The young girl was dressed in the thinnest white muslin, which floated round her graceful figure, aerial as some vapory cloud in the summer sky. She was pale and a mournful shadow dimmed the orient splendor of her large black eyes. She descended the marble steps slowly without perceiving the faithful slave who had risen at her approach, and who stood aside regarding her earnestly.
"Miss Cora is sad," he said presently; "will she forgive the poor slave if he presumes to ask why?"
She started at the sound of the mulatto's voice, and turning toward him held out her hand silently.
Toby took the little hand in his and raised it to his lips.
"Miss Cora does not deny that she is sad," he repeated.
"Not so much sad, Toby, as bewildered," replied the young girl. "My reception at the house of my old school-fellow has filled my mind with perplexity. What could be the meaning of Adelaide Horton's conduct?"
"Forgive me, Miss Cora, if I remind you that your father particularly requested you not to leave the house during his absence."
"I know, Toby, I know. But why that request? Why am I a prisoner here? Why is my father's manner more indicative of sorrow than joy at my return to Louisiana? Why, on my first visit to the friend of my youth, do I find the door shut in my face?"
"But the English gentleman who conducted you home explained the reason of that, Miss Cora?"
"No, Toby; Mr. Margrave endeavored to explain, but in doing so he only revealed his embarrassment. There is some secret in all this. Some mystery that—Hark!"