"In the mean while," he added, after a pause,
"I am not sure that I shall be so selfish as to
hoard these pictures. The world has never yet
recognised Edgar Rivière; and it would be only
an act of justice on my part if I were to do
something which should at once secure to his
works their proper position in the history of
English art."

"What can you do? What do you mean?"
faltered Mrs. Rivière.

"I scarcely know yet. I thought at one
time that it would be well to exhibit them in
some good room; but that plan might have its
disadvantages. The most direct course would
be, I suppose, to present them to the nation."

The mother and daughter looked at each other
in speechless emotion. Their eyes were full of
tears, and their hearts of gratitude and wonder.

"But, in any case," continued Mr. Trefalden,
"the pictures need cleaning and framing.
Nothing could be done with them before next year,
and they must be mine before even that amount
of progress can be made."

"They are yours from this moment, most
generous friend and benefactor," sobbed the
widow. "Oh, that he could have lived to see
this day!"

But Mr. Trefalden would not suffer the ladies
to express their thanks. He was proud to be
regarded by them as a friend, and still more
proud to be the humble instrument by means
of which a great name might be rescued from
undeserved obscurity; but he protested against
being styled their benefactor. He then
adverted, with much delicacy, to the question of
price, stated that he should at once pay in a
certain sum at a certain bank to Mrs. Rivière's
credit; touched again upon the subject of
Madeira; and, having of course carried his point,
rose, by-and-by, to take his leave.

"Then, my dear madam, I am to have the
honour of escorting you to Funchal in the course
of some three or four weeks from the present
time?" he said at parting.

"If Mr. Forsyth will consent to be so
burdened."

"I think myself very happy in being
permitted to accompany you," replied Mr.
Trefalden; "and if I have named too early a
date . . . ."

"Nay, a day hence would scarcely be too
soon for me," said Mrs. Rivière. " My heart
aches for the sunny south."

To which the lawyer replied by a courteous
assurance that his own arrangements should be
hastened as much as possible, and took his
departure.

"Mr. Forsyth has quite what our aunt, old
Lady Glastonbury, used to call the 'grand air,'"
said Mrs. Rivière, as Mr. Trefalden took off his
hat to them at the gate. "And he is
handsome."

"I do not think him handsome," replied her
daughter; "but he is the most liberal of men."

"Munificently liberal. He most be very
rich, too; and I am sure he is very good. Let
me see, there was a Forsyth, I think, who
married a daughter of Lord Ingleborough in the
same year that Alethea became Lady
Castletowers. I should like to ask whether he belongs
to that family."

"Nay, darling, why put the question? Our
Mr. Forsyth may come of some humbler stock,
and then . . . ."

"You are right, Helen; and he can afford to
dispense with mere nobility. Do you know, my
child, I have sometimes thought of late ——"

"What have you thought, my own dear
mother?"

"That he that Mr. Forsyth is inclined to
admire my little Helen very much."

The young girl drew back suddenly, and the
smile vanished from her lips.

"Oh, mamma," she said, "I hope not."

"Why so, my child? Mr. Forsyth is rich,
kind, good, and a gentleman. His wife would
be a very happy woman."

"But I do not love him."

"Of course you do not love him. We do
not even know whether he loves you; but the
time may come . . . ."

"Heaven forbid it!" said Miss Rivière, in a
low voice.

"And I say, Heaven grant it," rejoined her
mother, earnestly. "I would die to-morrow,
thankfully, if I but knew that my child would
not be left aloue in the wide world when I was
gone."

The girl flung her arms passionately round
her mother's neck, and burst into tears.

"Hush, hush!" she cried, "not a word of
death, my darling. You must live for me. Oh,
how glad — how glad I am that you are going to
Madeira!"

The invalid shook her head, and leaned back
wearily.

"Ah," she sighed again, " I had rather have
gone to Italy."

CHAPTER LXIV. THE BARRICADE IN THE
VIA LOMBARDL

DISAGREEABLY conscious of being roused, as
it were, against his will from something heavier
than sleep, of a painful struggle for breath,
and of a sudden deluge of cold water, Saxon
opened his eyes, and found Lord Castletowers
leaning over him.

"Where am I?" he asked, staring round in
a bewildered way. "What is the matter with
me?"

"Nothing, I hope, my dear fellow," replied
his friend. "Five minutes ago, I pulled you
out from under a man and a horse, and made
certain you were dead; but since then, having
fetched a little water and brought you round,
and being, moreover, unable to find any holes
in your armour, I am inclined to hope that no
damage has been done. Do you think you can
get up?"

Saxon took the Earl's hand, and rose without
much difficulty. His head ached, aud he felt
dizzy; but that was all.

"I suppose I have been stunned," he said,