"Colonel Valois was killed at the battles near Atlanta. I have just received from the Havana bankers the final letters of Major Peyton, his friend." Hardin speaks firmly.
"Under the will, that child Isabel inherits the vast property. She must be educated in France. Some one must take care of her."
Hortense leans over, eagerly. What does he mean? "There is no one but me to look after her. The cursed Yankees will probably devastate the South. I dare not probate his will just now. There is confiscation and all such folly."
Philip Hardin resumes his walk. "I do not wish to pay heavy war taxes and succession tax on all this great estate. I must remain here and watch it. I must keep the child's existence and where-abouts quiet. The courts could worry me about her removal. Can I trust you, Hortense?" His eyes are wolfish. He stops and fixes a burning glance on her. She returns it steadily.
"What do you wish me to do?" she says, warily.
It will be years and years she must remain abroad.
"Can I trust you to go over with that child, and watch her while I guard this great estate? You shall have all that money and my influence can do for you. You can live as an independent lady and see the great world."
She rises and faces him, a beautiful, expectant goddess. "Philip, have I been true to you these years?"
He bows his head. It is so! She has kept the bond.
"Do I go as your wife?" Her voice trembles with eagerness.