With wild cheers, the Knights of the Golden Circle receive the news that the South is surely going out. The dream long dear to the Southern heart! Any attempt of the senile Buchanan to reinforce the garrisons of the national forts will be the signal for the opening roar of the stolen guns. They know that the inauguration of Lincoln on March 4, 1861, means war without debate. He dare not abandon his trust. He will be welcomed with a shotted salute across the Potomac. When the move "en masse" is made, the guests, warmed with wine and full of enthusiasm, file away. Hardin and Valois sit late. The splashing rain drenches the swaying trees of the Judge's hillside retreat. Lists and papers of the principal men on both sides, data and statistics of stock and military supplies, maps, and papers, are looked at. The deep boom of the Cathedral bell, far below them, beats midnight as the two friends sit plotting treason. There is something mystical in the exact hour of midnight. The rich note startles Hardin. Cold, haughty, crafty, and able, his devotion to the South is that of the highest moral courage. It is not the exultation which culminates rashly on the battle-field. These lurid scenes are for younger heroes. His necessary presence in the West, his age and rank, make him invaluable, out of harness. His scheming brain is needed, not his ready sword. He pours out a glass of brandy, saying, "Valois, tell me of our prospects here. You know the interior as well as any man in the State." Maxime unburdens his mind. "Judge, I fear we are in danger of losing this coast. I have looked over the social forces of the State. The miners represent no principle. They will cut no figure on either side. They would not be amenable to discipline. The Mexicans certainly will not sympathize with us. We are regarded as the old government party. The Black Republicans are the 'liberals.' The natives have lost all, under us. We will find them fierce enemies. We cannot undo the treatment of the Dons." Hardin gravely assents.