"How is that?"

"Because I am poor, and she has nothing—
because I could not bear to act in opposition
to my mother's wishes—because… in short,
because the woman I love is Olimpia Colonna."

Saxon's heart gave one throb—just one—as
Castletowers spoke the name; and then his
breath seemed to come short, and he was afraid
to speak, lest his voice should be unsteady.

"Had you guessed my secret?" asked the
Earl.

Saxon shook his head.

"I feel sure my mother has guessed it, long
since; but she has entire confidence in my
honour, and has never breathed a syllable to
me on the subject. All her hope is, that I
may repair our shattered fortunes by a wealthy
marriage. Proud as she is—and my mother is a
very proud woman, Trefalden—she would rather
see me marry that rich Miss Hatherton whose
father was a common miner, than Olimpia
Colonna with her eight hundred years of glorious
ancestry!"

"Eight hundred years!" repeated Saxon,
mechanically.

"It is one of the noblest families in Europe,"
continued the Earl. "The Colonnas were
sovereign Dukes and Princes when the Pierrepoints
were Norman Counts, and the Wynncliffes simple
Esquires. They have given many Cardinals
to Rome, and one Pope. They have repeatedly
held the rank of Viceroys of Naples, Sicily, and
Aragon; and they have numbered among them
some of the greatest generals and noblest scholars
of the middle ages. I tell you, Trefalden,
it is incomprehensible to me how my mother,
who attaches such profound importance to birth,
should weigh gold against blood in such a
question as this!"

He paused, beating the floor with his foot,
and too much absorbed in his own story to pay
much heed to his listener.

"But then, you see," he continued presently,
"money is not the only obstacle. The man
who marries Olimpia Colonna must go heart
and soul, hand and fortune, into the Italian
cause. I would do it, willingly. I would melt
my last ounce of plate, cut down my last timber,
mortgage the roof over my head, if I had only
myself to consider. But how is it possible? I
cannot reduce my mother to beggary."

"Of course not."

And then there was another pause. At length
the Earl looked up suddenly, and said,

"Well now, Trefalden, what is your advice?"

"Advice!" stammered Saxon. "You ask
me for advice?"

"Undoubtedly."

"But how can I advise you?"

"Simply by telling me what you think I
ought to do. Should I, for instance, talk it over
with my mother, or speak to Colonna first?
He is her oldest friend, and his opinion has
great weight with her. There lies my chief
hope. If he were with me, I do not think she
would persist in any lengthened opposition.
Besides, I would do anything to make up for
Olimpia's want of fortune. I know I could
work my way in parliament, if I chose to read
up facts, and study home-questions. Or I
would cultivate my influential friends, and try
to get some foreign diplomatic appointment.
In short, give me but the motive, and I will do
anything!"

"But these are matters of which I know
nothing," said Saxon.

"I am not asking you how I shall push my
way in the future, my dear fellow," replied the
Earl, eagerly; "but how you think I ought to
act in the present. What would you do yourself,
if you were in my position?"

Saxon, sitting a little away from the light,
with his elbow resting on the table and his head
supported by his hand, looked down thoughtfully,
and hesitated before replying. His friend
had given him a hard problem to solve—a bitter
task to perform.

"Are you sure that you love her?" he said,
presently, speaking somewhat slowly.

"As sure as that yonder sun is now shining
in the heavens! Why, Trefalden, she was the
ideal of my boyhood; and for the last four
years, since she has been staying with us so
often, and for so many months at a time, I have
loved her with the deepest love that man can
give to woman."

"And do you think that—that she loves you?"

Do what he would, Saxon could not quite
keep down the tremor in his voice as he asked
this question; but the Earl was too intensely
preoccupied to observe it.

"A year ago—nay, three months ago," said
he, "I was certain of it. Latterly, I cannot
tell why, there has been a constraint—a
coldness—as if she were trying to crush out the
feeling from her own heart, and the hope from
mine. And yet, somehow, I feel as if the
change went no deeper than the surface."

"You believe, in short, that Miss Colonna
loves you still?"

"By Heaven, Trefalden, I do!" replied the
Earl, passionately.

"You have not asked her?"

"Certainly not. She was my guest."

Saxon covered his eyes for a moment with
his hand, as if in profound thought. It was an
eventful moment—a cruel moment—the first
moment of acute suffering that he had ever
known. No one but himself ever knew how
sharp a fight he fought while it lasted—a fight
from which he came out wounded and bleeding,
but a conqueror. When he lifted up his face,
it was pale to the very lips, but steady and
resolved.

"Then, Castlctowers," he said—and his voice
had no faltering in it—"I will tell you what I
would do if—if I were in your place. I would
learn the truth from her own lips, first of all."

"But my mother …."

"Lady Castletowers will acquiesce when she
knows that your happiness is involved. It is
but a question of fortune, after all."

The Earl sprang to his feet, and began pacing
to and fro.