"Many things."

"Name them!"

"Well, for one--the way I love you."

She made no rejoinder.

"A love," he continued, in a tone half explanatory, half pleading; "a love, Loo, that no man can feel for a woman, and survive it. It can end only with my life. It could not end with _yours_."

There was a pause, but still no reply.

"'Tis no use my telling you its history. It began on the same day--ay, the same hour--I first saw you.

"I won't say it grew stronger as time pa.s.sed. It could not. On my first visit to your father's house--now six years ago--you may remember that, after alighting from my horse, you asked me to take a walk with you round the garden--while dinner was being got ready.

"You were but a stripling of a girl; but oh, Loo, you were a woman in beauty--as beautiful as you are at this moment.

"No doubt you little thought, as you took me by the hand, and led me along the gravelled walk, under the shade of the China trees, that the touch of your fingers was sending a thrill into my soul; your pretty prattle making an impression upon my heart, that neither time, nor distance, nor yet _dissipation_, has been able to efface."

The Creole continued to listen, though not without showing sign. Words so eloquent, so earnest, so full of sweet flattery, could scarce fail to have effect upon a woman. By such speech had Lucifer succeeded in the accomplishment of his purpose. There was pity, if not approval, in her look!

Still did she keep silence.

Calhoun continued:--

"Yes, Loo; it's true as I tell you. I've tried all three. Six years may fairly be called time. From Mississippi to Mexico was the distance: for I went there with no other purpose than to forget you. It proved of no avail; and, returning, I entered upon a course of dissipation. New Orleans knows that.

"I won't say, that my pa.s.sion grew stronger by these attempts to stifle it. I've already told you, it could not. From the hour you first caught hold of my hand, and called me cousin--ah! you called me _handsome_ cousin, Loo--from that hour I can remember no change, no degrees, in the fervour of my affection; except when jealousy has made me hate--ay, so much, that I could have _killed_ you!"

"Good gracious, Captain Calhoun! This is wild talk of yours. It is even silly!"

"'Tis serious, nevertheless. I've been so jealous with you at times, that it was a task to control myself. My temper I could not--as you have reason to know."

"Alas, cousin, I cannot help what has happened. I never gave you cause, to think--"

"I know what you are going to say; and you may leave it unspoken. I'll say it for you: 'to think that you ever loved me.' Those were the words upon your lips.

"I don't say you did," he continued, with deepening despair: "I don't accuse you of tempting me. Something did. G.o.d, who gave you such beauty; or the Devil, who led me to look upon it."

"What you say only causes me pain. I do not suppose you are trying to flatter me. You talk too earnestly for that. But oh, cousin Ca.s.sius, 'tis a fancy from which you will easily recover. There are others, far fairer than I; and many, who would feel complimented by such speeches.

Why not address yourself to them?"

"Why not?" he echoed, with bitter emphasis. "What an idle question!"

"I repeat it. It is not idle. Far more so is your affection for me: for I must be candid with you, Ca.s.sius. I do not--I _cannot_, love you."

"You will not marry me then?"

"That, at least, is an idle question. I've said I do not love you.

Surely that is sufficient."

"And I've said I love _you_. I gave it as one reason why I wish you for my wife: but there are _others_. Are you desirous of hearing them?"

As Calhoun asked this question the suppliant air forsook him. The spirit of the jaguar was once more in his eye.

"You said there were other reasons. State them! Do not be backward.

I'm not afraid to listen."

"Indeed!" he rejoined, sneeringly. "You're not afraid, ain't you?"

"Not that I know of. What have I to fear?"

"I won't say what _you_ have; but what your father has."

"Let me hear it? What concerns him, equally affects me. I am his daughter; and now, alas, his only--. Go on, cousin Calhoun! What is this shadow hanging over him?"

"No shadow, Loo; but something serious, and substantial. A trouble he's no longer able to contend with. You force me to speak of things you shouldn't know anything about."

"Oh! don't I? You're mistaken, cousin Cash. I know them already. I'm aware that my father's in debt; and that you are his creditor. How could I have remained in ignorance of it? Your arrogance about the house--your presumption, shown every hour, and in presence of the domestics--has been evidence sufficient to satisfy even them, that there is something amiss. You are master of Casa del Corvo. I know it. You are not master of _me_!"

Calhoun quailed before the defiant speech. The card, upon which he had been counting, was not likely to gain the trick. He declined playing it.

He held a still stronger _in_ his hand; which was exhibited without farther delay.

"Indeed!" he retorted, sneeringly. "Well; if I'm not master of your heart, I am of your happiness--or shall be. I know the worthless wretch that's driven you to this denial--"

"Who?"

"How innocent you are!"

"Of that at least I am; unless by worthless wretch you mean yourself.

In that sense I can understand you, sir. The description is too true to be mistaken."

"Be it so!" he replied, turning livid with rage, though still keeping himself under a certain restraint. "Well; since you think me so worthless, it won't, I suppose, better your opinion of me, when I tell you what I'm going to do with you?"

"Do with me! You are presumptuous, cousin Cash! You talk as if I were your _protegee_, or slave! I'm neither one, nor the other!"

Calhoun, cowering under the outburst of her indignation, remained silent.

"_Pardieu_!" she continued, "what is this threat? Tell me what you are _going to do with me_! I should like to know that."

"You shall."

"Let me hear it! Am I to be turned adrift upon the prairie, or shut up in a convent? Perhaps it may be a prison?"

"You would like the last, no doubt--provided your incarceration was to be in the company of--"

"Go on, sir! What is to be my destiny? I'm impatient to have it declared."