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Little sprang again into the balloon and sped away to America. He came down in California, oddly enough in front of Hardin's door, at Dutch Flat. Hardin was just examining a specimen of ore. "You are a scientist; can you tell me if that is worth anything?" he said, handing it to Little. Little held it to the light. "It contains ninety per cent of silver." Hardin embraced him.
His gentle heart throbs in sympathy, filled with an infinite compassion for the lonely Natalie de Santos. Sinned against and sinning. A free lance, with only her love for her child to hallow and redeem her. Her own plans, founded in guile, have all miscarried. Blood stains the gold bestowed on her by Philip Hardin's death. Her life has been a stormy sea.
Judge Hardin's counsel opens the case, Hardin passes Natalie in the court-room, with one last look of warning and menace. There is no quiver to her eyelids. The graceful figure of a veiled young girl is beside her. When Hardin's advocate ceases, counsel rises to bring the contest for the heirship of Lagunitas to the judicial notice of the Court.
On the Atlantic the guardians agree on their duties. "I will interview Madame de Santos when I close some business in London," says Woods grimly. Peyton, with credentials to Padre Francisco, speeds from Liverpool to Paris. He arrives none too soon. Philip Hardin's villany strikes from afar! Judge Hardin, passing the county seat, on his way to the mine, looks in to obtain his annual tax papers.
If you will not do the mother justice, what will you do for the child? Whose name shall she bear? What shall she have? Philip, I beg you to act in these matters and to remember that, if I once was Hortense Duval, I now am NATALIE DE SANTOS. Danger signals. Red and flaring they burn before Hardin's steady eyes. What does she mean? Is her last clause a threat? Woman! Perfidious woman!
The rain drips drearily around Judge Hardin's spacious residence in San Francisco. January, 1861, finds the sheltering trees higher. The embowered shade hides to-night an unusual illumination. Winter breezes sigh through the trees. Showers of spray fall from acacia and vine. As the wet fog drives past, the ship-lights on the bay are almost hidden.
Philip Hardin gazes wolfishly at the royal beauty who is sworn. A breathless silence wraps the room. The preliminary questions over, while Hardin's eyes rove wildly over the face of the woman he has cast off, the direct interrogatory is asked: "Do you know who this young lady is?" says the attorney, with a furtive prompting from Hardin. "I do!" answers the lady, with broken voice.
Natalie absolutely debars all other visitors from meeting her young ward. Only her physician and Pere Francois can watch these studio labors. She fears Hardin's emissaries only. Many visits to the studio are made by Villa Rocca. He is a lover of the "beaux-arts." The days fly by pleasantly. Natalie is playing a cool game now. Pere Francois and Raoul Dauvray are ever in her charmed circle.
Judge Valois, his uncle, has but one child, a boy born since Maxime's departure on the Western adventure. Between Hardin and himself is a bar of twenty years of cool experience. It indurates and blunts any gracefulness Hardin's youth ever possessed. If any man of forty has gained knowledge of good and evil, it is the accomplished Hardin. He is a law unto himself.
Hornblower's stand was somewhat extreme she was not without her supporters. Thomas Hardin's sister, Mrs. Gibson, declared with unconcealed rancor that Persis would have done better to think about getting a husband before interesting herself in securing a family. Mrs.
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