Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-12-28

tude of California, living life of labor, far from all civilized society.
 They only reached New Orleans upon the evening after the slave auction, ana when Pauline Corsi met them, they were in search of a hotel where they could spend the night.
 In outward appearance, they were worry much altered from the day when we last beheld them. - ... | Their rough garments were exchanged for the fashionable attire of gentlemen, sand heirshe aEng harmonized well with the change in their costume.
 Let us return to the moment when Pauline Corsi met these two gold~diggers.
 They entered the hotel, and werGSim- mediately conducted to a handsomely furnished, and brilliantly lighted apart ment upon the first floor.
 The elder of the two men, the one who had called himself Smith, flung him. self into an easy chair, after dismissin the waiter with an order for couple Of bottles of claret and scltzer water, and looked complacently round the room.
 The younger man walked to the open window, from which he watched the re- ceding form of Pauline Corsi, who, after observing the two men enter the hotel, hurried onward toward the end of the deserted street
 'This is little better than the dig cings eh, Brown?" said smith,.
 His companion seemed scarcely to hear him.
 "That girls figure reminds me-'he muttered but pshaw what foolish fancies have addied my brain! She is far away on the shores of another con- tiGent.'
 "What are you muttcring about over there?" said Smith, who was evidently in' high spirits; ''come here, and drink a tumber of claret and let s talk of our plans. Tonight has brought us to the end of our journey. The time for silence is past. the hour has come in which we are 10 speak freely"
 .Remember I ask your confidence from no spirit of idle curiosity, and, un- less you can give it as freely as l shall give you mine, withhold it altogether" Brown held out his nand and grasped that of his companion. ''Friend, brother,' he exclaimed, sthere shall be no longer secret be- | light your cigar, and fill your glass, for | the story have to tell will be long one.'
 It was past three o'clock, when the two l men retired to rest; they had talked 1 long and earnestly, and the reader will | soon learn the purport of their conversa- 1 tion.
 But late as they sat up overnight. the two friends breakfasted together early | the next morning.. ] They were too much excited to sleep | long.
 1 A New Orleans paper. published that | morning, lay on the breaktast-table. | Smith opened the jour nal, and ran his | eye hastily over it's columns. IL contained a full account of the slave | auction of the previous day. 1 The gold digger's face blanched as he read the paragraph. | ''Gracious Providence" he ejaculated, solemniy, '.how mysterious are Thy ways! 1 have but come in time. Cora, the beloved daughter of Gerald Leslie sold in the public auction room! It is | too horrible y
 He put on his hat, and after a few words with his friend, hurried down stairs to the bar of the hotel where he ordered vehicle to be got ready for him, without delay.
 It was strange, that, though so evi dently anxious to depart. he preferred waiting for this vehicle, to walking through the sunny streets. | He had, no doubt, some powerful mo. tive for this line of conduct.
 In ten minutes, a close carriage was at the door. and slouching his hat over his eyes, the gold-diggcr hurried from the bar to the vehicle: into which he sprung, after giving bfief direction tt the negro driver.
 Meanwhile his companion loungec over his untasted breakfast. The New Orleans papers appeared to possess little interest for him. He looked at them fol few moments and then threw then carelessly aside.
 He had shaved off the bushy whiskers he had worn in the California solitude and his face was only adorned by d small | brown muStache.
 He was about five and-thirty years O age, but so slim and elegant in figure as to look considerably younger: aud i was easy to see that he was not q nativ. of America.
 Half an hour after the departure of hi friend, the waiter brought him q not which had been left at the hotel by a. elderly mulattress.
 At the first glance at the superscrip tion on this note, the face of the ma who called himself Brown, was convulse by a tumult of emotion.
 The letter was addressed to 'sMonsieu : Armand Tremlay."
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