She had looked upon his presence at her wedding as the last assurance of his forgiveness, and she and Brian both felt that something was lacking from their felicity when Percival did not come.

They started for Scotland as soon as the wedding was over, and it was not until the following week that Brian received a bulky letter which had been waiting for him at the place where he had directed Dino Vasari to address his letters. He opened it eagerly, expecting to find a long letter from Dino himself. He took out only the announcement of his death.

There was, however, a very lengthy document from Padre Cristoforo, which Brian and Elizabeth read with burning hearts and tearful or indignant eyes. In this letter, Padre Cristoforo set forth, calmly and dispassionately, what he knew of poor Dino's story, and there were many things in it which Brian learnt now for the first time. But the Prior said nothing about Elizabeth. When Brian had read the letter, he leaned over the table, and took his wife's hand as he spoke.

"Did you ever see him?" he asked.

"I saw a young man with Mr. Colquhoun on the day when he came to Netherglen. But I hardly remember his face."

"You would have loved him?"

"Yes," she said, "for your sake."

"And now, what shall we do? Now we are on our guard against Hugo. To think that any man should be so vile!"

"Our poor little Kitty!" murmured Elizabeth. "Surely she has found out her mistake. I could never understand that marriage. She looked very unhappy afterwards. But we were all unhappy then."

"I had forgotten what happiness was like until I saw your face again,"

said Brian.

"But about Hugo, love?" she said, replying to his glance with a smile, which showed that for her at least the fullest earthly bliss had been attained. "Can we not go to Netherglen and send him away? I do not like to think that he is with your mother."

"Nor I," said Brian. "Let us go and see."

That very evening they set out for Netherglen.

Meanwhile, Percival Heron was calling at the Vivians' house in Kensington. Angela, who had hitherto seen him in very rough and ready costume, was a little surprised when he appeared one afternoon attired in clothes of the most faultless cut, and looking as handsome and idle as if he had never done anything in his life but pay morning calls. He had come, perhaps by accident, perhaps by design, on the day when she was at home to visitors from three to six; and, although she had not been very long in London, her drawing-room was crowded with visitors.

The story of the expedition to the Rocas Reef had made a sensation in London society; everybody was anxious to see the heroes and heroines of the story, and Percival soon found himself as much a centre of attraction as Angela herself.

She watched him keenly, wondering whether he would be annoyed by the attention he was receiving; but his face wore a tranquil smile of amusement which reassured her. Once he made a movement as if to go, but she managed to say to him in passing:--

"Do not go yet unless you are obliged. Rupert is out with Mr. Fane."

"I did not come to see Rupert," said Percival, with a laugh in his brilliant eyes.

"I have something to say to you, too," she went on seriously.

"Really? Then I will wait."

He had to wait some time before the room was cleared of guests. When at last they found themselves alone, the day was closing in, and the wood fire cast strange flickering lights and shadows over the walls. The room was full of the scent of violets and white hyacinths. Percival leaned back in an easy chair, with an air of luxurious enjoyment. And yet he was not quite as much at his ease as he looked.

"You had something to say to me," he began, boldly. "I know perfectly well what it is. You think I ought to have come to the wedding, and you want to tell me so."

"Your conscience seems to say more than I should venture to," said Angela, smiling.

"I had an engagement, as I wrote in my letter."

"One that could not be broken?"

"To tell the truth, I was not in an amiable mood. If I had come I should probably have hurt their feelings more than by staying away. I should have said something savage. Well,"--as he saw her lips move--"what were you going to say?"

"Something very severe."

"Say it by all means."

"That you are trying to excuse your own selfishness by the plea of want of self-control. The excuse is worse than the action itself."

"I am very selfish, I know," said Percival, complacently. "I'm not at all ashamed of it. Why should I not consult my own comfort?"

"Why should you add one drop to the bitterness of Brian's cup?"

"I like that," said Percival, in an ironical tone. "It shows the extent of a woman's sense of justice. I beg your pardon, Miss Vivian, for saying so. But in my opinion Brian is a lucky fellow."

"You forget----"

"What do I forget? This business about his identity is all happily over, and he is married to the woman of his choice. I wish I had half his luck!"

"You have forgotten, Mr. Heron," said Angela, in a tone that showed how deeply she was moved, "that Brian has had a great sorrow--a great loss.

I do not think life can ever be the same to him again--as it can never be the same to me--since--Richard--died."

Her voice sank and faltered. For an instant there was a silence, in which Percival felt shocked and embarrassed at his own want of thought.

He had forgotten. He had been thinking solely of Brian's relations with Elizabeth. It had not occurred to him for a long time that Angela had once been on the point of marriage with the man--the brother--whom Brian Luttrell had shot dead at Netherglen.

He said, "I beg your pardon," in a constrained, reluctant voice, and sat in silence, feeling that he ought to go, yet not liking to tear himself away. For the first time he was struck by the beauty of Angela's patience. How she must have suffered! he thought to himself, as he remembered her sisterly care of Brian, her silence about her own great loss, her quiet acceptance of the inevitable. And he had prosed by the hour to this woman about his own griefs and love-troubles! What an egotist she must think him! What a fool! Percival felt hot about the ears with self-contempt. He rose to go, feeling that he should not venture to present himself to her again very easily. He did not even like to say that he was ashamed of his lapse of memory.

Angela rose, too. She would have spoken sooner, but she had been swallowing down the rising tears. She very seldom mentioned Richard Luttrell now.

They were standing, still silent, in this attitude of expectancy--each thinking that the other would speak first--when the door opened, and Mr.

Vivian came in. Percival hailed his arrival with a feeling between impatience and relief. Rupert wanted him to stay, but he said that he must go at once; business called him away.

"There is a letter for you, Angela," said Vivian. "It was on the hall-table. Fane gave it me. I hope my sister has been scolding you for not coming to the wedding, Heron. It went off very well, but we wanted you. Have you heard the latest news from Egypt?"

And then they launched into a discussion of politics, from which they were presently diverted by a remark made by Angela as she laid her hand gently on Rupert's arm.

"Excuse me," she said. "I think I had better show both you and Mr. Heron this letter. It is from Mrs. Hugo Luttrell."

"From Kitty!" said the brother. Rupert's face changed a little, but he did not speak. Angela handed the letter first to Percival.

"Dear Miss Vivian," Kitty's letter began, "I am sorry to trouble you, but I want to know whether you will give a message for me to Mr. Brian Luttrell. Mrs. Luttrell is a little better, and is able to say one or two words. She calls for 'Brian' almost incessantly. I should be so glad if he would come, and Elizabeth too. If you know where they are, will you tell them so? But they must not say that I have written to you. And please do not answer this letter. If they cannot come, could not you? It is asking a great deal, I know; but Mrs. Luttrell would be happier if you were with her, and I should be so glad, too. I have nobody here whom I can trust, and I do not know what to do. I think you would help me if you knew all.--Yours very truly,

"Catherine Luttrell."

Percival read it through aloud, then laid it down in silence. "What does she mean?" he said, perplexedly.

"It means that there is something wrong," answered Rupert. "Are your people at Strathleckie now, Percival?"

"No, they are in London."