"Have you a good organ at the chapel?"

"No, a wretched thing. It is very small, very
old, and sadly out of repair. Two of the stops
are quite useless, and there are but five
altogether."

"A wretched thing, indeed! Can't you get a
new one?"

"I fear not. Perhaps when Count Planta
comes back from Italy he may give us one. My
father means to mention it to him, at all events;
but then the count is always either in Naples or
Paris. He may not come to Reichenau for the
next three or four years."

"And in the mean while," said Mr. Trefalden,
"the organ may die of old age, and become
altogether dumb."

"Quite true," replied Saxon, with a sigh.

Mr. Trefalden glanced at him sharply, and a
silence of some moments ensued.

"Don't you think, Saxon," said he, at length,
"that it must be very pleasant to be rich?"

Saxon looked up from his reverie, and smiled.

"To be rich?" he repeated.

"Ay—as Count Planta, for instance."

"Are you serious, cousin?"

"Quite serious."

"Then I think it cannot be pleasant at all."

"Why not?"

"Because wealth is power, and power is a
frightful temptation."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Trefalden.

"And a frightful responsibility, too."

"Nonsense again!"

"All history proves it," said Saxon, earnestly.
"Look at Athens and Rome—see how luxury
undermined the liberty of the one, and how the
desire of aggrandisement . . . ."

Mr. Trefalden laid his hand laughingly upon
the young man's mouth.

"My dear fellow," said he, "you talk like a
class-book, or an Exeter Hall lecturer! Who
cares about Rome or Athens now? One would
think you were a thousand years old, at the
very least."

"But . . . ."

"But your arguments are very true, and
classical, and didactic—I grant all that. Nevertheless,
our daily experience proves money to be a
remarkably agreeable thing. You, I think, are
rather proud of your poverty."

"I am not poor," replied Saxon. "I have all
that I need. An emperor can have no more."

"Humph! Are there no poor in Reichenau?"

"None who are very poor. None so poor as
the people of Embs."

"Where is Embs?"

"About half way on the road to Chur. It is
a Roman Catholic parish, and the inhabitants are
miserably squalid and idle."

"I remember the place. I passed it on my
way here yesterday. It looked like a hotbed of
fever."

"And well it might," replied Saxon, sadly.
"They had it terribly last autumn."

Mr Trefalden faced round suddenly, leaning
on his elbow, and flung away the end of his
cigar.

"And so you think, young man," said he, "that
because you have all you need, money would be
of no use to you!  Pray, did it never occur to
you that these fever-stricken wretches wanted
food, medicine, and clothing?"

"We—we did what we could, cousin," replied
Saxon, in a troubled voice. "God knows, it was
very little, but . . . ."

"But if you had been a rich man, you could
have done ten times more. Is that not true?"

"Too true."

"Your religion enjoins you to give alms; but
how are you to do this without money?"

"One may do good works without money,"
said Saxon.

"In a very limited degree. Not one-tenth
part as many as if you had plenty of it. Did you
never look at that side of the question, Saxon?
Did you never wish to be rich for the sake of
others?"

"I am not sure, but I do not think I ever did.
I was so impressed with the belief that money
was the root of all evil . . . ."

"Pshaw! Things are good or evil, according
to the use we make of them. A knife is but a
knife, whether in the hand of a surgeon or an
assassin; yet the result is considerably different.
You must divest your mind of these fallacies,
Saxon. They are unworthy of you!"

Saxon put his hand to his brow uneasily.

"What you say sounds like the truth," said
he; "and yet—and yet it is at variance with the
precepts upon which I have relied all my life."

"Very possibly," replied Mr. Trefalden.
"Precepts, however, are bad things to depend upon.
They are made of india-rubber, and will stretch
to cover any proposition. Let us suppose, now,
that you were a rich man . . . ."

"How absurd!" said Saxon, forcing a smile.
"What is the use of it?"

"We will see what might have been the use of
it. In the first place, you would have had good
instruction, and have become an accomplished
musician. You would have enriched yonder
little church with a fine organ, and perhaps have
rebuilt the church into the bargain. You would
have furnished the poor sufferers of Embs with a
staff of doctors and nurses, and have saved,
perhaps, some scores of human lives. You would
have been able to surround your uncle with
comforts in his old age. You could have gratified
your desire of visiting Rome, Athens, and
Jerusalem. You could have lined the old château
from top to bottom with Greek and Latin poets,
and have founded a museum of Etruscan
antiquities for your uncle's perpetual delight.
Finally . . . ."

He paused. Saxon looked up.

"Well, cousin," said he; "finally what?"

"Finally, rich men do not wear grey blouses
and leather gaiters. If you had had a coat like
mine on your back this morning, Saxon,
Mademoiselle Colonna would not have taken you for