His only son is abroad, in Paris. The abandoned plantations and
family property are under the usual load of debt, taxes, and all
the legal confusion of a change of rulers.
Peyton thanks the dead soldier in his heart for the considerable
legacy of his unused balances. He is placed beyond immediate
necessity. He leaves the land where the Southern Cross met defeat.
He wishes to wander over Cuba, Mexico, and toward the West. At
Havana, he finds that the documents and articles forwarded by the
agents to Judge Hardin have been duly sent though never acknowledged.
The letters taken from Colonel Valois' body he seals in a packet.
He trusts that fate may lead him some day westward. They are too
precious to risk. He may some day tell the little lady of Lagunitas,
of the gallant father whose thoughts, before his last battle, were
only for the beloved "little one." She is confided, as a trust,
from the dying to Judge Hardin. She is surely safe in the sheltering
care of Valois' oldest friend. A "Southern gentleman."
Peyton for years can bring back the tender solemnity of Maxime
Valois' face, as he reads his charge to Hardin.
"And may God deal with you and yours, as you deal with me and mine."
The devoted father's appeal would touch a heart of stone.
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