at the Villa Moraquitos. He was attacked in a gaming-house at the other end of the city, and it is thither I'm taking you." "My father stricken with illness in a gaming-house!" said Camillia. "My father a gambler?" "Ay, that surprises you no doubt. There are many secrets in this city of ours, Donna Camillia, and your father knows how to keep his. It was to avoid all scandal that I brought you away from the Opera-House by a species of stratagem. It would not have done for that brilliant assembly to know whither I was bringing you." "It is to some infamous haunt then?" said Camillia. "All vices are infamous," answered the planter. "It is to the haunt of the rich and idle--the aristocratic and dissipated. But perhaps your womanly nature shrinks from this ordeal. If it be so, I will drive you home without delay. There is no absolute necessity for your seeing your father to-night. To-morrow he may be well enough to return to the Villa Moraquitos, and in the meantime I do not think there is any serious danger." These last words were uttered slowly and hesitatingly, as if the speaker felt them to be untrue, and only spoke them in the desire to comfort his companion. Camillia's suspicions were completely dispelled. "You do not think he is in danger?" she exclaimed. "Can you imagine Camillia Moraquitos so poor a coward as to shrink from visiting her beloved father because he lies in a gambling-house? Had he been stricken in the most infamous den in New Orleans, I would enter it alone to comfort and succor him." Had there been a lamp near to illumine the planter's face at this moment, Camillia might have again beheld the triumphant smile which had before alarmed her. Five minutes after this the carriage stopped at a low door, in a dark but highly respectable-looking street. The negro coachman kept his seat, but Augustus sprang on to the pavement and handed Camillia out of the vehicle. The door before which they had stopped appeared to be closed so securely as to defy all the burglars in New Orleans.