"Why bow your head, dearest father?" she said, "if your ruin leaves no stain upon your honor. We do not fear poverty. Let us go!"
Craig looked at the Octoroon with a sardonic smile.
"I could have wished that your father had explained to you why you cannot follow him from this place, Miss Leslie," he said; "it will be a painful disclosure for me to make."
"What, sir?" exclaimed Cora, looking alternately from the lawyer to her father.
Gerald Leslie clasped her in her arms.
"My daughter was born in England, Mr. Craig," he said. "She has nothing to do with this business!"
"Your memory fails you this morning, Mr. Leslie," answered Silas; "your daughter was born on this plantation, and is the child of a certain Quadroon slave, called Francilia. The proofs are in my possession."
"What of that?" asked Cora; "what matters whether I was born in England or Louisiana?"
The lawyer took a memorandum-book from his pocket.
"Since your father will not enlighten you, Miss Leslie," he said; "the law must answer your question." He opened the book and read aloud from one of its pages: