HALF A MILLION OF MONEY,

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER XI. UP AT THE CHURCH.

THREE hours later, Saxon was sitting alone
before the organ in the little chapel on the hill.
One hand supported his head, the other rested
listlessly upon the keys. A tattered mass of
Palestrina's lay open upon the music-desk; but
Saxon's eyes were turned towards the door, and
his thoughts were far away. He had been playing,
half an hour or an hour ago, and had fallen
since then into a long and anxious train of
thought. He had even forgotten the little
fair-haired urchin who acted for him as blower, and
who had fallen fast asleep in the sunshine that
streamed through the south window at the back
of the organ.

It was a plain, whitewashed, brown-raftered
little church, with a row of deal benches on each
side of the aisle, and a pulpit to match. On a
long board suspended from the roof just above
the altar was painted, in gaudy characters of gold
and scarlet, a German couplet, signifying "Where
God is, there is liberty." The organ was of old
dark oak, with ebony keys; and on the top stood
a battered angel with a broken trumpet. It was
a place of primitive simplicity, and no kind of
architectural beauty. The beauty lay all without,
among the Alps and pine forests that showed
here and there through open doors and windows.

It was more than an hour past mid-day when
Saxon Trefalden sat thus before the organ, and
his cousin had not yet come to claim his company.
His thoughts were busy, and his soul was
disquieted within him. The uneasiness that he had
felt on leaving those two to their solitary
conference had now increased tenfold. Why was
he excluded from it? And why should his uncle,
who had never, as he believed, hidden a thought
from him before, keep a secret from him now?

Then, what of this unknown kinsman, William
Trefalden of London? Did Saxon really like
him? The question was a difficult one. He
scarcely knew how to answer it, even to himself.
He thought he liked his cousin. Nay, he felt
sure—almost sure—that he liked him. Not,
perhaps, quite so well to-day as yesterday. Was
it that an indefinite sense of mistrust mingled
with the liking? No, that was impossible. His
generous nature revolted at the thought. Was
it that William Trefalden's opinions were so new
to him, and went so far to unsettle his own
preconceived notions of good and evil? Or was it that
he was himself somewhat out of humour with
the world this morning—somewhat less contented
than of old? The organ, to be sure, had sounded
more wheezy and thin than ever to-day, and his
own playing had seemed clumsier than usual.
Besides, that matter of the twenty francs was
hard to forget. Well, well, he certainly liked
his cousin; and as for poverty, why he must put
up with it, and make the best of it, as his father
and uncle had done before him. Then with
regard to Olimpia Colonna——Pshaw! were she
fair as Helen, and patriotic as Camilla, it would
make no difference to him. Saxon flattered
himself that he was invulnerable.

At this point of his meditations, a shadow fell
upon the threshold, and was followed by the
substance of William Trefalden.

"I am ashamed, Saxon," said he, "to have
kept you waiting for me so long. Your uncle is
gone home, and I suppose it is too late to think
of Chur to-day. Is this the organ?"

Saxon bent his head affirmatively.

"So! a lumbering old box of pipes, only fit
for firewood! What say you? will you present
the parish with a new one?"

"I hope the parish will not have to wait till I
do so," replied Saxon, with a faint smile.

"But I am serious. Will you order one from
Geneva, or have it brought all the way from
Paris?"

"Cousin William, what do you mean?" faltered
Saxon, his heart beginning to beat faster, he
knew not why.

Mr. Trefalden laid his two hands on the young
man's shoulders, and, looking him steadily in the
face, replied:

"This is what I mean, Saxon. In three or four
weeks' time you will be a rich man—a very rich
man—ten times richer than Count Planta, or any
nobleman here."

"I—rich—richer than——I do not understand
you!" said Saxon, brokenly.

"It is the absolute truth."

"But my uncle——"

"He knows it. He has known it since before
you were born. He has desired me to tell you
all the story of your inheritance."

Saxon put his hand to his forehead, and turned
his face away.