case in point. Your cousin is no hearty friend
to our cause. He never gave sixpence to Italy
in his life, and he will surely regard this noble
gift of yours from an adverse point of view. Why
then place the matter before him? If he
disapproved you would not withdraw your
donation . . . ."

"Of course not!" exclaimed Saxon, hastily.

"And you would offend him if you persisted.
Be advised by me, my dear Mr. Trefalden, and
act for yourself."

"But I don't know how to act for myself,"
said Saxon.

"I will put you in the way of all that. I will
introduce you to my friend, Signor Nazzari, of
Austin Friars. He is an Italian Jew—a
stockbroker by profession—and worthy of whatever
confidence you may be disposed to place in
him."

Saxon thanked him, but his mind was ill at
ease, and his face betrayed it. He was sorely
tempted by Signor Colonna's proposition. He
shrunk from telling his cousin what he had done,
and he knew that William Trefalden would be
ten times more annoyed than he was by the
Greatorex transaction; but, on the other hand,
he abhorred deceit and double-dealing.

"But won't it seem sly to William?" he said,
presently. " I won't do what's sly, you know,
I'd put up with anything sooner."

Signor Colonna, who had been writing his
countryman's address on a slip of paper, looked
up at this and laid his pen aside.

"My dear sir," he said, " I but advise you to
do as other gentlemen do in your position. No
lawyer does stockbroker's work."

"That may be, and yet . . . ."

"You might as reasonably send for your
lawyer if you were ill. He could but call in a
physician to cure you, as he would now call in a
stockbroker to sell your stock."

"I wish. I knew what I ought to do!"
ejaculated Saxon.

The Italian glanced impatiently towards his
daughter; but Olimpia went on writing, and
would not look up. She knew quite well that
her father wanted her to throw in the weight
of her influence, but she had resolved to say
nothing. The great work was hers to do, and she
had done it; out she would not stoop to the
less. So Colonna went back, unaided, to the
charge, and argued till Saxon was, if not
convinced, at least persuaded.

And then it was arranged that Saxon and
Vaughan should go up to town together on the
following day—the millionnaire to draw out his
money, and the dragoon to dispose of it as Signor
Colonna might direct.

CHAPTER XLV. WHAT HAPPENED THE EVENING
BEFORE.

THE morning was cold and grey, quite unlike
the glowing golden mornings by which it had
been preceded for the last fortnight, as Saxon
Trefalden and Major Vaughan sped up to
London by the fast train that left Sedgebrook
station at 9.45.

They were alone in the compartment, sitting
face to face, each busy with his own
thoughts. The landscape was dull outside. A
low mist shrouded the pleasant Surrey hills, the
steam hung in the damp air for a quarter of a
mile behind the flying train, and the plumy elms
that came in places almost to the verge of the
line, looked ghost-like and shadowy. It was
such a day as French authors love to describe
when they write of England and the English—
a day when the air is heavy and the sky is grey,
and Sir Smith (young, rich, handsome, but
devoured with the spleen) goes out and cuts his
throat on Primrose Hill.

Dreary as the day was, however, these two
travellers were no less dreary. Saxon's thoughts
were troubled enough, and Vaughan's were all
gloom and bitterness. As he sat there, knitting
his brows, gnawing the ends of his long
moustache, and staring down at the mat between his
feet, he was going over something that happened
the evening before in Lady Castletowers'
drawing-room—going over it, word for word, look
for look, just as it happened—going over it for
the hundredth time, and biting it into his
memory deeper and sharper with every
repetition.

This was what it was, and how it happened.

Dinner was over, coffee had been handed
round, and Major Vaughan had made his way to
a quiet corner under a lamp, where Olimpia sat
reading. He remembered quite well how the
light fell on her face from above, and how she
looked up with a pleasant smile as he sat down
beside her.

They fell into conversation. He asked first
if he might be forgiven for disturbing her, and
then if she had any commands for Italy. To
which she replied that her only commands
concerned himself; that he should fight bravely,
as, indeed, she had no need to tell so daring a
soldier, and come back safe when the cause was
won. Whereupon, the thing that he had
resolved never to say rose all at once to his lips,
and he asked if there would be any hope for him
when this had come to pass.

"Hope?" she repeated. " Hope of what,
Major Vaughan?"

And then, in a few strong, earnest words, he
told her how he loved her, and how, to win her,
lie would endure and dare all things; but she,
looking at him with a sort of sad surprise,
replied that it could never be.

He had never dreamed that it could be. He
had told himself a thousand times that he was
mad to love her; that he should be ten times
more mad to declare his love; and yet, now
that the words were spoken, he could not bring
himself to believe that they had been spoken in
vain.

So, with an eager trembling of the voice that
he could not control, though he strove hard to
do so, he asked if time would make no
difference; and she answered, very gently and sadly,
but very firmly— " None."

None! He remembered the very tone in
which she said it—the dropping of her voice at