two others that he was not altogether so well
pleased as he might have been.

Castletowers was genuinely delighted, and as
much surprised as delighted.

"It is a noble gift," said he. "I had not
dreamed that Trefalden was so staunch a friend
to the cause."

"I was not aware that Mr. Trefalden had
hitherto interested himself about Italy in any
way," observed Major Vaughan, coldly.

"Well, he has interested himself now to some
purpose. Besides, he has but just come into
his fortune."

Signor Colonna smoothed the cheque as it
lay before him on the desk, filled in the date,
crossed it, and inserted his own name as that of
the person to whom it was payable.

"I wonder what I had better do with it,"
said he, thoughtfully.

"With what?" asked the Earl.

Colonna pointed to the cheque with the
feather end of his pen.

"Why, cash it, of course, and send the money
off without delay."

The Italian smiled and shook his head. He
was a better man of business than his host, and
he foresaw some of those very difficulties which
were the cause of so much perplexity to Saxon
himself.

"It is not always easy to cash large sums,"
said he. "I must speak to Mr. Trefalden before
I do anything with his cheque. Is he in the
house?"

To which the Earl replied that he would see;
and left the room.

After he was gone, Vaughan and Colonna
went back to the despatch, and discussed the
position of affairs in Sicily. Thence they passed
on to the question of supplies, and consulted
about the best means of bestowing Saxon's
donation. At last they agreed that the larger
share should be sent out in money, and the rest
expended on munitions of war.

"It's a heavy sum," said the dragoon. "If
you want a messenger to take it over, I am at
your service."

"Thanks. Can you go the day after to-
morrow?"

"To-night, if you like. My time is all my
own just now. By the way, who is Mr.
Trefalden's banker?"

He put out his hand for the cheque as he
said this, and Colonna could not do otherwise
than pass it to him. After examining it for
some moments in silence, he gave it back, and
said:

"Are those his figures, Signor Colonna? I
see they are not yours."

To which the Italian replied very composedly,
"No, they are Olimpia's."

Major Vaughan rose, and walked over to the
window.

"I shall ask Bertaldi to give me something
to do, when I am out there," he said, after a
brief pause. "I have had no fighting since I
came back from India, and I am tired to death
of this do-nothing life."

"Bertaldi will be only too glad," replied
Colonna. "One experienced officer is worth
more to us now than a squadron of recruits."

The dragoon sighed impatiently, and pulled
at the ends of his moustache. It was a habit
he had when he was ill at ease.

"I'm sorry for Castletowers," he said,
presently. "He'd give his right hand to go over
with me, and have a shot at the Neapolitans."

"I know he would; but it cannot be—it
must not be. I would not countenance his
going for the world," replied the Italian, quickly.
"It would break his mother's heart."

"It never entered into the sphere of my
calculations that Lady Castletowers had a heart,"
said Major Vaughan. "But you have enjoyed
the advantage of her acquaintance longer than
I have, so I defer to your better judgment."

At this moment the door opened, and the
Earl came in alone.

"I can't find Trefalden anywhere," said he.
"I have looked for him all over the house, in
the stables, and all through the gardens. He
was last seen on the terrace, talking to Miss
Colonna, and nobody knows what has become
of him since."

"He's somewhere in the park, of course,"
said Colonna.

"I don't think so. I met my mother as I
came in. She has been wandering about the
park all the morning, and has not seen him."

"If I were you, Castletowers, I'd have the
Slane dragged," said Major Vaughan, with a
short, hard laugh. "He has repented of that
cheque, and drowned himself in a paroxysm of
despair."

"What nonsense!" said Colonna, almost
angrily; but he thought it odd, for all that,
and so did the Earl.

CHAPTER XLII. THE MAUSOLEUM.

THERE was a very curious object in Castletowers
Park, the shape of which was like a
watchman's lantern, and the material blue
granite. It stood on a little eminence in a
retired corner of the domain, was approached
by a double row of dwarf cypresses, about three
feet and a half in height, and enshrined the
last mortal remains of a favourite hunter
belonging to the late Earl. It was called "The
Mausoleum."

A more hopelessly ugly edifice it would be
difficult to conceive; but the late Earl had
intended it to be a model of elegant simplicity,
and had wasted some hundreds upon it. Being
abroad when his old horse died, he scrawled a
rough outline of the Temple of Vesta on a sheet
of foreign note-paper, and sent it up to his
steward, with instructions to hand it over for
execution to a Guildford stonemason. But the
Earl was no draughtsman, and the stonemason,
who had never heard of the Temple of Vesta in
his life, was no genius; and thus it happened
that the park at Castletowers came to be
disfigured by an architectural phenomenon
compared with which the toll-houses on Waterloo