return. Suddenly a strange
sound struck upon her ear. She started, bent forward, and listened
eagerly. It came again and again. She sprang to her feet, and darted
like lightning down the stairs. She ran hither and thither, scarce
knowing whence to trace the sound, when suddenly she met one of the
servants.

"Voltaire, in Heaven's name, where are papa and Minny?"

"On the back gallery, Miss," returned the man.

With the speed of thought, Della sped through the long passages, up the
stairs, and out upon the balcony. She gained the spot just as the strong
arm was upraised to give another blow.

"Papa! papa! for the love of mercy, stop!"

At that sound Minny slightly raised her head, but dropped it again, and
the blow came down.

Della sprang wildly forward.

"Papa! papa! what has turned you into such a demon!"

With an almost superhuman strength, she caught the whip, as it was
again descending, in her own jeweled and delicate hands, wrested it from
her father's grasp, and flung it over the railing into the court below.

Dropping upon her knees, she lifted the quadroon's head upon her lap.
The eyes were closed, and the pallid face wore the appearance of death.

Minny had fainted.

Springing to a water-pipe, Della filled a basin, and drawing the girl
tenderly upon her breast, rocked her gently, back and forth, as she
bathed the blue-veined temples with the cooling fluid.

Still pale with anger, Mr. Delancey stood looking on.

"Poor child, poor Minny!" sobbed Della, as the tears rained down her
cheeks; "all this you have suffered for me--poor thing, poor thing!"

Suddenly lifting her eyes, Della confronted her father.

"Not another night!" she exclaimed bitterly, "shall Minny stay beneath
your roof. She is your own flesh and blood, papa; you know she is. You
might as well have whipped me as to whip her. Oh! papa, that you should
use your own child thus!"

Mr. Delancey started forward.

"Who has dared to tell you such a tale as this!--who has presumed to
whisper such a falsehood in your ear?"

"It is no falsehood, papa; it is truth, all truth--would it were not! It
requires no talking to see it. Has she not your look, your spirit, much
of your pride? But none of your cruelty. No, no, poor Minny, you have
indeed been a sister to me. Look, papa, at this poor bleeding back, see
how this dress is dyed with blood; blood which you cursed her with,
blood which you have drawn forth again with the lash! _The lash_