Augustus Horton was elated at the success of his villainous plot. He had lodged the only rival whom he feared in a felon's jail; he felt that Camillia Moraquitos might now be easily won; but his heart—if the profligate who yields only to the dictates of passion can be said to have a heart—was full of the image of Cora the Octoroon.
Just as the boat was about pushing off, two young men stepped on board. The first was Mortimer Percy, the second Gilbert Margrave, the young engineer and artist, who carried a sketch-book under his arm. He saluted Augustus and his sister with a grave bow of recognition.
"So! Gilbert," said Mortimer, "you come armed with your pencils and sketch-book, in order, I suppose, to catch some of the beauties of the Mississippi banks as we glide past them."
"To tell you the truth, my dear Mortimer, I have far graver reason for being here. I come to meet some one."
"A lady?"
"Yes."
"And her name is—?"
"Miss Cora Leslie."
"Good Heavens, my dear Gilbert, are you in earnest? You know this girl's history?"
"I do; and in my eyes that very history renders her even more sacred than a defenseless woman must ever be to the mind of an honorable man. I received a message this morning from Mr. Leslie's old slave, Toby, informing me that his young mistress is to come on board the boat at the first station, and begging me to be there to meet her, as she might have need of my services."