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