his papers. Francois Ribaut is the depositary of his wishes. Dolores
is as incapable as her child in business. Will God protect these
two innocents?

Valois wonders if he will return in defeat like Don Miguel. Poor
old Don! around his tomb the roses creep,--his gentle Juanita by
his side.

He hopes the armies of the West will carry the banner, now flying
from Gulf to border, into the North. There the legendary friends
of the South will hail it.

Alas! pent up in California, Maxime hears not the murmurs of the
Northern pines, breathing notes of war and defiance. The predictions
of the leaders of the conspiracy are fallacious. Aid and comfort
fail them abroad. North of Mason and Dixon's line the sympathizers
are frightened.

In his heart he only feels the tumult of the call to the field. It
is his pride of race. Tired, weary of the crosses of fortune, he
waits only to see the enemy's fires glittering from hill and cliff.

With all his successes, the West has never been his home. Looking
out on his far-sweeping alamedas, his thoughts turn fondly back
to his native land. He is "going home to Dixie."