"Why don't you go down? You have not seen her since her marriage?"

"Hum. I haven't time."

"Then I will go."

"And I with you," said Angela, quickly. But Rupert shook his head.

"No, dear, not you. We will write for Brian and Elizabeth. And, excuse me, Percival, but if your sister is in any difficulty, I think it would be only kind if you went to her assistance."

"Yes, Mr. Heron," said Angela. "Do go. Do help her if you can."

And this time Percival did not refuse.

CHAPTER XLIX.

KITTY'S WARNING.

"It's an odd thing," said Percival, with a puzzled look, "that Kitty won't see me."

"Won't see you?" ejaculated Rupert.

They had arrived at Dunmuir the previous day, and located themselves at the hotel. Arthur Fane had come with them, but he was at present in the smoking-room, and the two friends had their parlour to themselves.

"Exactly. Sent word she was ill."

"Through whom?"

"A servant. A man whom I have seen with Luttrell several times. Stevens, they call him."

"Did you see Hugo Luttrell?"

"No. I heard his voice."

"He was in the house then?"

"Yes. I suppose he did not care to see me."

"You are curiously unsuspicious for a man of your experience," said Vivian, resting his head on one hand with a sort of sigh.

Percival started to his feet. "You think that it was a blind?" he cried.

"No doubt of it. He does not want you to see your sister."

"What for? Good Heavens! you don't mean to insinuate that he does not treat her well?"

"No. I don't mean to insinuate anything."

"Then tell me in plain English what you do mean."

"I can't, Percival. I have vague suspicions, that is all."

"It was a love-match," said Percival, after a moment's pause. "They ought to be happy together."

Rupert was silent a moment; then he said, in a low voice--

"I doubt whether it was a love-match exactly."

"What in Heaven or earth do you mean?" said Percival, staring. "What else could it be?"

But before Vivian could make any response, young Fane entered the room with the air of one who has had good news.

"Mr. Colquhoun asks me to tell you that he has just had a letter from Mr. Brian Luttrell, sir. He is to meet Mr. and Mrs. Luttrell at the station at nine o'clock, but their arrival is not to be made generally known. Only hearing that you were here, he thought it better to let you know."

"They could not have got Angela's letter," said Rupert. "I wonder why they are coming. It is very opportune."

"If you don't mind," remarked Percival, "I'll go and see Mr. Colquhoun.

I want to know what he thinks of our adventures. And he may tell me something about affairs at Netherglen."

He departed on his errand, whistling as he went; but the whistle died on his lips as soon as he was out of Rupert's hearing. He resumed his geniality of bearing, however, when he stood in Mr. Colquhoun's office.

"Well, Mr. Colquhoun," he said, "I think we have all taken you by surprise now."

The old man looked at him keenly over his spectacles.

"I won't say but what you have," he said, with an emphasis on the pronoun. Percival laughed cheerily.

"Thanks. That's a compliment."

"It's just the truth. You've done a very right thing, and a generous one, Mr. Heron; and I shall esteem it an honour to shake hands with you." And Mr. Colquhoun got up from his office-chair, and held out his hand with a look of congratulation. Percival gave it a good grip, and resumed, in an airier tone than ever.

"You do me proud, as a Yankee would say, Mr. Colquhoun. I'm sure I don't see what I've done to merit this mark of approval. Popular report says that I jilted Miss Murray in the most atrocious manner; but then you always wanted me to do that, I remember."

"Lad, lad," said the old man, reprovingly, "what is all this bluster and swagger about? Take the credit of having made a sacrifice for once in your life, and don't be too ready to say it cost you nothing. Man, didn't I see you on the street just now, with your hands in your pockets and your face as black as my shoe? You hadn't those wrinkles in your brow when you started for Pernambuco six months ago. It's pure childishness to pretend that you feel nothing and care for nothing, when we all know that you've had a sore trouble and a hard fight of it. But you've conquered, Mr. Heron, as I thought you would."

Percival sat perfectly still. His face wore at first an expression of great surprise. Then it relaxed, and became intently grave and even sad, but the defiant bitterness disappeared.

"I think you're right," he said, after a long pause. "Of course, I've--I've been hit pretty hard. But I don't want people to know. I don't want her to know. And I don't mean either to snivel or to sulk.

But I see what you mean; and I think you may be right."

Mr. Colquhoun made some figures on his blotting-pad, and did not look up for a few minutes. He was glad that his visitor had dropped his sneering tone. And, indeed, Percival dropped it for the remainder of his visit, and, although he talked of scarcely anything but trivial topics, he went away feeling as if Mr. Colquhoun was no longer an enemy, but a confidential friend. On his return to the hotel, he found that Vivian had gone out with Arthur Fane. He occupied himself with strolling idly about Dunmuir till they came back.

Vivian had ordered a dog-cart, and got Fane to drive him up to Netherglen. He thought it possible that he might gain admittance, although Percival had not done so. But he was mistaken. He was assured by the impassive Stevens that Mrs. Hugo Luttrell was too unwell to see visitors, and that Mr. Luttrell was not at home. Vivian was forced to drive away, baffled and impatient.

"Drive me round by the loch," he said to Fane. "There is a road running close to the water. I should like to go that way. What does the loch look like to-day, Fane? Is it bright?"