to the light, replied, with great indifference:

"Why, no — not particularly."

"She is like a Raffaelle Madonna!" said
Saxon, indignantly.

"Perhaps — but I am no admirer of Madonnas.
Olimpia Colonna is ten times handsomer."

Saxon was silent.

"Have you seen the Colonnas since they left,
Castletowers?" asked Mr. Trefalden, looking at
him somewhat curiously.

"No — I have not had time to call upon them.
And now tell me something about the Company."

Mr. Trefalden had a great deal to tell about
the Company — about the offices that were in
course of erection at Alexandria and Sidon; about
the engineers who were already at work upon
the line; about the scientific party that had
started for Hit, in search of the hoped-for
coal strata; about the deputation that was on
its way to Bagdad; and, above all, about the
wonderful returns that every shareholder might
expect to receive in the course of some six or
eight years more.

"If I were not bound for Norway," said
Saxon, " I would take a trip up the Mediterranean,
to inspect the works and report progress."

"It would scarcely repay you at present,"
replied his cousin. " A year hence there will be
more to see. And now farewell to you."

Saxon saw his cousin to the door, and parted
from him with reluctance. A few months back
he would have kissed him on both cheeks, as
on the evening when they first met in Switzerland;
but civilisation had rubbed off the bloom
of his Arcadianism by this time, and he refrained.

He had scarcely returned to his room,
scarcely rung for lights and seated himself at
his desk with the intention of writing a few
leave-taking notes, and arranging his scattered
papers, when he heard a cab dash up to the
door, a hasty footstep in the ante-room, and a
familiar voice asking if he were at home. The
next moment Lord Castletowers was in the
room.

"You here to-night!" exclaimed Saxon.
"Has anything happened?"

"Only this," replied his friend. " Colonna
is summoned to Palermo, and must go. He
had intended to cross to Sicily from Genoa;
but some cabal is on foot, and he has been
warned that he is liable to arrest if seen in any
French or Sardinian port. Now I come to ask
if you will take him over?

"To Sicily?"

"Yes — round by Gibraltar. It is Colonna's
only safe route; and we could steer northwards
as soon as we had landed our man. Do you
mind doing this?"

"Not in the least. I would as soon sail in
one direction as another  — nay, I had far sooner
steer southward than northward, if that be all!"

"Then it is settled?"

"Quite — if Signor Colonna will meet us at
Portsmouth to-morrow. But I thought you
hated the cause, Castletowers, and would do no
more for it!"

The Earl smiled sadly.

"One may quarrel with liberty as often as
Horace with Lydia," said he; " but one can no
more help coming back to her than one can
help loving her."

CHAPTER LVIII. SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS.

DAY by day the Albula spread her white
wings and skimmed like a sea-bird over the face
of the waters. The picturesque Channel Isles;
the cloudy cliff of Finisterre; the rock of
Gibraltar, blinding white in the glare of the
mid-day sun; Mount Abyla, shadowy and stupendous,
standing out from the faint line of the
African coast; the far peaks of the Sierra
Nevada; and the Spanish islands, green with
groves of orange and citron, rose one by one
out of the blue sea, glided past, and sank away
again in the distance. Sometimes no land was
visible on either side. Sometimes the little
vessel sped along so close under the lee of the
wooded headlands, that those on board could
hear the chiming of the convent-bells, and the
challenge of the sentinels pacing the ramparts
of the sea-washed forts. But for the most part
they kept well off the shore, steering direct for
Sicily. And all this time the two friends mainly
lived on deck, acquiring nautical knowledge,
growing daily more and more intimate, and
leaving Signor Colonna to fill page after page
of close and crabbed manuscript in the cabin
below. It was a delicious time. The days were
all splendour and the nights all stars, and the
travellers slept to the pleasant music of the
waves.

"Lend me your glass, Trefalden," said Lord
Castletowers. " I want to look at that steam
frigate. I can't make out her flag."

They had been several days at sea, and were
within about eighteen hours' sail of Palermo.
A faint blue headland far away to the left
marked the southernmost point of the island of
Sardinia; while straight ahead, trailing a banner
of pale smoke behind her, came the frigate that
had attracted Lord Castletowers' attention.

"She seems to be coining our way," said
Saxon.

"She is bearing right down upon us," replied
the Earl. " And she carries guns — I
don't quite like the look of her."

"Do you mean it?"

"I do."

And Lord Castletowers went to the top of
the cabin stairs and called to Colonna to come
up.

"I want you just to glance at this steamer
through Trefalden's glass," said he. "Will
you mind giving your pen a moment's rest?"

"Not at all," replied the Italian; and came
at once on dock.

His brow darkened at sight of the approaching
steamer. He took the glass; adjusted the
focus; looked for some ten seconds silently and