The midland journal., 1899-03-31

the constant LnreaJ OF DeJraylnS my
secret. The amount of money that
have paid him for his silence would
represent fortune. At last, in his
twenty-first year, he agreed to leave
home and never return, and to keep
his knowledge to himself | was to
pay him large quarterly allowance,
which has, in fact, been almost dou-
bled. have relied on his love of
money to keep him from betraying
me; and my purse alone has closed his
mouth. Where the great sums that
have given him have gone, the gam
blers Of the river can tell.
look back to the time between 1916,
when got rid of this unnatural son,
and 1858, when the tragedy occurred
which will be briefly noticed, as the
happiest of my life. The disagreeable
part was all behind me; conscience, as
well as the fear of exposure, so tortur-
ing in these later years, did not trouble
me; you were growing up, Cory, to be
just what wished you; charming ac-
quaintances, valued friends were all
about me; my success in growing cot
ton was adding enormously to my
WcdlUH. All UlllS Wdo IuNlCiy lIouDlCu
by the appearance of Napoleon Castex.
had heard little of this man since
my successful rivalry for the hand of
Emile ma ic him my enemy. After
my purchase of Louise learned Incl
dcntally that he had once visited New
Orleans, and it was told me that he
made particular inquiries about me.
There were none but unpleasant recol
lections connected with him, and |
hoped that should never meet him
again.
Suddenly, twelve years after my re-
moval from La Fourche, he presented
himself to me. | had no previous
knowledge that he was in the neigh
borhood, and the sight of him discon-
certed me. 1t was at gentleman's
dinner party at my own house, and he
came with one of the guests, whom he
was visiting. knew that the man
was revengeful and a good hater, and
began to tremble for the consequences
of such visit. | conjectured that if
he had not learned the true cause of
Emilie's alienation from me, he would
be likely to guess it if he happened to
see you, Cory; for you were then about
the age of your mother when he last
saw her, and very closely resembled
her. And what he should discover
knew that his hatred of me would
prompt him to spread broadcast in the
neighborhood.
Before | could form any plan to
check such a catastrophe, dinner was
announced. We were just seated, when
you, Cory, came to the door and
looked in, prompted, l suppose, by
childish curiosity. CasteX saw you,
recognized your face, and asked me in
French if that was my daughter. re-
piled that she was; and then
The man is dead; must soon follow
him. l would like to speak to him now
without bitterness or passion; yet
should not speak the whole truth if
did not say that his face was shining
with savage joy as he gave me the
brutal rejoinder in French that as
sured me that his discovery would be
published far and near. He said:
"Ah, monsieur! Five or six years
hence, when the charming daughter of
Louise Bonfant shall come to the same
auction block in New Orleans where
you purchased the mother, then think
the spirit of your wronged wife will
feel avenged"
planned to force quarrel on me. I
knew that there could be no safety for
my secret while he lived. duel fol-
lowed, and killed him. The wound
that received at the same time from
his hand laid me up for weeks, and
nearly brought me to the grave.
My misery dates from that hour. It
is not comfortable reflection to carry
around with you night and day that
you have slain fellow creature,
though bad one, and the thought has
troubled me; but much more torment
ing than this was the fear that Castex
had in some way left his discovery to
be revealed after his death. | grew
suspicious of everybody; | abandoned
old friends; while they never suspect
ed the reason, was continually fear
full that the truth would be known and
made public. Then the thought oc-
Cured to me that all this torment
might be ended by returning to La
Fourche | came back to this place as
suddenly as had left it. We had been
absent fifteen years, and there had
been many changes; Coralie was every
where presented as my daughter, and
gave out that Emile, her mother, had
died at my plantation far up the river.
Thus, in fear and falsehood, have
preserved your good name, my child,
and concealed the story of your birth.
That concealment has always been at
the mercy of accidents, and | have
lived in the same state of torment since
the duel. Perhaps it is all part of my
punishment; Emilies words were pro-
phetic. You saw the agitation and the
excitement into which the visit of that
reprobate son threw me. For the sake
of both of you, this falsehood can be
told no longer The truth is painful
it is humiliating; but that way lies
safety for you. Thank God, the bur
den is gone, at last! In the morning
Mr.. Coteau shall come and make the
writings.
CHAPTER XVIII
SET FREE
Very affectionately did Mr.. Bostock
bid me good night. He laid his hand