HALF A MILLION OF MONEY

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

    CHAPTER IX. OLIMPIA COLONNA.

SAXON TREFALDEN did not fall in love at first
sight, as Palamon fell in love with Emelie, walking
in the garden "full of braunches grene." His
heart beat none the faster, his cheek grew none
the brighter, nor the paler, for that stolen
contemplation. Nothing of the kind. He only
admired her—admired her, and wondered at her,
and delighted to look upon her; just as he would
have admired, and wondered at, and looked upon
a gorgeous sunrise among his own native Alps,
or a splendid meteor in a summer sky. He did
not attempt to analyse her features. He could
not have described her to save his life. He had
no idea whether her wondrous eyes were brown
or black; or whether it was to them, or to the
perfect mouth beneath, that her smile owed the
magic of its sweetness. He had not the faintest
suspicion that her hair was of the same hue and
texture as the world-famed locks of Lucrezia
Borgia; he only saw that it was tossed back
from her brow like a cloud of burnt gold, crisp
and wavy, and gathered into a coronet that a
queen might have envied. He knew not how
scornfully her lip could curl, and her delicate
nostrils quiver; but he could not help seeing that
there was something haughty in the very
undulations of her tall and slender form, and
something imperial in the character of her beauty.
In short, Saxon was no connoisseur of female
loveliness. The women of the Grisons are
among the homeliest of their race, and till now
he had seen no others. A really graceful,
handsome, highly-bred woman was a phenomenon
in his eyes, and he looked upon her with much the
same kind of delightful awe that one experiences
on first beholding the sea, or the southern stars.
Indeed, had Mademoiselle Colonna been only a
fine portrait by Titian, or a marble divinity by
Phidias, he could hardly have admired her with
a more dispassionate and simple wonder.

Presently Mr. Trefalden came back to his
breakfast, leaving Signor Colonna and his
daughter to theirs. He resumed his seat in
silence. He looked grave. He pushed his plate
aside with the air of one whose thoughts are too
busy for hunger. Then he looked at Saxon;
but Saxon's eyes were wandering to the further
end of the salon, and he knew nothing of the
close and serious scrutiny to which he was
being subjected. The young man would, perhaps,
have been somewhat startled had he surprised
that expression upon his cousin's face; and
even more puzzled than startled by the strange,
flitting, cynical smile into which it gradually
faded.

"Come, Saxon," said Mr. Trefalden, "we must
finish this bottle of Chateau Margaux before we
go"

Saxon shook his head.

"You have had only one glass," remonstrated
his cousin;

"Thank you, I do not wish for more."

"Then you don't really like it, after all?"

"Yes I do; but I am no longer thirsty. See
—I have almost emptied the water-bottle."

Mr. Trefalden shrugged his shoulders.

"We are told," said he, "that primeval man
passed through three preliminary stages before
he reached the era of civilisation—namely, the
stone period, the iron period, and the bronze.
You, my dear Saxon, are still in the stone period;
and Heaven only knows how long you might
have stayed there, if I had not come to your aid!
It is my mission to civilise you."

Saxon laughed aloud. It was his way to laugh
on the smallest provocation, like a joyous child;
which, in Mr. Trefalden's eyes, was another
proof of barbarianism.

"Civilise me as much as you please, cousin
William," he said;  "but don't ask me to drink
without thirst, or eat without hunger."

Mr. Trefalden glanced uneasily towards the
other table, where the father and daughter were
breakfasting side by side, and conversing softly
in Italian. Perhaps he did not wish them to
hear Saxon call him "cousin." At all events, he
rose abruptly, and said:

"Come—shall we smoke a cigar in the garden
before starting?"

But just as they were leaving the room,
Mademoiselle Colonna rose and followed them.

"Mr. Trefalden," she said, eagerly. "Mr.
Trefalden—we found letters awaiting us at this
place, one of which demands an immediate
answer. This answer must be conveyed to a
certain spot, by a trusty messenger. It may not,