said. "But—if I only knew why, perhaps it
would not be so hard to bear."

Miss Colonna looked down, and for some
moments neither spoke nor stirred. At length
she said:

"I will tell you why, Lord Castletowers, if
yon must know. It is possible that I may
never marry; but if I do, it must be to one
who can do more for Italy than yourself. Are
you satisfied?"

The young man could not trust himself to
speak. He only looked at her; and a dark
expression came into his face—such an expression
as Olimpia had never seen it wear till that
moment.

"Farewell," she said, almost imploringly, and
put out her hand.

"Farewell," he replied, and, having held it
for a moment in his own, disengaged it gently,
and said no more.

She remembered afterwards how cold her
own hand was, and how dry and hot was the
palm in which it rested.

But a few moments later, and she was kneeling
by her bedside in her own far-away chamber,
silent and self-reliant no longer, but wringing
her hands with a woman's passionate sorrow,
and crying aloud:

"Oh, that he could have looked into my heart
—that he could only have known how I love
him!"

CHAPTER LV. AT ARM'S LENGTH.

THERE was no superfluous guest at Lady
Castletowers' table, after all; for Miss Colonna
excused herself on the plea of severe headache,
and Signor Montecuculi opportunely filled her
place. But the dinner proved an effet manqué,
notwithstanding. The Earl, though as host
he strove to do his best, played the part
languidly, and was bitterly sad at heart. Saxon,
who had come in covered with dust and foam
about five minutes before the dinner was
served, looked weary and thoughtful, and all
unlike his own joyous self. Giulio Colonna,
full of Italian politics, was indisposed for
conversation. And so, what with Olimpia's
absence, and what with that vague sense of
discomfort inseparable from any kind of parting
or removal, a general dreariness pervaded the
table.

Miss Hatherton, however, was lively and
talkative, as usual. Finding Saxon unwontedly
silent, she consoled herself with the stranger,
and questioned Signor Montecuculi about Sicily
and Naples, Calatafimi, Palermo, Garibaldi, and
Victor Emmanuel, to her heart's content.

In the mean while, Colonna, sitting at Lady
Castletowers' left hand, had been lamenting
the non-fulfilment of certain of his plans.

"I had hoped," he said, in a low tone, "that
something would have come of it ere this."

"And I had hoped it too, dear friend—for
your sake," replied Lady Castletowers, benevolently.

"I had made certain that, knowing how
unexpectedly we are called away, he would have
spoken to-day; but, on the contrary, he ordered
out his horse quite early, and has been in the
saddle all day."

"That looks strange."

"Very strange. I wish to Heaven we could
have remained with you one week longer."

"But it is not too late to reverse your
plans."

Colonna shook his head.

"I can no more reverse them," he said,
"than I can reverse the order of the planets."

"Then leave Olimpia with me. She is not fit
to go up to town this evening."

"Thanks—I had already thought of that;
but she is determined to accompany me."

To which the Countess, who was much more
deeply interested in procuring Miss Hatherton's
fortune for her son than in securing a wealthy
bridegroom for the daughter of her friend,
replied, "I am sorry, amico," and transferred her
conversation to Mr. Walkingshaw.

But Colonna had not yet played his last card.
When the ladies retired, he took the vacant seat
at Saxon's right hand, and said:

"Ours is an abrupt departure, Mr. Trefalden;
but I trust we shall see you in London."

Saxon bowed, and murmured something about
obligation and kindness.

"You are yourself returning to town, I
understand, the day after to-morrow."

Saxon believed he was.

"Then you must promise to come and see us.
You will find us, for at least the next fortnight,
at the Portland Hotel; but after that time we
shall probably be bending our steps towards
Italy."

Saxon bowed again, and passed the decanters.

Colonna began to see that there was
something wrong.

"When friends wish to ensure a meeting,"
said he, "and we are friends, I trust, Mr.
Trefalden—their best plan is to make some
definite appointment. Will you dine with us
on Thursday at our hotel?"

"I am afraid . . . ." began Saxon.

"Nay, that is an ominous beginning."

"I have been so long away from town,"
continued the young man, somewhat confusedly,
"and shall have so many claims upon my time
for the next few weeks, that I fear I must make
no engagements."

Giulio Colonna was utterly confounded. But
yesterday, and this young millionnaire would
have grasped at any straw of invitation that
might have brought him nearer to Olimpia;
and now . . . . Was he drawing off? Was he
offended? He laid his hand on Saxon's arm,
and, bending his most gracious smile upon him,
said:

"I will not part from you thus, my dear sir.
Those who serve my country serve me; and you
have been so munificent a benefactor to our
cause, that you have made me your debtor for
life. I will not, therefore, suffer you to drop
away into the outer ranks of mere acquaintanceship.
I look upon you as a friend, and as a