"I have a knack of saying what I don't mean," he remarked, rousing himself. "I beg your pardon for this and every other rude speech that I may make, Elizabeth; and ask you to understand that I am only translating my discontent with myself into words when I am ill-tempered.

Have a little mercy on me, for pity's sake."

She smiled. He thought there was some mockery in the smile.

"What are you laughing at?" he said, abruptly, dropping the apologetic tone.

"I am not laughing. I was wondering that you thought it worth while to excuse yourself for such a trifle as a rude word or two. I thought possibly, when I came out with you, that you had other apologies to make."

"May I ask what you mean?"

"I mean that, by your own showing, you have not been quite straightforward," said Elizabeth, plainly. "And I thought that you might have something to say about it."

"Not straightforward!" he repeated. It was not often that his cheeks tingled as they tingled now. "What have I done to make you call me not straightforward, pray?"

"You knew that I inherited this property because of Brian Luttrell's death. You knew--did you not?--that he had only a few days to spend in London, and that he meant to start for America this week. You must have known that some fresh arrangement was necessary before I could honestly enjoy any of his money--that, in fact, he ought to have it all. And, unless he himself confided in you under a promise of secrecy, or anything of that sort, I think you ought to have written to Mr.

Colquhoun at once."

"He did not confide in me: I did not see him. It was Dino Vasari who sought me out and told me," said Percival, with some anger.

"And did Dino Vasari intend you to keep the matter a secret?"

"No. The real fact was, Elizabeth, that I did not altogether believe Vasari's story. I did not in the least believe that Brian Luttrell was living. I thought it was a hoax. Upon my word, I am half-inclined to believe so still. I thought it was not worth while to take the trouble."

"You did not know where to find him, I suppose?"

"Well--yes; I had the address."

"And you did nothing?" she said, flashing upon him a look of indignant surprise.

"I did nothing," returned Percival.

"That is what I complain of," she remarked, shortly.

For some time she drove on in silence, lightly flicking her ponies'

heads from time to time with her whip, her face set steadily towards the road before her, her strong, well-gloved hands showing determination in the very way she held the whip and reins. Percival grew savage, and then defiant.

"You ask too much," he said, pulling his long moustache, and uttering a bitter laugh. "It would have been easy and natural enough to move Heaven and earth for the sake of Brian Luttrell's rights, if Brian Luttrell had not constituted himself my rival in another domain. But when his 'rights' meant depriving you of your property, and placing Mr. Stretton in authority--I decline."

"I call that mean and base," said Elizabeth, giving the words a low but clear-toned emphasis, which made Percival wince.

"Thank you," he said. And there was another long silence, which lasted until they drew up at Mr. Colquhoun's door.

Percival waited for nearly an hour before she came back, and had time to go through every possible phase of anger and mortification. He felt that he had more reason on his side than Elizabeth could understand: the doubt of Dino's good faith, which seemed so small to her, had certainly influenced him very strongly. No doubt it would have been better--wiser--if he had tried to find out the truth of Dino's story; but the sting of Elizabeth's judgment lay in the fact that he had fervently hoped that Dino's story was not true, and that he had refused to meet Dino's offer half-way, the offer that would have secured Elizabeth's own happiness. Would she ever hear a full account of that interview? And what would she think of his selfishness if she came to know it? Ever since that conversation in Mr. Brett's office Percival had been conscious of bitter possibilities of evil in his own soul. He had had a bad time of it during the past week, and, when he contrasted his own conduct with the generous candour and uprightness that Elizabeth seemed to expect from him, he was open to confess to himself that he fell very short of her standard.

She came back to her place attended by Mr. Colquhoun, who wrapped her rugs about her in a fatherly way, and took not the slightest notice of Mr. Percival Heron. She had some small purchases to make in the town, and it was growing almost dusk before they turned homewards. Then she began to speak in her ordinary tone.

"Mr. Colquhoun has been telling me what to do," she said, "and I think that he is right. Dino Vasari has already gone back to Italy, but before he went, he signed a paper relinquishing all claim to the property in favour of Brian Luttrell and myself. Mr. Colquhoun says it was a useless thing to do, except as it shows his generosity and kindness of heart, and that it would not be valid in a court at all; but that nothing farther can be done, as he does not press his claim, until Brian Luttrell comes back to England or writes instructions. There might be a friendly suit when he came; but that would be left for him (and, I suppose, myself) to decide. When he comes we shall try to get Dino Vasari back, and have a friendly consultation over the matter. I don't see why we need have lawyers to interfere at all. I should resign the property with a very good grace, but Mr. Colquhoun thinks that Mr.

Luttrell will have scruples."

"He ought to have," muttered Percival, but Elizabeth took no notice.

"It seems that he went in a sailing vessel," she went on, in a perfectly calm and collected voice, "because he could get a very cheap passage in that way. Mr. Colquhoun proposes that we should write to Pernambuco; but he might not be expecting any letters--he might miss them--and go up the country; there is no knowing. I think that a responsible, intelligent person ought to be sent out by a fast steamer and wait for him at Pernambuco. Then everything would be satisfactorily explained and enforced--better than by letter. Mr. Colquhoun says he feels inclined to go himself."

She gave a soft, pleased laugh as she said the words; but there was excitement and trouble underneath its apparent lightness. "That, of course, would never do; but he has a clerk whom he can thoroughly trust, and he will start next week for the Brazils."

Percival sat mute. Had she no idea that he was suffering? She went on quickly.

"Mr. Salt--that is the clerk's name--will reach Pernambuco many days before the sailing vessel; but it is better that he should be too early than too late. They may even pass the _Falcon_--that is the name of Mr.

Luttrell's ship--on the way. The worst is"--and here her voice began to tremble--"that Mr. Colquhoun has heard a report that the _Falcon_ was not--not--quite--sea-worthy."

She put up one gloved hand and dashed a tear from her eyes. Percival's silence exasperated her. For almost the first time she turned upon him with a reproach.

"Will you remember," she said, bitterly, "if his ship goes to the bottom, that you might have stopped him, and--did not think it worth while to take the trouble?"

"Good God, Elizabeth, how unjust you are!" cried Percival, impetuously.

Elizabeth did not answer. She had to put up her hand again and again to wipe away her tears. The strain of self-control had been a severe one, and when it once slipped away from her the emotion had to have its own way. Percival tried to take the reins from her, but this she would not allow; and they were going uphill on a quiet sheltered road of which the ponies knew every step as well as he did himself.

When she was calmer, he broke the silence by saying in an oddly-muffled, hoarse voice:--

"It is no use going on like this. I suppose you wish our engagement to be broken off?"

"I?" said Elizabeth.

"Yes, you. Can't I see that you care more for this man Stretton or Luttrell than you care for me? I don't want my wife to be always sighing after another man."

"That you would not have," she said, coldly.

"I don't care. I know now what you feel. And if Stretton comes back, I suppose I must go to the wall."

"I will keep my word to you if you like," said Elizabeth, after a moment's pause. She could not speak more graciously. "I did not think of breaking off the engagement: I thought that matter was decided."

"You called me mean and base just now, and you expect me to put up with it. You think me a low, selfish brute. I may be all that, and not want you to tell me so." Some of Percival's sense of humour--a little more grim than usual--was perceptible in the last few words.

"I am sorry if I told you so. I will not tell you so again."

"But you will feel it."

"If you are low and base and mean, of course, I shall feel it," said Elizabeth, incisively. "It rests with you to show me that you are not what you say."

Percival found no word to answer. They were near Strathleckie by this time, and turned in at the gates without the exchange of another sentence.

Elizabeth expected him to insist upon going back to London that night, or, at least, early next morning, but he did not propose to do so. He hung about the place next day, smoking, and speaking little, with a certain yellowness of tint in his complexion, which denoted physical as well as mental disturbance. In the afternoon he went to Dunmuir, and was away for some hours; and more than one telegram arrived for him in the course of the day, exciting Mrs. Heron's fears lest something should have "gone wrong" with his business affairs in London. But he assured her, on his return, with his usual impatient frown, that everything was going exactly as he would like it to do. It was with one of the telegraphic despatches crushed up in his hand, that he came to Elizabeth as she sat in the drawing-room after dinner, and said, with a little paleness visible about his lips:--

"Can I speak to you for a few moments alone?"

She looked up, startled; then rose and led the way to an inner drawing-room, where they would be undisturbed. She seated herself in the chair, which, with unwonted ceremoniousness, he wheeled forward for her; but he himself stood on the hearth-rug, twisting and untwisting the paper in his hand, as if--extraordinary occurrence!--as if he were actually nervous.

"I have a proposition to make to you," he said. He uttered his words very rapidly, but made long pauses between some of the sentences. "You say that Mr. Colquhoun is going to send out his clerk, Salt, to stop Brian Luttrell when he lands at Pernambuco. I have just seen Mr.