He is content to wait.
While they talk, the two children chatter under the window in
childish glee.
"Hortense, you must act at once! to-morrow! The steamer leaves in
three days. I wish you to go by Panama direct to France. New York
is no place for you. I will have much to arrange. I will give you
to-night. Now leave me, for I have many papers to draw up."
In her boudoir, Hortense Duval sits hours dreaming, her eyes fixed
on vacancy. All the hold she has on Hardin is her daily influence,
and HIS child. To go among strangers. To be alone in the world.
And yet, her child's future interests. While Hardin paces the floor
below, or toils at his cunningly worded papers, she feels she is
in the hands of a master.
Philip Hardin's late work is done. By the table he dreams over the
future. Hortense will surely work his will. He will divest himself
of the priest. He must open these mines. He will get rid of
"Kaintuck;" but how?
Dark thoughts come to him. He springs up aghast at the clatter when
his careless arm brushes off some costly trifles. With the priest
gone forever and the child in Paris, he has no stumbling block in
his way but "Kaintuck." There are ways; yes, ways.----!----!----!----!
"He must go on a journey; yes, a long, long journey.
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