University of Virginia Library

2. PART SECOND.

1. I.

A year elapsed and Alice May left the boarding school to return to
Louisiana—for she was a dark-eyed child of the sunny south. She returned
home with her father a betrothed bride! During the year that
ensued her first interview with Edward Orr, in Mount Auburn, and the
bow she had from him at the window, he had sought her acquaintance,
and intimacy grew to love. They parted in the drawing-room of the
Tremont, when he had called to bid her good bye the evening preceding
her departure. He promised in the spring to come out and be
married—for till then he would not come into the possession of his estate.
Their engagement was known to and approved of by her father,
a tall, handsome man, with a haughty air, and manners something cold
and unprepossessing. Edward did not like him from the first; perhaps
because his arrival in Boston was the signal of his departure from
Alice. He was, however, tender and affectionate to his child, who
seemed to be devotedly attached to him. Of him, Edward had learned
that he was a wealthy planter who resided near Lauvidais in the vicinity
of New Orleans, that he was a widower, and that Alice was his only
child.

The parting between the lovers was favored by the voluntary and judicious
absence of Colonel May from the room, and with the usual protestations
of love, in this case, painfully sincere, and a promise mutually
drawn from each other to write once a weak. Alice at length received
the last lingering kiss—and the next moment was left weeping,
alone.

2. II.

It was the evening of the 22d of February. It was to be celebrated
by one of the most magnificent assemblies that had ever been in the gay
capital of Louisiana. In a planters' villa a few miles from the city was
one fair inmate preparing for the brilliant scene. It was Alice May.
Four months had elapsed since she had left Edward, and her love burned
clear and pure and steady. He was her idol—her heart of hearts!
She wrote to him oftener than he had stipulated, and was thinking of
him daily, hourly. Her life was wrapped up in his, and she knew from
his letters that he loved her with the same unwavering devotion.

She had been much courted, caressed and flattered since her return
home. In every place she was the star of all eyes. But her love for
Edward Orr was the polar star of all her regard, and the compliments,
the flattery and homage she received, made no impression upon her.—
If she had her own will she would have withdrawn from society; for
she cared for no pleasure that he did not share with her. But her father,
proud of her extraordinary beauty, and flattered by the attention
paid her, carried her, to every public place of amusement, with which
the city was then rife. On the present occasion she had entreated to
remain at home, as she had felt all day unusually depressed. But he
had a motive in urging her compliance with his wishes, and she consented
to prepare and accompany him to town in the carriage,

She was seated at her window which looked out upon a spacious
lawn, ornamented with noble elms and sycamores. with a glimpse
of the river beyond. The moon was filling her shield with light as the
twilight deepened, and shone broadly down between the light trellised
columns of the piazza. A mocking bird near by was making the air
musical with a hundred stolen songs, and at intervals from the quartier
of the slaves, came the low chaunt of some Africen air.

Behind Alice was kneeling a young female slave braiding her long,
raven hair; for she had for some months ceased to let it have its freedom.
Reclining on a couch beside her, lay a still beautiful quadroone
about thirty eight years of age. She was an invalid, and her large
black eyes seemed to beam with unearthly beauty. Her hand was thin
and transparent, and a deep rose seemed opening beneath the olive delicacy
of her cheek. She was consumptive, and lay there like a child
unconscious of her danger, and as interested in the trifles about her,
as if Death had not lifted his finger and beckoned her away. Her

name was Desiree, and she was a slave. Many years before, struck
with her beauty, while she was yet a child, Colonel May had purchased
her for his wife's attendant. The lady educated her, and made her rather
a friend and companion than a slave. When the handsome Desiree had
reached her twentieth year her mistress died, since which period she
had been a housekeeper and overseer of the other female domestics.—
To her Alice was greatly attached, and the affection of the quadroone
for her young mistress was like that of a mother towards her own child.

`Ah, Miss Alice, your hair is already as long as mine,' she said,
after admiring for some time the raven tresses of the maiden; `and I
have been said to have the most beautiful hair in Louisiana.'

`Was my mother's hair like mine, Desiree?'

`Mistress' hair was fair brown,' answered the slave, with a hesitation
in her manner, and looking as if she would have avoided replying to
the question.

`I wish I could have seen to recollect my mother. She died, alas,
when I was born! Motherless I have been from my birth, and oh, how
have I sighed to lean on a dear mother's bosom.'

The quadroone sighed; then her eyes suddenly sparkled with animation;
she half rose from the couch, and with parted lips eagerly bent
towards her young mistress as if she would speak! but the words died
in her heart as she sank back upon her couch and hid her face in her
hands.

During the remainder of the toilet she remained silent; and at length
Alice, being richly yet tastefully dressed, drove off with her father.

3. III.

The loud, crashing music of the orchestra, pealed through the gorgeous
halls of the St. Louis, and sounds of mirth and festivity reached
their ears as they alighted at the thronged door. As they reached the
hall the floor was already occupied by the dancers, and the noise, and
glare of chandeliers and the motion of the restless crowd was bewidering.

`Come this way, Alice,' said her father, `I wish to introduce you to
the Count Bondier, who has expressed a desire to become acquainted
with you. He is of a distinguished French family, and I wish you to
be civil to him. Perhaps I may as well tell you that I wish him to make
your alliance, and that for so good a match your Boston lover, had best
be no more thought of.' This was whispered in her ear as they crossed
the hall to an alcove where Colonel May had discovered the foreigner.

If Alice had not been a girl of a strong mind and independent native
character, she would have sunk through the floor at this announcement.
As it was she trembled like an aspen leaf, and internally resolved to hate
him. He was presented to her and coldly yet politely received. He
was a good looking Frenchman about thirty with an air of high fashion.
He was at once struck with the charms of which he had heard so much;
and Colonel May taking an opportunity to desert his daughter, left her
dependent on the Count for a protector in the throng. He offered his
arm, which she knew not how to decline in her unprotected state, and
accepted. He found her disinclined to converse, and proof against his
compliments. After trying his best for half an hour to entertain her
and get into her good graces—for the Count's estates were under mortgage,
and the young Louisiana bell was an heiress—he began to despair.
At length her father reappeared, and she flew to his arm in a
way that convinced him of the difficulty of getting a titled son-in-law.
In her presence he invited the Count to dine with them the next day;
an invitation which he accepted, it seemed to her, with great pleasure.

The event so embittered the hours of the assembly that Alice at
length prevailed on her father, on the plea of ill-health, to retire with
her. The ensuing day the Count came, and Colonel May studied to
leave him alone with her. But coldness and distance alone characterised
her manner in his presence.

Day after day he was a visiter to Lauvidais, and daily pressing his
suit by every attention and every gentle device in love's armory. But
in vain. At length he made a bold strike and addressed her. She refused
him civilly but firmly. This enraged her father, who threatened,
unless she gave her consent to marry him within three months he would
deprive her of her inheritance, and shut her up in a convent.

`Give me half that time to decide!' said she with firmness.

`I grant it, Alice! and expect at the end of the period that you will
be prepared to comply with my wishes, and those of M. Bondier, who
is devoted to you! Your alliance with him will place you in the best
society in Paris.'

On her father's departure, Alice fastened her chamber door, and setting
down wrote the following letter:

This letter was received by Edward Orr, in less than two weeks after
it was penned, and its perusal gave him intense agony. He made instant
preparations to proceed south to rescue her from her fate; but
before his departure he received another letter—it was but a single line.

Edward gazed at the words with a glazed eye! What fearful mystery
was this! What has happened? I will know the worst. Lost to
me forever! No! she cannot be false! I will fly to her—for assuredly
some dreadful evil hath befallen her! How wild and large the
writing! so unlike her usual hand—yet it is her's! Alice, I heed not
your command! I fly to you!'

With this determination, the almost frenzied lover sprang into the
carriage and drove to the depot, his mind tortured with the mystery,
his heart bleeding with the agony of suspense.