nce in the spirit
of Alfred King. He had heard of those quadroon connections, as one
hears of foreign customs, without any realizing sense of their
consequences. That his father's friend should be a partner in such an
alliance, and that these two graceful and accomplished girls should by
that circumstance be excluded from the society they would so greatly
ornament, surprised and bewildered him. He recalled that tinge in
Rosa's complexion, not golden, but like a faint, luminous reflection
of gold, and that slight waviness in the glossy hair, which seemed
to him so becoming. He could not make these peculiarities seem less
beautiful to his imagination, now that he knew them as signs of
her connection with a proscribed race. And that bewitching little
Floracita, emerging into womanhood, with the auroral light of
childhood still floating round her, she seemed like a beautiful
Italian child, whose proper place was among fountains and statues
and pictured forms of art. The skill of no Parisian _coiffeur_ could
produce a result so pleasing as the profusion of raven hair, that
_would_ roll itself into ringlets. Octoroons! He repeated the word
to himself, but it did not disenchant him. It was merely something
foreign and new to his experience, like Spanish or Italian beauty. Yet
he felt painfully the false position in which they were placed by the
unreasoning prejudice of society.

Though he had had a fatiguing day, when he entered his chamber he felt
no inclination to sleep. As he slowly paced up and down the room, he
thought to himself, "My good mother shares the prejudice. How could
I introduce them to _her_?" Then, as if impatient with himself, he
murmured, in a vexed tone, "Why should I _think_ of introducing them
to my mother? A few hours ago I didn't know of their existence."

He threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep; but memory was
too busy with the scene of enchantment he had recently left. A
catalpa-tree threw its shadow on the moon-lighted curtain. He began to
count the wavering leaves, in hopes the monotonous occupation would
induce slumber. After a while he forgot to count; and as his spirit
hovered between the inner and the outer world, Floracita seemed to be
dancing on the leaf shadows in manifold graceful evolutions. Then he
was watching a little trickling fountain, and the falling drops were
tones of "The Light of other Days." Anon he was wandering among
flowers in the moonlight, and from afar some one wa