CHAPTER XXIII.
THE FATAL DAY.
The bullet wound which had prostrated Gilbert Margrave in the forest at Iberville was a very serious one.
For many days and nights he lay in one of the apartments of the Pavilion, near Lake Pontchartrain, in a state which was not entirely without danger.
But he had the best medical attendance which New Orleans could afford, and the tenderest care which affection can secure for the object on which it lavishes its wealth.
Night and day Cora Leslie and the mulatto slave Toby watched beside the pillow of the wounded man.
It was they and they alone who listened to the wandering accents of delirium; they who soothed and comforted in the hour of suffering; they who cheered and animated when the danger was past, and the first faint glimpses of returning health re-illumined the cheek of the invalid.
Gerald Leslie was away from home. When the boat carrying Gilbert Margrave, Cora, Mortimer and Toby reached the Pavilion, the planter had already departed for New York, leaving a few brief lines addressed to his daughter, telling her only that urgent business had called him from the South.
The father and daughter had therefore never met since that hour in which the Octoroon had accused Gerald Leslie of being the cause of her mother's death.
The two months for which the bill, for a hundred thousand dollars due to Silas Craig, had been renewed, were rapidly gliding away, and every day made the position of Gerald Leslie more alarming.
Cora knew nothing of these pecuniary troubles. She thought that her father had deserted his home rather than endure her reproaches, and she bitterly upbraided herself for the cruel words she had spoken to one whose faults were rather those of circumstance, than inclination.
Gilbert Margrave recovered; but he still lingered beneath Gerald Leslie's roof; for the planter had written to him from New York, thanking him earnestly for his championship of Cora, and imploring him to remain at Lake Pontchartrain until his return.
Gilbert waited, therefore, until the presence of Mr. Leslie might enable him to make the necessary arrangements for his marriage with the Octoroon.
He was well aware that he could not marry her in New Orleans; but he knew that in free England there is no barrier to separate an honorable man from the woman of his choice.
It was now upon the very eve of the date upon which the dreaded bill of exchange was to fall due, and at eleven o'clock upon the night preceding the fatal day, Gerald Leslie returned to the Pavilion upon the borders of Lake Pontchartrain.
Cora had retired to rest when her father arrived; but Gilbert Margrave was walking along upon the terrace, overlooking the lake upon which the moonbeams shed their soft lustre.
He was, therefore, the first to welcome Mr. Leslie, and he was not long in perceiving that some heavy trouble was weighing upon the mind of Cora's father.
"You must be fatigued after your long journey, Mr. Leslie," said Gilbert. "I feel called upon to play the host beneath your own roof. Pray let us go in. Toby will prepare you some refreshments."
"No, no, Mr. Margrave," answered Gerald; "I want nothing. I am too much excited to require even repose. Let us remain here—here we can converse freely. Toby is a faithful fellow, but he knows too much already of my misfortunes. Where is Cora?"
"She has retired to rest."
"That is well. Poor girl! Poor girl!" He sighed heavily, and relapsed into silence.
The two men walked side by side up and down the terrace for some minutes without uttering a word. Gilbert Margrave was the first to speak.
"Pardon me, Mr. Leslie," he said, "but I fear you have some cause for unhappiness. Remember how dear you and yours are to me, and do not scruple to confide in me, do not hesitate to command my services. They are yours to the death."
"My noble boy, you have already proved that," exclaimed Gerald Leslie. "Gilbert Margrave, I am a ruined man. My journey to New York has been a useless one. I went to endeavor to raise a sum of money which would free me from my embarrassment, but I found trade in a state of convulsion from the threatened war between the North and South, and my mission failed. I have now but one hope. The house of Richardson, of Broadway, have promised, if possible, to advance the sum I require. The money is to arrive by the next steamer. But even this is a forlorn hope, for, when I left New York, dark rumors were afloat of the approaching bankruptcy of that very firm. If this should happen, I am utterly lost. I shall remain to the very last to struggle against evil fortune, but I must remain alone. Tell me then, Mr. Margrave, do you still persist in your proposal for my daughter's hand?"
"Can you doubt it?"
"With a perfect knowledge of her story—remembering that she is the offspring of a slave—that she is an Octoroon!"
"I remember nothing but that I love her, and would have her no other than she is."
"I was not mistaken in you, Gilbert Margrave," replied Mr. Leslie, with suppressed emotion, "you are a man of honor, and it is to that honor I confide. You must fly from New Orleans with Cora. We must not expose her to the violence of a populace, furious against her because of her fatal birth—because she is a slave. That word does not cause you the horror it inspires in me, yet you are no doubt aware that the condition of the child is the same as that of the mother."
"But why not affranchise her?"
"Affranchise her!" exclaimed Gerald Leslie. "Would the law permit me? No, I cannot purchase her freedom until she attains her thirtieth year, unless indeed I could have my motives approved by the magistrate of the parish and three-fourths of a jury. And do you think those motives would be approved at such a time as this, when the public mind is infuriated against all those who would weaken the bonds of slavery? You shudder to behold the love of a father powerless against the laws of this land. It is terrible, is it not?"
"It is infamous," exclaimed Gilbert, "but what is there to be done?"
"You must leave Louisiana. Your marriage can only take place in a free State, for here you cannot make Cora your wife without swearing that you have negro blood in your veins. See the British Consul, obtain from him the means of leaving in safety, and implore him to grant Cora a shelter at his house until you're ready to leave New Orleans. You can conduct her thither at daybreak to-morrow. Closely veiled, she will at that hour escape observation. To you I confide the task of preparing her for this step. You will have little difficulty in persuading her, for she loves you, and she will leave Louisiana without one pang of regret."
"Nay, Mr. Leslie," said the young man; "you wrong her, believe me—"
Gerald Leslie checked him by a rapid gesture.
"For pity's sake not a word," he murmured. "At some future day, when the bitterness of all this suffering has become a memory of the past; when she is happy and—has well-nigh forgotten me—then recall to her the name of her father; tell her—tell her that I loved her. It will be better for both that we should be spared the pang of parting; so I will see her no more, though it is my very life which I lose in losing her. You will write to me, Gilbert?"
"Yes, yes, dear sir," exclaimed the Englishman, clasping his hand.
"Farewell, then, farewell, Gilbert, my son. You will be kind to her for my sake; you will love her dearly, will you not? Farewell."
He wrung the hand which clasped his, and then breaking from Gilbert Margrave, rushed into the house.
The young engineer slowly followed him, and retiring to his own room, made all preparations for the journey.
It was already past midnight, and Gilbert was too much agitated to require rest.
At early dawn his arrangements were complete, and summoning Toby, he gave the faithful mulatto a message to carry to Cora's apartments.
This message was an earnest request that the young girl would meet him in the gardens below without delay.
He had not long to await; he descended to the terrace, and in less than ten minutes he was joined by the Octoroon, who looked pale and anxious in the early morning light.
She scarcely paused for their customary greeting.
"My father arrived last night, Gilbert," she said, "and you and he were together for some time, were you not?"
"We were, Cora."
"Tell me, then, what passed between you?"'
"He communicated sad news to me, Cora! A thousand dangers threaten us. He trembles for you, and he commands our immediate departure from Louisiana. It is for that purpose that I summoned you so early. We are to start this very morning."
"Leave Louisiana, and without him?"
"Yes, without him. He is determined to stay until the last, to fight against ruin; but he will not have you share his danger. The carriage will be ready in a few moments, all arrangements are made. I am to take you from here to the house of the British Consul, and thence, please Heaven, to a free State, where I am to make you my wife."
"But why does my father dismiss me thus—without one word of affection or farewell?"
"Nay, Cora," replied Gilbert Margrave, "do not accuse him. His last words were words of love, broken by sobs of anguish."
"And you told him that I should consent to this parting?"
"I did, Cora."
"Oh, Gilbert, could you think me so base? Was it not to share my father's sufferings that I came from England to Louisiana? and can he think that I should be so pitiful a coward as to forsake him in his hour of peril? No, no; while he remains his daughter will stay by his side; when he flies she will accompany him."
"Cora, Cora—angelic girl! Let it be as you will. I will obey you!" exclaimed the engineer.
"Tell me, Gilbert, why you were to go to your consul?"
"To smooth the way for our departure, and to confide you to his hospitality."
"Go, then," said Cora; "go, but without me. Engage our berths in an English vessel. We will leave Louisiana; but we will leave with my father. This evening you will let us know the result of your mission."
"But if in the meantime—"
"What can you fear? It is but for a few hours, and this evening we shall meet never to part again. See, here comes Toby to say that the carriage is ready. Farewell, Gilbert, till you return to tell us that all is happily arranged."
"The carriage is ready, massa," said Toby, appearing at the top of the terrace steps.
"Come, Gilbert; I will accompany you to the lower garden," said Cora.
They descended the steps side by side, and traversed the winding pathway, followed by Toby.
At the door of the carriage Gilbert Margrave clasped the Octoroon in his arms, and, pressing her to his heart, exclaimed with emotion, "Farewell, my beloved! Even this brief parting is pain and anguish to me. May Heaven bless and guard you!"
There had been a silent spectator of the interview between Gilbert Margrave and Cora.
Gerald Leslie had been standing behind the striped blinds in his apartment, which overlooked the terrace watching the meeting of his daughter and her lover.
He saw them descend the terrace steps, and the thought that Cora had readily consented to depart.
He heard the carriage wheels roll away upon the smooth gravel road, and the bitterness of his feelings utterly overcame him. "She is gone!" he exclaimed; "gone, without casting one regretful look upon the home she is leaving. She is glad to fly with this man; she loves him; she is his! Ungrateful girl! But what then, was it not my wish? She is saved at last. Thank Heaven for that! She is saved, and I am alone! I shall never see my child again."
Overpowered by his grief he sunk into a chair, while his head fell forward on his clasped hands.
He had remained thus for some moments, when the door behind him was gently opened, and a soft footstep stole toward him.
He raised his head, and beheld his daughter kneeling at his feet.
She twined her arms about his neck, and he clasped her to his heart with passionate emotion.
"Cora," he exclaimed; "Cora, is it you?"
"Dearest father, how could you think that your daughter would consent to depart without you?"
"Alas, alas, my unhappy child!" murmured Gerald.
"Ah, my father, why this terror, this agitation? What is it you fear?"
"Nothing, nothing, Cora. Shall not I be here to guard and save you? My Cora, my darling, you love me then, you forgive me?"
"Forgive you? My father, it is I who would ask forgiveness."
Once more the planter strained her to his heart.
"This moment repays me for all I have suffered," he exclaimed, "Oh, Heaven; I am too happy!" Then rising, with a gesture of terror, he cried, "Happy, did I say? Happy, when—hark!"
He paused, clasping Cora in his arms, and listening intently.
The voices of several men were to be heard in the vestibule below, and at the same time hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs. Toby rushed breathless into the room.
"Oh, massa, massa, the dreadful day has come at last! Mr. Craig is below with the sheriffs; he has come to take possession of the estate—of all!"
"Already?" exclaimed Gerald Leslie; "then we are lost."
The agitation of the morning had been too much for the Octoroon; the last shock completely prostrated her, and she sunk, fainting, into her father's arms.
"My daughter!" cried Gerald; "my child—Toby, the one you nursed—is there no escape, no way to save her?"
The mulatto wrung his hands in silent anguish; then with a gleam of hope illumining his dusky face, exclaimed,—
"Stay, massa; the garden below this communicates with the plantation; if we could reach that they could never find us. They are all below in the vestibule—wait, wait!"
He rushed from the room, leaving Gerald Leslie in utter bewilderment as to what he was about to do; but in three minutes he appeared at the open window of the apartment, standing at the top of a ladder.
"See, massa," he cried, "we will save her yet. Give her into Toby's arms, and he will save her, though his own life pays the price of her liberty."
It was too late. As the faithful mulatto stretched forth his arms to receive the prostrate form of the unconscious girl, a harsh voice in the garden below exclaimed—
"What are you up to, there, you nigger? I see you. If you don't come down quicker than a streak of greased lightning, I guess you'll get a bit of lead in your precious carcass that'll bring you down a sight faster than you went up. Come down, you old cuss, will you?"
The speaker was one of the men employed by the sheriff, who had crept round from the vestibule to the gardens to see if there were any doors or windows by which some of the live stock might escape.
The "live stock" is the name given to the slaves upon a plantation.
Human beings, with hearts capable of grief and affection, fidelity and love—but in the eyes of the auctioneer, mere cattle to be knocked down by his hammer to the highest bidder.
Amongst the live stock was counted Cora, the Octoroon, the lovely and accomplished daughter of Gerald Leslie, the destined bride of Gilbert Margrave.