I was once more alone, in my father's splendid mansion. One evening he came home, but not with his usual kindly smile. He was pale and troubled, and seemed to avoid my gaze. Without entering the sitting-room, he went at once to his library, and locked himself in, having first directed the servant to call him, in case a Mr. Issachar Burley inquired for him. It was after eight when Mr. Burley called, and was shown into the parlor, while the servant went to announce him to my father. "Miss Marion, I believe!" he said, as he beheld me by the light of the astral-lamp,--and then a singular look passed over his face; a look which at that time I could not define, but which afterward was made terribly clear to me. This Mr. Burley, who thus for the first time entered my father's house, was by no means prepossessing in his exterior. Over fifty years of age, corpulent in form, bald-headed, his florid face bore the undeniable traces of a life, exhausted in sensual indulgences. While I was taking a survey of this singular visitor, the servant entered the parlor,-- "Mr. Burley will please walk up into the library," he said. "Good night, dear," said Mr. Burley with a bow, and a gesture that had as much of insolence as of politeness in it,--"By-by,--we'll meet again." He went up stairs, and my father and he, were closeted together for at least two hours. At ten o'clock I was sent for. I entered the library, trembling, I know not why; and found my father and Mr. Burley, seated on opposite sides of a table overspread with papers,--a hanging lamp, suspended over the table, gave light to the scene. My father was deadly pale. "Sit down, Marion," he said, in a voice so broken and changed, that I would not have recognized it, had I not seen his face,--"Mr. Burley has something to say to you." "Mr. Burley!" I ejaculated,--"What can he have to say to me?" "Speak to her,--speak," said my father,--"speak, for I cannot,--" and resting his hands on the table, his head dropped on his breast. "Sit down, my dear," exclaimed Burley, in a tone of easy familiarity,--"I have a little matter of business with your father. There's no use of mincing words. Your father, my dear, is a ruined man." I sank into a chair, and my father's groan confirmed Burley's words. "Hopelessly involved," continued Mr. Burley,--"Unless he can raise three hundred thousand dollars by to-morrow noon, he is a _dishonored_ man. Do you hear me, my dear? Dishonored!" "Dishonored!" groaned my father burying his head in his hands. "And more than this," continued Burley, "Your father, among his many mercantile speculations, has dabbled a little,--yes more than a little,--in the African slave-trade. He has relations with certain gentlemen at Havana, which once known to our government, would consign him to the convict's cell." The words of the man filled me with indignation, and with horror. Half fainting as I was, I felt the blood boil in my veins.