"Poor Castletowers!" said he to himself.
"She has no heart for anything but Italy."

And then he went into the house, where he
found the breakfast over, the dining-room
deserted, and everybody out upon the terrace. It
was a large assembly, consisting chiefly of ladies,
and the general interest was at that moment
centred in the hunting party, then gaily winding
its way down the green slope, and through the
chequered shade of the oaks.

When the last gleam of scarlet had disappeared,
Mr. Trefalden went up to Saxon, who was standing
somewhat dolefully apart from the rest, laid
his hand upon his shoulder, and said:

"' Why so dull and mute, young sinner?' Is
it so hard a fate to stay in-doors and read
through a bagful of musty parchments, when
others are breaking their necks over five-barred
gates?"

Saxon turned with his frank smile, and grasped
his cousin's hand.

"It did seem hard a minute ago," replied he;
"but now that you are come, I don't care any
longer. Castletowers said we were to go into
the library."

"Then we will go at once, and get our business
over. I hope your brains are in good order
for work this morning, Saxon."

But Saxon laughed, and shook his head
doubtfully.

"You must be my brains in matters of this
kind, cousin William," said he. "I understand
nothing about money, except how to spend it."

"Then, my dear fellow, you know more than
I gave you credit for," replied Mr. Trefalden.
"Money is a very pleasant and desirable thing,
but there are three great difficulties connected
with it—how to get it, how to keep it, and how
to spend it—and I am not at all sure that to do
the last in the best way is not the hardest task
of the three. My business with, you to-day,
however, concerns the second of those propositions.
I want to show you how to keep your
money; for I fear there are only too many who
enjoy teaching you the way to spend it."

They had now reached the library, a long low
room, panelled and furnished with dark oak, and
looking out upon the same quiet garden that
was commanded by the window of Signor
Colonna's little study. The books upon the shelves
were mostly antique folios and quartos in heavy
bindings of brown and mottled calf, and consisted
of archaeological and theological works,
county histories, chronologies, sermons, dictionaries,
peerages, and parliamentary records. Here
and there a little row of British essayists, or a
few modern books in covers of bright cloth,
broke the ponderous monotony; but the Castletowers
collection, being chiefly made up of those
works which it is said no gentleman's library
should be without, was but a dull affair, and
attracted few readers. A stag's skull and antlers
presided spectrally above the door, and an
elaborate genealogical tree of the Castletowers
family, cumbrously framed in old black oak, hung
over the mantelpiece like a hatchment.

"Well, cousin William," said Saxon, with an
anticipative yawn, "where is the bag of parchments?"

But Mr. Trefalden laid only his pocket-book
and a small case-map on the table before him.

"The bag," he replied, "was but a figure
of speech—a legal fiction. I have no parchments
whatever to inflict upon you—nothing
but a few columns of figures, a letter or two,
and a map of Western Asia."

Saxon opened his eyes.

"What in the world have I to do with
Western Asia?" said he.

"That is just what I am here to tell you."

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE NEW OVERLAND ROUTE.

"In the first place, Saxon," said Mr. Trefalden,
" I have done for you what I suppose you
would never have thought of doing for yourself:
I have had your account made up at
Drummonds'. I confess that the result has somewhat
surprised me."

"Why so?"

"Well, not because you have spent a great
deal of money in a very short time, for I anticipated
that; but because so many of your cheques
appear to have gone into the pockets of your
friends. Here, for instance, is the name of Sir
Charles Burgoyne—a name which recurs no fewer
than fourteen times within the space of five weeks.
The first entry is for five hundred and twenty-
five pounds; date, the twenty-first of March."

"That was for the mare and cab," said Saxon,
quickly. "It was his own favourite mare, and
he let me have her. He had been offered five
hundred and fifty, only a day or two before."

Mr. Trefalden smiled dubiously, and glanced
back at a memorandum entered in his note-book
a few weeks before, when sitting behind that
morning paper, in a window of the Erectheum
club-house. The memorandum told a different
tale. He contented himself, however, with
writing the words "mare and cab" against the
sum, and then went on.

"Second cheque—six hundred and ten
pounds; date, the twenth-ninth of March."

"My two riding-horses, and their equipments,"
explained Saxon.

"Humph! and were these also Sir Charles
Burgoyne's favourites?"

""No, not at all. He was kind enough to buy
them for me, from a friend who was reducing
his establishment."

Mr. Trefalden checked off the six hundred and
ten pounds, as before.

"Third cheque—two thousand pounds; date,
the thirty-first of March."

"Oh, that's nothing," said Saxon. " That's
not spent—it's only borrowed."

"By Sir Charles Burgoyne?"

"Yes."

"And the next, for two thousand five hundred,
dated April the third?"

"I—I rather think that's borrowed also,"
replied Saxon.

"Then come various smaller cheques—four
hundred, two hundred and fifteen, fifty-seven,