HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER VI. THE VALUE OF A NAPOLEON.

As the two cousins passed across the grassgrown
court-yard, and under the gateway with
the stork's nest overhead, Mr. Trefalden pointed
up to the broken scutcheon.

"Is that a record of some mediæval fray?"
asked he.

"Oh dear no!" replied the young man,
laughingly. "My great-grandfather smashed
that heraldry when he bought the place."

"Then he was a zealous Republican?"

"Not he. Quite the contrary, I believe. No
—he defaced the shield because the château was
his, and the arms were not."

"I see. He did not choose to live in a house
with another man's name upon his door. That
was sensible; but he might have substituted his
own."

Saxon's lip curled saucily.

"Bah!" said he, "what do we want of arms?
We are only farmers. We have no right to
them."

"Neither has any one else, I should fancy, in a
republic like this," observed Mr. Trefalden.

"Oh yes—some have. The Rotzbergs, who
lived here before us, the Plantas, the Ortensteins,
are all noble. They were counts and knights
hundreds of years ago, when the feudal system
prevailed."

"Nobles who subscribe to a democratic rule
forego their nobility, my young cousin," said Mr.
Trefalden.

"I have heard that before," replied Saxon;
"but I don't agree with it."

This young man had a sturdy way of expressing
his opinions that somewhat amused and somewhat
dismayed Mr. Trefalden. He had also a
frightful facility of foot that rendered him a difficult
companion among such paths as led down
from the Chateau Rotzberg to the valley below.

"My good fellow," said the lawyer, coming
to a sudden stop, "do you want me to break my
neck? I'm not a chamois!"

Saxon, who had been springing from ledge to
ledge of the slippery descent with the light and
fearless step of a mountaineer to the manner
born, turned back at once, and put out his hand.

"I beg your pardon," he said, apologetically.
"I had forgotten. I suppose you have never
been among mountains before?"

"Oh yes I have—and I can keep my feet here
quite well, thank you, if you do not ask me to
come down in a coranto. I have been up Snowdon,
and Cader Idris, and plenty of smaller
heights—to say nothing of Holborn Hill."

Saxon laughed merrily.

"Why, what do you know of Holborn Hill?"
said Mr. Trefalden, surprised to find that small
jest appreciated.

"It is a hill rising westward, on the right bank
of the Fleet river."

"But you have never visited London?"

"I have never been further than Zurich in my
life; but I have read Stowe carefully, with a
map."

Mr. Trefalden could not forbear a smile.

"You must not suppose that you therefore
know anything about modern London," said he.
"Stowe would not recognise his own descriptions
now. The world has gone round once or twice
since his time."

"So I suppose."

"I should like to take you back with me,
Saxon. You'd find me a better guide than the
mediæval surveyor."

"To London?"

"Ay, to London."

Saxon shook his head.

"You do not mean to tell me that you have no
curiosity to visit the most wonderful city in the
world?"

"Not at all; but there are others which I had
rather see first."

"And which are they?"

"Rome, Athens, and Jerusalem."

"Then I have no hesitation in prophesying
that you would be greatly disappointed in all
three. One is always disappointed in places that
depend for their interest on remote association."

Saxon made no reply, and for a few moments
they were both silent. When they presently left
the last belt of pines behind them and emerged
upon the level road, Mr. Trefalden paused and
said:

"I ought not to let you go any further. My
way lies straight before me now, and I cannot
miss it."

"I will go with you as far as the bridge," replied
Saxon.