stiffly. "I employ agents throughout
the East, whose business it is to keep me
informed on these subjects."

"Good Heavens!" murmured Saxon. "I do
not know how to believe it!"

"Besides," added the Commercial Authority,
"the thing is impracticable."

"Why so?"

"In the first place, the obstacles to the
Euphrates route by land are innumerable
perhaps altogether insurmountable. In the
second place, Sidon, which is to this scheme
what Alexandria is to the genuine route, is one
of the most dangerous points of the Syrian
coast."

"Is that possible?" exclaimed Saxon. "I
have read of the harbour of Sidon in Homer—
in the Bible—in ancient and mediæval history.
Surely it is the seaport of Damascus?"

"It was," replied Mr. Melchisedek; " but it
has not been a seaport for more than two
hundred years. When the Emir Fakreddin
defended his territory against the encroachments
of Amurath the Fourth, he filled the harbour
in order to prevent the Turkish fleet from
approaching the town. Since that time no vessel
of size has dared to attempt an entrance."

Saxon stood bewildered, with his eyes fixed
upon the map.

"I fear you have been defrauded to a
considerable extent," said Mr. Melchisedek,
politely.

"To be defrauded is, I suppose, the lot of
the ignorant," replied Saxon; "but it is not so
much for the money that I care. It is for the—
the ... ."

"Precisely," said Mr. Melchisedek. "The
swindle."

Saxon shrank from the word as if it stung
him.

"I am very much obliged to you," he said,
hastily.

"Pray do not name it, Mr. Trefalden. I am
happy to have been useful to you."

And with this Mr. Melchisedek again touched
the silver hand-bell, saluted his visitors in stately
fashion, and remained standing till the Armenian
had ushered them from his presence.

Back they went again, through the five
magnificent rooms, down the marble staircase, now
all ablaze with lamps of quaint and beautiful
designs, and out across the spacious court-yard.

It was now dusk. A delicious breeze was
blowing off the sea; the Frankish quarter was
full of promenaders; and a band was playing in
the great square, before the French Consulate.

But Saxon strode on towards the Hotel de
l'Europe, observing nothing; and Castletowers
followed him silently. Not till they were again
alone in their own sitting-room did he venture
to break in upon his friend's meditations.

"I am afraid this is a bad business, Trefalden,"
he said.

"A terrible business!" replied Saxon, leaning
moodily out of the window.

The Earl laid his hand upon the young
fellow's shoulder.

"Is your loss very heavy?" he asked, gently.

"Nearly half my fortune."

"Good Heavens, Trefalden!"

Saxon smiled bitterly.

"Yes," he replied; "it is a loss not to be
counted by thousands, or tens of thousands, or
hundreds of thousands—but millions. I have
been robbed of two millions."

"But not irrecoverably robbed! You have
the law to appeal to!"

"The law can do nothing for me," replied
Saxon.

"The law can do everything, if one has
prompt recourse to it. Supposing that these
swindlers have fled, you can set a hundred detectives
at their heels; you can hunt them down
like vermin—you can . . . ."

"I tell you, Castletowers, I can do nothing,"
interrupted Saxon, impatiently.

"Why not?"

Saxon was silent.

"Who laid the scheme before you? Who
sold you the forged shares?"

Still Saxon made no reply.

A foreboding of the truth flashed suddenly
across Lord Castletowers' mind.

"Gracious powers!" he faltered. "Surely—
it is not possible—can it be that Mr. Trefalden ... ."

"Don't ask me!" said Saxon, passionately;
"don't ask me!"

Then, breaking down all at once, he
exclaimed:

"But oh, it's not the money, Castletowers!
it's not the money that I grieve about!"

"I understand that," replied the Earl, scarcely
less agitated than himself. "Who would have
conceived that Mr. Trefalden could be so base?"

"My own kinsman—my friend whom I loved
and trusted!"

"The friend whom we all trusted," said the
Earl.

Saxon looked at him with an alarmed, almost
an imploring, expression opened his lips, as if
to speak—checked himself, and turned away
with a heavy sigh.

He had now no doubt that his cousin had
wronged Lord Castletowers of that twenty-five
thousand pounds; but he could not bring himself
to say what he suspected. Besides, there
was still a hope ....

At all events, he would wait—wait and
think.

              NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
                "Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
    Now publishing, PART XIX and XX., price 2s., of
                    OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
                  BY CHARLES DICKENS.
             IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
       With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.