"I have not come to stay," said Dino. "I am going to the hotel for the night. I wished only to speak to you at once." He put one hand on the table by which he was standing and glanced at Mr. Brett. For the first time he showed some embarrassment. "I hope it will not inconvenience you," he said, "if I tell you that I have withdrawn my claim."

Dead silence fell on the assembly. Mr. Brett pushed back his chair a little way and stared. Mr. Colquhoun shook his head and smiled.

"I find," continued Dino, "that Mrs. Luttrell and I have entirely different views as to the disposition of the property and the life that I ought to lead. I cannot give up my plans--even for her. The easiest way to set things straight is to let the estate remain in Miss Murray's hands."

"You can't!" said Mr. Colquhoun, abruptly. "Brian Luttrell is alive!"

"Then let it go to Brian Luttrell."

"My dear sir," said Mr. Brett, "you have offered us complete documentary evidence that the gentleman now on his way to America is not Brian Luttrell at all."

"Yes, but there is only documentary evidence," said Dino. "The deaths of Vincenza Vasari and Rosa Naldi in a railway accident deprived us of anything else."

"Where are those papers?" asked Mr. Brett, sharply. "I hope they are safe."

"Quite safe, Mr. Brett. I have burnt them all." The shock of this communication was too much, even for the case-hardened Mr. Brett. He turned positively pale.

"Burnt them! Burnt them!" he ejaculated. "Oh, the man is mad. Burnt the proofs of his position and birth----"

"I have done all that I wanted to do," said Dino, colouring as the three pairs of eyes were fastened upon him with different expressions of disbelief, surprise, and even scorn. "My mother knows that I am her son: that is all I cared for. That is what I came for, not for the estate."

"But, my dear, young friend," said Mr. Colquhoun, with unusual gentleness, "don't you see that if Mrs. Luttrell and Brian and Miss Murray are all convinced that you are Mrs. Luttrell's son, you are doing them a wrong by destroying the proofs and leaving everybody in an unsettled state? You should never have come to Scotland at all if you did not mean to carry the matter through."

"That's what I say," cried Mr. Brett, who was working himself up into a violent passion. "He has played fast and loose with all us! He has tricked and cheated me. Why, he had a splendid case! And to think that it can be set aside in this way!"

"Very informal," said Mr. Colquhoun, shaking his head, but with a little gleam of laughter in his eye. If Dino Vasari had told the truth, the matter had taken a fortunate turn in Mr. Colquhoun's opinion.

"Scandalous! scandalous!" exclaimed Mr. Brett. "Actionable, I call it.

You had no right to make away with those papers, sir. However, it may be possible to repair the loss. They were not all there."

"I will not have it," said Dino, decisively. "Nothing more shall be done. I waive my claims entirely. Brian and Miss Murray can settle the rest."

And then the party broke up. Mr. Brett seized his client by the arm and bore him away to the hotel, arguing and scolding as he went. Before his departure, however, Dino found time to say a word in Mr. Colquhoun's ear.

"Will you kindly look after Hugo to-night?" he said. "Mrs. Luttrell will not wish him to return to Netherglen."

"Oh! There's been a quarrel, has there?" said Mr. Colquhoun eyeing the young man curiously.

After a little consideration, Dino thought himself justified in saying "Yes."

"I will see after him. You are going with Brett. You'll not have a smooth time of it."

"It will be smoother by-and-bye. You will shake hands with me, Mr.

Colquhoun?"

"That I will," said the old lawyer, heartily. "And wish you God-speed, my lad. You've not been very wise, maybe, but you've been generous."

"You will have Brian home, before long, I hope."

"I hope so. I hope so. It's a difficult matter to settle," said Mr.

Colquhoun, cautiously, "but I think we might see our way out of it if Brian were at home. If you want a friend, lad, come to me."

Left alone with Hugo, the solicitor took his place once more at the table, and hastily drank off a glass of wine, then glanced at his silent guest with a queerly-questioning look.

"What's wrong with ye, lad?" he said. "Cheer up, and drink a glass of good port wine. Your aunt has quarrelled with many people before you, and she'll like enough come to her senses in course of time."

"Did he say I had quarrelled with my aunt?" asked Hugo, in a dazed sort of way.

"Well, he said as much. He said there had been a quarrel. He asked me to keep an eye on you. Why, Hugo, my man, what's the matter?"

For Hugo, utterly careless of the old man's presence, suddenly laid his aims on the table, and his head on his arms, and burst into passionate hysterical tears.

"Tut, tut, tut, man! this will never do," said Mr. Colquhoun, rebukingly. "You're not a girl, nor a child, to cry for a sharp word or two. What's wrong?"

But he got no answer. Not even when Hugo, spent and exhausted with the violence of his emotion, lifted up his face and asked hoarsely for brandy. Mr. Colquhoun gave him what he required, without asking further questions, and tried to induce him to take some solid food; but Hugo absolutely refused to swallow anything but a stiff glass of brandy and water, and allowed himself to be conducted to a bed-room, where he flung himself face downwards on the bed, and preserved a sullen silence.

Mr. Colquhoun did not press him to speak. "I'll hear it all from Margaret Luttrell to-morrow morning," he said to himself. "My mind misgives me that there have been strange doings up at Netherglen to-night. But I'll know to-morrow."

It was at that very moment that Angela Vivian, going into the dressing-room, found a motionless, silent figure, sitting upright in the wheeled arm-chair, a figure, not lifeless, indeed, but with life apparent only in the agonised glance of the restless eyes, which seemed to plead for help. But no help could be given to her now. No more hard words could fall from those stricken lips: no more bitter sentences be written by those nerveless fingers. She might live for years, if dragging on a mute, maimed existence could be, indeed, called living; but, as far as power over the destiny of others, of doing good or harm to her loved ones, was concerned, Margaret Luttrell was practically dead!

Mr. Colquhoun heard the news of Mrs. Luttrell's seizure on the following morning, and made good use of it as a reproach to Dino in the conversation that he had with him. But Dino, although deeply grieved at the turn which things had taken, stood firm. He would have nothing to do with the Strathleckie or the Luttrell properties. Whereupon, Mr.

Colquhoun went straight to Miss Murray, and told her, to the best of his ability, the long and intricate story. Be it observed that, although Mr.

Colquhoun knew that Brian was living, and that he had lately been in England, he did not know of Brian's appearance at Strathleckie under the name of Stretton, and was, therefore, unable to give Elizabeth any information on this point.

Elizabeth was imperative in her decision.

"At any rate," she said, "the property cannot belong to me. It must belong either to Mr. Luttrell or to Mr. Vasari. I have no right to it."

"Possession is nine points of the law, my dear," said the lawyer.

"Nobody can turn you out until Brian comes home again. It may be all a mistake."

"You don't think it a mistake, Mr. Colquhoun?"

Mr. Colquhoun smiled, pursed up his lips, and gave his head a little shake, as much as to say that he was not going to be tricked into any expression of his private opinions.

"The thing will be to get Mr. Brian Luttrell back," said Elizabeth.

"Not such an easy thing as it seems, I am afraid, Miss Murray. The lad, Dino Vasari, or whatever his name is, tried hard to keep him, but failed. He is an honest lad, I believe, this Dino, but he's an awful fool, you know, begging your pardon. If he wanted to keep Brian in England, why couldn't he write to me?"

"Perhaps he did not know of your friendship for Brian," said Elizabeth, smiling.

"Then he knew very little of Brian's life and Brian's friends, my dear, and, according to his own account, he knew a good deal. Of course, he is a foreigner, and we must make allowances for him, especially as he was brought up in a monastery, where I don't suppose they learn much about the forms of ordinary life. What puzzles me is the stupidity of one or two other people, who might have let me know in time, if they had had their wits about them. I've a crow to pluck with your Mr. Heron on that ground," concluded Mr. Colquhoun, never dreaming that he was making mischief by his communication.

Elizabeth started forward. "Percival!" she said, contracting her brows and looking at Mr. Colquhoun earnestly. "You don't mean that Percival knew!"

Mr. Colquhoun perceived that he had gone too far, but could not retract his words.

"Well, my dear Miss Murray, he certainly knew something----" and then he stopped short and coughed apologetically.