“In Port au Prince, mor’n twenty-five year er’go. She was Ducros’, the sugar planter’s darter, and the puttiest quadroon I ever seen. Yea, the puttiest woman of any kind I ever seen,” answered the old ship-keeper in a reminiscent tone.
Chapman’s eyes fairly sparkled with pleasure as he thus secured a clew for future investigation, but without asking other questions he dismissed the retired seaman. It was this information that gave to his face that singular expression during the reception.
A private palace car stood on the track in the station waiting for the coming of the bridal party. Naught less than a special train could be considered when it was decided that Florida should be the favored spot where the wealthy Haitien and his bride, the Dunlap heiress, would spend their honeymoon.
Soft and balmy are the breezes, that pouring through the open windows of the car, flood the interior with odors of pine cones and orange blooms, as Burton’s special train speeds through the Flower State of the Union.
The car is decked with the fresh and gorgeous blossoms of this snowless land; yet of all the fairest is that sweet bud that rests on Burton’s breast.
“Walter, how sweet is life when one loves and is beloved,” said Burton’s young wife dreamily, raising her head from his breast and gazing fondly into her husband’s eyes.
“Yes, love, life then is heaven on earth, sweet wife,” whispered the husband clasping closely the yielding figure in his arms.
“I am so happy, dearest Walter, I love you so dearly,” murmured Lucy clinging still closer to her lover.
“You will always love me thus, I hope, my darling,” said Walter, as he kissed the white forehead of his bride.