The blush faded from the cheek of the Octoroon, and, clasping her hands entreatingly, she exclaimed with earnestness—
"Oh, Mr. Margrave, reflect! An idle word, idly spoken, may occasion evil of which you cannot dream. It is to your honor I appeal! You would not inflict new sorrow upon a heart already almost broken. What would that flower say? that in its brief hour of bloom and freshness Cora Leslie was admired. The flower has withered, and the hopes of my life have faded like the frail petals of that poor blossom."
"No, Cora, no! The flower has but one meaning—says, 'I love you!'"
"Me!" cried Cora, with an exclamation almost of terror. "But do you forget who I am? Do you forget that I am an Octoroon, the daughter of a slave?"
"I forget all, but that I love you."
"Do you not know that in this country it is considered a disgrace to bestow an honorable affection upon a creature of the despised race, and that shame attached to me would attach itself also to you?"
"I know all, Cora, but I love you—I love you!" cried Gilbert, falling on his knees at the young girl's feet.
Cora sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.
"Cora, you weep!"
"I do," she replied in faltering accents, "I feel myself so despised and abandoned in this cruel country; and it is so sweet to hear words of love and consolation from—from one—"