This was the planter's love. The love of the profligate who seeks to humiliate his victim in order that he may subdue her.
CHAPTER XV.
THE CHALLENGE.
After Augustus Horton had read the paragraph in the New Orleans paper—a paragraph whose every line was calculated to wound the sensitive nature of the Octoroon—he looked toward Cora to see what effect the insult had had upon her and Gilbert Margrave.
They were seated side by side, and appeared engrossed in conversation, apparently unconscious of all that was passing around them. The planter threw down the newspaper with a smothered ejaculation of rage.
"Curse her!" he muttered; "is there no way to humble that proud soul? He, the Englishman, is by her side, deferential as if he were talking to a queen. No matter! my turn will come."
He withdrew to the saloon, with a crowd of friends and satellites, who flocked around him as one of the richest planters of Louisiana.
William Bowen had lost a handful of dollars at the gaming-table, and followed his patron, Silas Craig, in order to obtain a fresh supply from that gentleman.
The deck was therefore almost deserted. A few passengers, ladies and gentlemen, lounging here and there, upon the comfortable benches; the ladies employed in some elegant needle-work, the gentlemen smoking; Cora and Gilbert Margrave sat apart, and out of hearing of the rest.
"Tell me, Miss Leslie," said Gilbert, as Augustus Horton left the deck, "why did you prevent my inflicting upon that man the chastisement which he so richly deserved? Why did you compel me to remain silent, and suffer you to be insulted with impunity?"