A little way behind them, laden with shawls, parasols, and books, and proud to be of service to his young mistress, stood Toby, the mulatto; no longer a slave, but a happy attendant on those he loved.
A few weeks after this another vessel steamed out of the New Orleans harbor, bearing some who have been familiar to us; but this steamer was bound for the sunny shores of France.
Paul Crivelli and his cousin Camillia decided on leaving New Orleans until the Spanish girl had recovered from the shock of her father's death. They had consented therefore to accompany Armand Tremlay and Pauline, who, after considerable persuasion, had been induced to become the wife of her old lover without further delay.
Silas Craig left New Orleans in the dead of the night. None knew whither he went, and few cared to discover. He had so contrived as to convey away the whole of his wealth, and if the possession of gold, each coin of which is branded with meanness and dishonor, can bring happiness, the usurer may be a happy man. But let him not hug himself in the security of his hiding place, the bloodhounds of the law are on his track. His departure revealed the secrets of his past life. The gambling-house in Columbia Street, and all the nefarious practices which had been permitted in that haunt of vice, were brought to the light of day. A warrant was issued for the lawyer's apprehension, and his pursuers do not yet despair of dragging him to justice.
Heaven help him, should he ever be so rash as to return to New Orleans! Once in the hands of his infuriated fellow citizens, Silas Craig would have to endure the horrors of Lynch law.
We have little more to say. Those of whom we have written, live to receive the reward of their own actions.
Cora is a happy wife in our own dear native land—happy in the society of the father she loves, secure in the devotion of her proud English husband.
Camillia and Paul are the stars of a Parisian circle. Rich, accomplished, and handsome, the young Spaniard and his wife are admired and caressed by all who know them, but they have no friends whom they regard with the same affection as Armand and Pauline Tremlay.
Our story is finished.
We have not been dealing with the shadowy woes of fiction, but with the real sorrows that have wrung and tortured human hearts, the hearts of our oppressed brothers and sisters.