HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER XXII. TELEMACHUS SHOWS THAT HE
HAS A WILL OF HIS OWN.

UNLIKE the great ocean, which, however
racked by hurricane and storm, sleeps in eternal
calm but a little way beneath the tossing waves,
Mr. Trefalden kept all his tempests down below,
and presented to the world a surface of unvarying
equanimity. No man ever knew what went
on under that "glassy cool" exterior. Cyclones
might rage in the far depths of his nature, and
those who were looking in his face saw no ripple,
heard no echo, of the strife within. It was just
thus when Saxon burst in upon him at about
eleven o'clock that Tuesday morning, brimful of
compassion for the perplexities of the house of
Greatorex, and burning to relieve them at the
moderate cost of fifty-nine thousand pounds.

Mr. Trefalden was furious; but he smiled,
nevertheless, and heard Saxon quite patiently
from beginning to end of his story.

"But this is pure nonsense and quixotism,"
said he, when the young man came to a pause for
want of breath. "What's Greatorex to you,
or you to Greatorex? Why should you recklessly
sacrifice a sum which is in itself a handsome
fortune, to oblige a man who has no claim whatever
on your sympathies, or your purse?"

"I can't let him be ruined!" cried Saxon,
impetuously.

"Why not? He would not have hesitated to
ruin you. He would have swept your whole
property into his rotten bank, and have allowed
you one per cent less than the current rate of
interest."

"I can't tell how that maybe," said Saxon;
"but I gave him the cheque, and he acted on the
faith of it. I must not let him suffer."

''But he would have suffered, sooner or later.
Did I not tell you last night that the Greatorexes
were on the verge of bankruptcy, and that I
believed they must stop payment before the
week was out? Don't you remember that?"

"Yes—I remember it."

"Then you must surely see that your cheque
can be in no sense the cause of their ruin? At the
worst, it but hastens the event by a few days."

"I see that I have no right, and, Heaven
knows! no wish, to hasten it by a single hour."

"But, my dear Saxon . . . ."

"But, my dear cousin William, Laurence
Greatorex has an old father, and two sisters,
and he and I have been on terms of good-fellowship
together for weeks past, and I'm determined to
stand by him."

"Oh, if you are determined, Saxon, that puts
an end to the matter," said Mr. Trefalden, coldly.
"But in this case, why consult me at all?"

"I didn't come to consult you, cousin; but I
had given you my word not to sign away any
more money till after Thursday, and I felt bound
to let you know what I was about to do."

Mr. Trefalden looked very grave.

"I confess that I am disappointed," he said.
"I had hoped to find my opinion more valued by
you, Saxon. I had also hoped that you would
look upon me as something more than your
lawyer—as your friend, adviser, guide."

"Why, so I do!" cried the young man, eagerly.

"Pardon me; I do not think so."

"Then you do me injustice; for I put a priceless
value on your opinion and your friendship."

"Your present wilfulness disproves your words,
Saxon," said his cousin.

"I know it does; but then I also know that I
am acting upon impulse, and not according to
the laws of worldly wisdom. I have no doubt
that you are perfectly right, and that I am
utterly wrong—but still I cannot be happy if I
do not, for once, indulge my folly."

Seeing that it was useless to push the
argument further, Mr. Trefalden smiled in his
pleasantest manner.

"I do think," said he, "that you are the most
foolish fellow in the world. If I don't make
haste to tie your money up, you will ruin
yourself, rich as you are!"

"But what's the use of being rich if I may
not enjoy my wealth in my own way?" laughed
Saxon, delighted to have carried his point.

"Your way is a very irrational way," replied
the lawyer, taking a slip of paper from his desk,
and writing upon it in a clear engrossing hand.
"Almost as irrational as that of the poor sailors
who make sandwiches of their bank-notes and
bread-and-butter. But I suppose I must forgive
you for this once; and, after all, the loss of