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?"
"Because I would not have you resent that which, in Louisiana, is considered a justifiable prejudice. I pardon Augustus Horton as I pardon his sister Adelaide, who was once my friend."
"Oh, do not speak of her, Miss Leslie, my contempt—"
"Nay, Mr. Margrave! it is you who are mistaken in all this. You are a stranger here, and your noble conduct of to-day may compromise you in the eyes of every colonist in Louisiana. Your place is not here by the side of me, an Octoroon; you should be with Adelaide Horton, a high-born daughter of the European race."
"If nobility of race is to be judged of by the elevation of the soul, it is you, and not Miss Horton, who can claim the loftiest birth," replied Gilbert, with emotion.
"You deceive yourself, Mr. Margrave," said Cora; "Adelaide has a generous heart, and I know that in secret she regrets our broken friendship—you, above all others, should be indulgent to her faults."
"I?"
"Yes," replied Cora, her long black eyelashes drooping beneath the Englishman's ardent gaze; "amongst all her English admirers, there was one alone for whom she felt any real regard. Do you know whom I mean?"
"No, Miss Leslie, nor do I wish to know," answered Gilbert, with energy; "for amongst all the young girls who adorned the farewell ball given by Mrs. Montresor, there was one and one alone to whom my dazzled eyes turned as the star of the brilliant throng. Do you know whom I mean?"
Cora did not answer, but a vivid blush suffused her face at the young engineer's question.
"See," continued Gilbert, opening his sketch-book; "do you remember the bouquet which you left upon a side table in the ante-room. In the center of that bouquet bloomed this tiny blue flower, which we Englishmen call the forget-me-not. It is withered now. Say, Cora, can you forgive the hand which stole the blossom?"
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—"
"Ah, Cora, speak—speak, I implore!"
"From one we love!"
"Cora, my adored," exclaimed Gilbert, with rapture, clasping her hand, and seated himself by her.
They had not been unwatched during this interview. The eyes of jealousy were upon the unconscious lovers, for Adelaide Horton had emerged from the saloon, and, gliding at the back of the little table, had heard the latter part of their conversation.
She knew the worst now. This man—this man to whom she had given her heart, unasked and unsought, loved and was beloved by the despised daughter of a slave. Wounded pride, jealousy, revenge, humiliation, all mingled in the passionate emotion of that moment. Blind with anger, she knew not what she did.
By this time the deck of the Selma was again crowded with passengers. Augustus Horton still carried the New Orleans paper in his hand, and he was talking to Silas Craig about the attack upon Mr. Leslie.
"Confess now, you sly old fox," he said, laughing, "you are the author of this article? Why be too modest to own so good a work?"
Gilbert Margrave started from his seat.
"Now, Cora," he whispered, "I can no longer remain silent. I have now a right to defend you."
The captain of the Selma at this moment joined the group round Augustus Horton.
"You were talking of the article in the New Orleans Messenger, are you not, gentlemen?" he said.
"We are, captain," replied Augustus, "and here is the author," he added, pointing to Craig.
"Then allow me to compliment you, sir!" said the captain, addressing Silas. "You have done a service to society, and I hope the colonists will take warning."
"That they will never do," said Adelaide Horton, advancing to the center of the group, "while you permit a mulattress to take her place on board your boat amongst the free citizens of New Orleans."
She pointed as she spoke to Cora, who had advanced with Gilbert Margrave.
There was a simultaneous movement of surprise amongst the passengers, as if a pistol had been suddenly fired upon the deck.
As Adelaide uttered these words, Mrs. Montresor and Mortimer Percy emerged from the saloon, and watched the scene which was taking place.
"What do you mean, Miss Horton?" asked the captain. "Oh! Adelaide, Adelaide," murmured Mortimer, "this is despicable!"
Terrified at, and ashamed of, what she had done, the jealous girl hid her face in her hands and retired rapidly from the deck, followed by her aunt.
"I will tell you, sir, what Miss Horton meant," said Cora, advancing to the captain; "she would have told you that I am Gerald Leslie's daughter."
"In that case, madam," replied the captain, "you must be aware—"
"That my place is with the slaves at the other end of the steamer. Pardon me, sir, for having forgotten my real position!"
With one proudly disdainful glance at Augustus Horton, Cora slowly retired. The passengers watched her in silence, wondering how the strange scene would end.
Gilbert Margrave advanced to Augustus Horton, and addressed him in a tone of quiet determination, far more impressive than the loudest passion.
"Mr. Horton," he said; "the insult inflicted upon Miss Leslie was offered also to me, since I was by her side at the time. Whether her cause be just or unjust, I insist—you understand, sir, I insist upon an immediate reparation for an act which I consider an abominable cowardice."
"As you please, sir," replied the planter. "I shall land at Iberville."
"Enough. I also will land there."
"Why not throw the Englishman overboard?" said Craig, in an undertone to some of the passengers.
Augustus Horton overheard the words, and turned fiercely upon the lawyer.
"I allow no interference in this," he said; "the quarrel is mine alone. Percy, you will be my second?"
"Pardon me," replied Mortimer Percy, "as Mr. Margrave is a stranger in Louisiana, he may have difficulty in finding any one to assist him in this matter. You will excuse me, therefore, if I give him the preference."
"As you please," answered Augustus, indifferently.
Gilbert grasped the hand of his old friend: "Thanks, Mortimer," he whispered, "your heart is generous as ever."
"Perhaps you won't mind having me for a second, Mr. Horton," said William Bowen; "I'm rather an old hand in that sort of affairs."
Augustus glanced at him with one brief look of contempt, but replied, after a pause, "Be it so, Mr. Bowen; I accept your services. This evening, then, Mr. Margrave. We meet at sunset, in the wood on the borders of Mr. Craig's plantation at Iberville."
"We shall be punctual," answered Gilbert.