In the clear sky of Natalie's complacency, a lightning stroke of
the gods brings her palace of delight crashing down around her.
Nemesis!
The telegraph flashes across the prairies, far beneath the Atlantic;
the news of Villa Rocca's death arrives. Hardin's cable is brief.
It is all-sufficient. Her trembling limbs give way. She reads:
SAN FRANCISCO.
Count Ernesto killed while visiting a mine, with friends. Accident
of hoisting machinery. I was not there. Leave to-night for the
place. Telegraph your wishes. Remain. Wait my reports. Write fully
in a few days.
HARDIN.
She is all alone on earth. This is a crushing blow. No one to trust.
None to advise, for she has leaned on Ernesto. Her mind reels under
this blow. Pere Francois is her only stay. The sorrow of these days
needs expression.
Villa Rocca's gay letters continue to arrive. They are a ghastly
mockery of these hours. Hardin can cast her off now, and claim the
heiress.
Hardin's full account dispels any suspicion of foul play. After
a visit to the interior, the count went to see some interesting
underground workings. By a hazard of mining life, a broken rope
caused the death of the visitor, with several workmen, and a mine
superintendent who was doing the honors.
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