Della sat in her large chair, before the dressing-glass, with her delicate feet buried in the rich softness of a velvet cushion; her hands were folded in her lap, and her eyes fixed upon Minny's face, which was clearly reflected in the mirror, as she stood behind her mistress, arranging the shining bands of long fair hair.

"Minny, how very, very white you are! How came you to be so white, when your mother is the blackest slave papa owns?"

A scarlet flush rose to the quadroon's cheek.

"My father, Miss, was as white as your own."

"Were you born here, Minn?"

"My mother was in your father's service when she gave me birth, Miss Della. Will you have your bandeaux single or double for this evening?"

"Double, Minn, so the wreath can lie nicely in between; and make those braids as rich as possible. I wish to look my best to-night. You have always lived here since you were born, Minn?—was a baby when I was a baby?"

"Yes, my dear Miss, and my mother was your nurse; your own mother not liking to spoil her figure by nursing her child, you were put to my mother's breast. So mother tells me."

"Well, if you had been a white child, that would have made us foster-sisters, wouldn't it? That's the reason old Mag loves me so well. I never knew of this before."

"It's something very common here, you know, Miss, for white children to have their foster-mothers among the slaves. Fashionable ladies always think it ruins their forms to have a child at the breast."

"Yes, I know, Minn; and I think it a very shameful practice, too. I never want to be a fashionable woman, if it is going to deprive me of performing a mother's holiest offices for my children. I'm sure after a child of mine had been reared at a black mother's breast I should feel they were black children, had black blood in their veins, and I never could feel right toward them again."

"You are one in a thousand, dear Miss Della; and such feelings are right, and good, and noble. But if you ever wish to be truly a mother to your children, don't marry a fashionable man, whose pride will be to show you off all the time in gay company, and who will be always fretting to keep your beauty good. It is such husbands that make bad mothers. A woman can't be a votary of fashion and a good mother."

"I never shall marry a fashionable man, Minny—you know that; but when I do marry I shall try and be a good, and true, and dutiful wife, nothing more. I haven't a taste for high life—that is, gay life, which has no heart in it. But, Minny, let's go back to you; I commenced about you; what made you change the subject, child?"

"Did I, Miss?"

"Yes. Who was your father, Minny?"

Minny's cheek lost it's flush, and became pale as death.

"I cannot tell you, Miss."

"But you know."

Minny made no answer, but her hands shook violently, and the braids she had just fastened fell loose again from her trembling fingers.

"What ails you, Minn? why don't you answer me?" said Della, looking up earnestly at Minny, in the glass.

"I never told you a lie in the world, Miss Della; and I don't answer you because I can't tell the truth now."

"You must tell me if you know, Minny; and you must tell the truth, too."

"Oh, Miss Della," said the girl, sinking at her mistress's feet in a fit of wild weeping, "don't, don't ask me this. I never knew it myself till yesterday, and then I wrung it from my mother, who charged me, if I valued her life, never to lisp it again. It made me wretched. Oh, Miss Della, it would kill you."

"Kill me? How can it affect me, silly child? What nonsense."

Della lifted up the beautiful head which was bowed before her, and turned the pallid face toward her own.

"Tell me, you foolish one," she persisted, her curiosity fully aroused. "I must and will know about it now;" and she stamped her little foot with an air of command, which, toward her favorite, was very rarely assumed.

Minny pressed her hands, clasped one upon the other, hard against her heart, as if its throbbing was painful, and raised her eyes, full of a strange, wild light, to her mistress's face.

"I would sooner die than tell you, Miss."

There might have been something in that agonized look that called forth emotion, or there might have been something in that cold, fixed gaze, which stamped for the instant the father on that upturned, ashy face; for as she met the glance, Della suddenly clasped her hands to her face, and, with an exclamation of horror, fell back fainting.

Minny sprang wildly to her feet—"Oh, Miss Della!" she exclaimed, as she bent over the senseless form before her, pouring out her passionate accents as if there was an ear to hear them. "Oh, Miss Della, how could you crave this knowledge to-day, of all other days? Had it been yesterday morning, or ever before in all our life here together, I would not have known, and you would have never known. To-day, of all days! Oh, I have broken this poor, sensitive heart; woe is me, woe is me! Oh, if I had only died before I learned this dreadful secret, only died! only died!"

With trembling hands, and eyes raining down their gushing tears, Minny bathed the pale brow, and brought rare perfumes, and chafed the little hands.

"Miss Della! Miss Della! I knew it would kill you—and you only guessed; I never told you—oh, no, never, never, never!"

Slowly Della returned to consciousness, and as her eyes unclosed, they fell upon the agonized face of her weeping attendant. She closed them quickly, and raised her hand so as to wave her from her sight, but it dropped listlessly back into her lap, and she lay still in the large chair, apparently as weak and helpless as an infant.

"Oh, Miss Della! God forgive me for what I have done, though I never meant to do it—never thought to do it. What could have turned your thoughts on this to-day?"

"Go away," murmured Della, faintly; "go away, so that I may open my eyes and not see you."

Minny moved a few paces back.

"I can see you in the glass yet; go away so that I can't see you anywhere, Minn."

Weeping bitterly, Minny retired to the other apartment; and Della, with folded hands, sat quite still with downcast eyes and pallid cheeks, looking like a statue of meditation.

A little French clock upon the mantle-piece struck the hour, and went on with its monotonous tick, tick—that unobtrusive voice of warning and admonition—until the half hour was sweetly chimed, and still Della sat there, pale, and still thinking. At length she rose, and with an energy unusual with her, walked hastily back and forth across the room. It had a soothing effect, and her brow was calm and resolute, yet shadowed as if with some new lesson of life, harshly forced upon her. She seated herself once more before the mirror.

"Minny, I am ready for you now."

Minny came, with her face calm and corpse-like, and once more essayed to bind up the rich bands of hair.

"Place my wreath a little more front. My cheek needs the shade of that bright rose to relieve its pallor—so—that effect is charming."

"Your hair is dressed, Miss."

Della sprang to her feet like one who resolutely tossed some load from the heart, and taking the hand-mirror from the table, surveyed the arrangement of her hair altogether.

"Beautiful! Minny, you have excelled yourself to-night."

"Thank you, Miss. What dress?"

"My India mull, and the rose-colored ribbons."

The dress was brought, and Della stood before the full-length mirror while Minny fastened it.

"Tie my shoulder-knots in your prettiest manner, Minny."

"Yes, Miss; and my reward shall be a rehearsal of the list of conquests?"

"I suppose so," smiled Della; "Minn, I pet you a great deal too much."

"I know it, Miss; and make me love you a great deal too well."

Della sighed.

At this moment there was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Delancey, in full evening costume, entered the room.

"Most ready, dort, darling?"

"Yes, mamma, I will be down in a few minutes."

"You look very sweetly in that simple dress; what prompted you to choose that to-night, treasure?"

"An instinctive knowledge, I presume, mamma, that I would look very sweetly in it," replied Della, archly.

Mrs. Delancey was a fine-looking woman—very fussy and very French. She smiled, and displayed her brilliant teeth at her daughter's answer, then stooped, and kissed her brow. Mrs. Delancey loved her child, with all the strength of affection she was capable of feeling. She was even first in her heart in some moments of pride and ambition, and second never, save to her love of fashion and display.

"Clasp this string of pearls about your throat, it will relieve the plainness of your attire."

"I'd rather not have it relieved, mamma."

"What a strange whim," returned the lady, proceeding to fasten on the necklace.

As the toilet was declared finished, Mrs. Delancey stepped back to observe the effect.

"Charmante, ma chere!" she exclaimed. "Remember, love, your father and I wish you to be particularly agreeable to General Delville this evening. He is a splendid match, rich as a Jew, and of such fine family!"

"He is the gentleman who was of age when papa was born, isn't he, mamma?"

"Hush, child; what of that! He may be a little old, but all the better—you'll be left a charming young widow the sooner."

Della lifted a bracelet from the table, and fell to examining it with the closest inspection, while her little satin-slippered foot kept up an unconscious, nervous tapping upon the carpet.

Mrs. Delancey looked at her watch—"Nine o'clock, Della; the guests will begin to arrive, shortly. You need not come down till your father comes for you. Remember, ma chere, General Delville, particularly."

So saying, the proud mother swept from the apartment.

As the door closed upon her, Della stepped through the open window, and passed out upon the balcony. Minny busied herself with putting aside the jewels which had not been wanted, and other unnecessary articles of dress, which the capricious fancy of her mistress had drawn from their proper places during the process of preparation.

A half hour passed before Mr. Delancey sought his daughter's apartment; when he entered, Della was seated gracefully on an ottoman, arranging a bouquet of orange flowers and mignonnette. It was a sweet picture, and the father stopped to look upon it.

Della looked up, and her eye went quickly from her father's to Minny's face, then dropped again upon her flowers.

"Are you ready, Della?"

"One minute, papa."

"You are looking very lovely to-night, my daughter. Be careful and have your manners to correspond with your looks. My choicest friends are here this evening, and I wish to see you Queen of Hearts."

"Especially to General Delville?"

"Especially to General Delville, Della. I shall be very happy to see you his wife, and it is in your power to become so if you choose."

"I should like to know how many wives he has already, before I take that step, so that I may know how strong a fortification my eyes need against finger-nails."

"Fie, Della! the General has never been married, and you will no doubt occupy the first place in his heart."

"I have always hoped that when I married such might be my lot, but it cannot be in this case, I know. If General Delville has lived in New-Orleans till he has grown old enough to be my grandfather, he can't have much of a heart left."

"Della, you astonish me!" said her father, with the frown deepening. "One would think you had no ambition whatever to make a good match."

"Papa, do you love me at all?"

Mr. Delancey started at the abrupt question, and gazed upon his daughter in surprise.

"Love you, Della? the whole of my heart is centred in you."

Della sighed, as if the answer did not quite please her, and taking her father's proffered arm, went down the broad staircase, and into the magnificent drawing-room.

Wealth, and beauty, and state, and grandeur, all were there; yet first, and fairest, and brightest, shone the merchant's daughter. The happy father and proud mother watched her, as with a light step she flitted through the thronged rooms, the "observed of all observers," and there was a light in her eye, an animation in her tread, and a glow on her cheek, which was all the more beautiful for being rare.

She leant upon Mr. Delville's arm, the envied object of many a young heart there; and when seated at the harp, her clear, unaffected voice rose in strains of thrilling melody. General Delville was at her side, listening with earnest attention, and turning the leaves of her music with all the grace of a more youthful courtier.

Aware, as he was, of the sanction of the father and the eagerness of the mother, it was no wonder that the General strove to win to his withered heart so fair a flower. He had been a great traveler, and had feasted his eyes on the beautiful women of the East, and the more frigid beauties of northern climes. He had been courted rather than courting, and had gone through life dreading to take to his heart a wife, lest, when too late, he should find his wealth had been the talisman that drew her there.

But in Della, he thought he saw a sweet and guileless girl; and put forth all his attractive powers of conversation and graces of person (which, old as he was, became him well,) to interest her in himself. Her father watched the progress of their acquaintance with a delight which manifested itself, even in his cold eyes, and Della received the assiduous attentions of her white-haired admirer with a triumph for which she was excusable; yet with no desire to win him closer than now.

The evening wore away, the splendid supper was over, and the guests, one by one, took their departure. Many a youthful suitor made his adieus to Della that night with a jealous pang, as Delville's apparent success arose to his mind. When the rooms were cleared, Mr. Delancey called his daughter to his side.

"I cannot let you retire, Della, without telling you how much you have pleased and gratified a father's heart this night. I am more than ever proud of you; you will well adorn the station in which Delville can place you. Bless you, Della. Good night."

"Good night, papa."

Della moved gracefully away, and slowly mounted the broad staircase leading to her chamber.

"No blessing of love—no blessing of affection," she murmured softly, as she went on, step by step—"only a blessing through his pride—cold, hollow, empty pride, with nothing noble, nothing lofty in it; having for foundation only an eligible match for me, or my station, or my appearance. What a life, what a life!"

Della expected to find Minny asleep, as the hour was late; but when she entered her apartment, Minny was there, walking the floor with her hands clasped thoughtfully before her.

"Undress me, Minn. I am weary—weary."

"Haven't you been happy, Miss?" asked the girl, as she knelt to unfasten the slender slipper from the pretty foot.

"Yes—and no, Minn. If triumph could make me happy, I must have been, so far as that is concerned; but in thinking of you I have been unhappy; and I have thought of you all the evening."

"Of me, Miss, in the midst of all that gaiety!"

"Of you. Would you like to be free, Minny?"

"Free, Miss Della? to have my freedom, and leave you?"

"Yes, Minny, if you would like your freedom, you shall have it this very night; papa will do anything I say with regard to it, and you may go, dear Minn, whenever you choose. You shall have money to carry you where you like. In the North you might do well; marry some rich abolitionist, perhaps, and be very happy. I am in earnest, Minn; you have but to speak."

"Miss Della, if I have offended you in any way, if I have hurt your heart by any means, if I have spoken, acted, or looked anything that displeased you, do anything to punish me save sending me from you. What would my freedom be to me away from you? Miss Della, you will never know how poor Minn loves you."

The girl had spoken in such a subdued voice, uttering her short sentences between the sobs that were trying to struggle up, that, as she paused in her task, and looked in her mistress's face with an expression of such tearful, doubtful anxiety on her features, Della was deeply touched, and sat a moment with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. She took it down at last, and went on very calmly and thoughtfully.

"Minny, it is very painful for me to talk of this, but you must understand me: I'm afraid I can never be quite happy again, with you performing such offices as this for me. The discovery I made this afternoon—that unfortunate discovery for both of us—was terrible—very terrible!"

"Oh, Miss, that of all things you should have asked me that! I will never, never remember it, if you will only forget it, and let me be to you what I have ever been."

"I was right in what I suspected—I am sure I guessed the truth—you must tell me now, Minny," said Della, taking one of Minny's hands in hers, and speaking in a tone half doubtful that she might be wrong. "My father was your father, n'est ce pas, dear Minny?"

Heedless of the kindness with which the words were spoken, Minny threw up her hands with a gesture of despair, then flung herself full length upon the floor, in a burst of passionate grief.

"Get up, Minny; get up, and come by me here; come!"

With the deep sobs still bursting from her lips, the girl rose, and sat, with bowed head and falling tears, at her young mistress's feet.

"Minny, you understand me now, don't you? Think of it, Minny: you are my sister!"

"Oh! none the less your slave, Miss."

"My father's child must never be a slave to me."

"Miss Della! Oh that this knowledge should have ever come to either of us; don't for the love of mercy talk so; don't put me from you; what am I but a negro's child, the fruit of the white man's sin?"

"I know, Minny, I know the world would never look upon this as I do; but you are in my sight as much my sister as if my father had lost a first wife and wedded again, and we were the fruits of the two marriages. The same blood is in your veins that is in mine. He who gave you being, to me is 'father,' to you is 'master.' You are more beautiful than I, as well as better fitted for the society into which I am forced to move, yet you are a slave!"

Della leaned back in her chair a moment; and again held her handkerchief to her eyes; she controlled herself quickly however, and continued:

"I set the case before you just as it is, Minny; I want you to view it in its true light—then choose between what I offer you, and what you must otherwise be. Don't tremble so, Minny; I never have felt towards you as a mistress would to a slave. When I look back, I remember you were the only playmate I ever had, the closest and best companion of my wayward girlhood; and I feel that I have always loved you, always respected you, and, Minny, I always shall. I am certain, Minn, that though there may be black blood circling round it, there never was a purer heart, a nobler soul, than yours. Were it not for my father's sake your position should be different in this house, but in honor to him I can only do you good by sending you where your birth and parentage will ever be a mystery. Minny, dear, will you go?"

The girl had sat during all this time quiet as a statue, at her mistress's feet. As she heard her stop speaking, she raised herself upon her knees before her, and clasping her small hands above her, exclaimed:—

"As God hears me, Miss Della, I would rather stay by you, rather be the veriest slave that ever breathed, a mere thing to answer to your beck and call, so that I may be near you, and love you, and do for you, than to be the wife of the richest white man that ever lived—to be looked upon as white myself—or to move in those circles which you would fain believe me fitted for. As God hears me this is true!"

"Heaven bless you, Minny! Then we will never part."

With an exclamation of joy, Minny clasped her young mistress to her heart, and poured forth, with passionate vehemence, her prayers and tears and blessings. It seemed as if she could never cease, and Della twined her fair arms, jeweled, and white, and beautiful, beneath the thick black curls, which covered Minny's neck, and gave her kiss for kiss, and tear for tear.

"When I am Bernard's wife, Minn, then I can make you happier. You have all those dear letters safe, quite safe?"

"I keep them as the apple of my eye, Miss. You can never make me happier, dear Miss, than I am now. I can never wish to be more blest than I am this minute."

"Dear Minny, you have a woman's heart, and that must know a woman's longings. When I have it in my power I shall at least try to make you happier, though it may be in a different way. You have always been more a friend and a fond companion than a slave to me, and now, now—" Della paused, as if it were impossible for her to speak the words she would, then added, after a moment's pause, "Minny, never let this dreadful secret go farther, place a seal upon your lips, and let it die with you for my sake. And, if you will stay, Minny, rather than to go and be free and happy in your own way, I will do everything for you, love you, care for you, all—only never, never let this dreadful truth be known."

"Never, Miss, so help me Heaven! Only let me stay with you, and be what I have ever been to you, and I will be content. Try, dear Miss, to forget all that's passed to-day, and let us stand together in the old light."

"No, Minny, I can never forget it. The old light can never shine on me again; but I will try always to remember it as I should; and now, Minn, finish, undressing me; or rather, teach me to undress myself."

"I claim this as my privilege, Miss, and never want you to learn how."

Della smiled, and patted Minny's cheek. There had a change come over her in the last few hours, such as she never thought to experience. It seemed as if she had become more of a woman in that short space than she had ever thought she would become. Her judgment and heart, too, seemed suddenly to have expanded; and she felt more respect for herself than she had ever done before. She had always been one who thought for herself, notwithstanding there were so many to think for her; and, with a spirit above all affectation, she looked at things in a plain, common-sense, and true light. When the first shock was over in regard to her relationship to Minny, she had struggled with her natural feelings of wounded pride, till the matter stood before her as it was. Her father was not one to win his child's affections, and Della had always feared more than loved him; but of one so cold and stern she had never in all her life thought this. But now that she knew it, she almost wondered how it was she had never suspected as much before. Few girls, in Della's position, would have talked with a slave as she talked to Minny—would ever have thought of placing matters in so strong a light before her; but Della was guileless and innocent at heart, with a child-spirit in some things, yet more than woman's strength in others. She never thought Minny could take advantage of the new aspect of affairs she painted for her; she only felt that Minny was enduring a life of wrong, and longed to give her redress. And Minny's was a great, and noble, and truthful heart. From earliest childhood she had been taught to regard Miss Della as her mistress, and was never absent from her side. Della had been educated at home; and Minny, with her quick mind, and an occasional lesson from her young mistress, together with her earnest desire to learn, had acquired more real knowledge than Della herself, though lacking some of the light accomplishments in which her mistress excelled. Thus had they grown up together, and they were not to be parted now.