A circle of twenty or thirty intimates gathers in the great dining-room. At the head of the table, Hardin welcomes the chosen representatives of the great Southern conspiracy in the West. His residence, rarely thrown open to the public, has grown with the rise of his fortunes. Philip Hardin must be first in every attribute of a leading judge and publicist. Lights burn late here since the great election of 1860. Men who are at the helm of finance, politics, and Federal power are visitors. Editors and trusted Southrons drop in, by twos and threes, secretly. There is unwonted social activity. The idle gossips are silent. These visitors are all men, unaccompanied by their families. Woman's foot never crosses this threshold. In the wings of the mansion, a lovely face is sometimes seen at a window. It is a reminder of the stories of that concealed beauty who has reigned years in the mansion on the hill. Is it a marriage impending? Is it some great scheme? Some new monetary institution to be launched? These vain queries remain unanswered. There is a mystic password given before joining the feast. Southerners, tried and true, are the diners. Maxime Valois sits opposite his associate. It is not only a hospitable welcome the Judge extends, but the mystic embrace of the Knights of the Golden Circle. In feast and personal enjoyment the moments fly by. The table glitters with superb plate. It is loaded with richest wines and the dainties of the fruitful West. The board rings under emphatic blows of men who toast, with emphasis, the "Sunny South." In their flowing cups, old and new friends are remembered. There is not one glass raised to the honor of the starry flag which yet streams out boldly at the Golden Gate. The feast is of conspirators who are sworn to drag that flag at their horses' heels in triumph. Men nurtured under it. Judge Hardin gives the signal of departure for the main hall. In an hour or so they are joined by others who could not attend the feast. The meeting of the Knights of the Golden Circle proceeds with mystic ceremony. The windows, doors, and avenues are guarded. In the grounds faithful brothers watch for any sneaking spy. Every man is heavily armed. It would be short shrift to the foe who stumbles on this meeting of deadly import. It is the supreme moment to impart the last orders of the Southern leaders. The Washington chiefs assign the duties of each, in view of the violent rupture which will follow Lincoln's inauguration. Fifty or sixty in number, these brave and desperate souls are ready to cast all in jeopardy. Life, fortune, and fame. They represent every city and county of California.