"So it was not you after all, sir," said Captain Somers, surveying Heron with some surprise, and then glancing towards a secluded corner, where Brian and Elizabeth were absorbed in an apparently very interesting conversation. "Well, I must have made a mistake. I didn't know anything about the other gentleman."

"Oh, we kept him dark," returned Percival, lightly. "My cousin didn't want her affairs talked about. They make a nice couple, don't they?"

"Ay, sir, they do. Mr. Vivian made a mistake, too, perhaps," said Captain Somers, with some curiosity.

"We're all liable to make mistakes at times," replied Percival, smiling. "I don't think they've made one now, at any rate."

And then he left Captain Somers, and seated himself on a chair, which happened to be close to the one occupied by Angela Vivian. Brian and Elizabeth were still within the range of his vision: although he was not watching them he was perfectly conscious of their movements. He saw Brian take Elizabeth's hand in his and raise it gently to his lips. The two did not know that they could be seen. Percival stifled a sigh, and twisted his chair round a little, so as to turn his back to them. This manoeuvre brought him face to face with Angela.

"They look very happy and comfortable over there, don't they?" he said.

"I think they will be very happy," she answered.

"I shouldn't wonder." He moved restlessly in his chair, and looked towards the sea. "You know the story," he said. "I suppose you mean she will be happier with him than with me?"

"She loves him," said Angela scarcely above her breath.

"I suppose so," he answered, dryly. Then, after a pause—"Love is a mighty queer matter, it seems to me. Here have I been trying to win her heart for the last five years, and, just when I think I am succeeding, in steps a fellow whom she has never seen before, who does in a month or two what I failed to do in years."

"They have a great deal to thank you for," said Angela.

Percival shook his head.

"That's a mere delusion of their generous hearts," he said. "I've been a selfish brute: that's all."

It seemed easier to him, after this, to discuss the matter with Angela from every possible point of view. He told her more than he had told anyone in the world of the secret workings of his mind; she alone had any true idea of what it had cost him to give Elizabeth up. He took a great deal of pleasure in dissecting his own character, and it soothed and flattered him that she should listen with so much interest. He was always in a better temper when he had been talking to Angela. He did most of the talking—it must be owned that he liked to hear himself talk—and she made a perfect listener. He, in turn, amused and interested her very much. She had never come across a man of his type before. His trenchant criticisms of literature, his keen delight in politics, his lively argumentativeness, were charming to her. He had always had the knack of quarrelling with Elizabeth, even when he was most devoted to her; but he did not quarrel with Angela. She quieted him; he hardly knew how to be irritable in her presence.

The story of Kitty's marriage excited his deepest ire. He was indignant with his sister, disgusted with Hugo Luttrell. He himself told it, with some rather strong expressions of anger, to Brian, who listened in perfect silence.

"What can you say for your cousin?" said Percival, turning upon him fiercely. "What sort of a fellow is he? Do you consider him fit to marry my sister?"

"No, I don't," Brian answered. "I am sorry to say so, but I don't think Hugo is in the least to be relied on. I have been fond of him, but——"

"A screw loose somewhere, is there? I thought as much."

"He may do better now that he is married," said Brian. But he felt that it was poor comfort.

They went straight back to England, and it was curious to observe how naturally and continuously a certain division of the party was always taking place. Brian and Elizabeth were, of course, a great deal together; it seemed equally inevitable that Percival should pair off with Angela, and that Mrs. Norman, Rupert Vivian, and Mr. Fane should be left to entertain each other.

It was on the last day of the voyage that Brian sought out Percival and took him by the arm. "Look here, Heron," he said. "I have never thanked you for what you have done for me."

Percival was smoking. He took his pipe out of his mouth, and said, "Don't," very curtly, and then replaced the meerschaum, and puffed at it energetically.

"But I must."

"Stop," said Heron. "Don't go on till you've heard me speak." He took his pipe in his hand and knocked it meditatively against the bulwarks. "There's a great deal that might be said on both sides. Do you think that any of us have acted wisely or rightly throughout this business?"

"I don't think I have. I think Elizabeth has."

"Oh, Elizabeth. Well, she's a woman. Women have a strange sort of pleasure in acting properly. But I don't think that even your Elizabeth was quite perfect. Now, don't knock me down; she's my cousin, and I knew her years before you did. She's your cousin, too, by the way; but that does not signify. What I wanted to say was this:—We have all been more or less idiotic. I made a confounded fool of myself once or twice, and, begging your pardon, Brian, I think you did, too."

"I think I did," said Brian, reflectively.

"Elizabeth will take care of you now, and see that you have your due complement of commonsense," said Percival. "Well, look here. I've been wrong and I've been right at times; so have you. I have something to thank you for, and perhaps you feel the same sort of thing towards me. I think it is a pity to make a sort of profit and loss calculation as to which of the two has been the more wronged, or has the more need to be grateful. Let bygones be bygones. I want you and Elizabeth to promise me not to speak or think of those old days again. We can't be friends if you do. I was very hard on you both sometimes: and—well, you know the rest. If you forgive, you must also forget."

Brian looked at him for a moment. "Upon my word, Percival," he said, warmly, "I can't imagine why she did not prefer you to me. You're quite the most large-hearted man I ever knew."

"Oh, come, that's too strong," said Heron, carelessly. "You're a cut above me, you know, in every way. You will suit her admirably. As for me, I'm a rough, coarse sort of a fellow—a newspaper correspondent, a useful literary hack—that's all. I never quite understood until—until lately—what my position was in the eyes of the world."

"Why, I thought you considered your profession a very high one," said Brian.

"So I do. Only I'm at the bottom of the tree, and I want to be at the top."

There was a pause. A little doubt was visible upon Brian's face: Percival saw it and understood.

"There's one thing you needn't do," he said, with a sort of haughty abruptness. "Don't offer me help of any kind. I won't stand it. I don't want charity. If I could be glad that I was not going to marry Elizabeth, it would be because she is a rich woman. I wonder, by-the-bye, what Dino Vasari is going to do."

They had not heard of Dino's death when Percival left England.

"If I were you," Percival went on, "I should not stand on ceremony. I should get a special licence in London and marry her at once. You'll have a bother about settlements and provisions and compromises without end, if you don't."

Brian smiled, and even coloured a little at the proposition. "I could not ask her to do it," he said.

"Then I'll ask her," said Percival with his inimitable sang-froid. "In the very nick of time, here she comes. Mademoiselle, I was talking about you."

Elizabeth smiled. The colour had come back to her cheeks, the brightness to her eyes. She was the incarnation of splendid health and happiness. Percival looked from her to Brian, remarking silently the gravity and nobleness of his expression and the singular refinement of his features, which could be seen so much more plainly, now that he had returned to his old fashion of wearing a moustache and small pointed beard, instead of the disfiguring mass of hair with which he had once striven to disguise his face. Percival was clean shaven, except for the heavy, black moustache, which he fingered as he spoke.

"You are my children by adoption," he said, cheerfully, "and I am going to speak to you as a grandfather might. Elizabeth, my opinion is, that if you want to avoid vexatious delays, you had better get married to this gentleman here before you present yourself in Scotland at all. You have no idea how much it would simplify matters. Brian won't suggest such a thing; he is afraid you will think that he wants to make ducks and drakes of your money——"

"His money," said Elizabeth.

"Well, his or yours, or that Italian fellow's—I don't see that it matters much. Why don't you stop in London, get a special licence, and be married from Vivian's house? I know he would be delighted."

"It is easy to make the suggestion," said Brian, "but perhaps Elizabeth would not like such haste."

"I will do what you like," said Elizabeth.

"Let me congratulate you," remarked Percival to Brian; "you are about to marry that treasure amongst wives—a woman who tries to please you and not herself. Well, I have broken the ice, settle the matter as you please."

"No, Percival, don't go," said Elizabeth. But he laughed, shook his head, and left them to themselves.

As usual he went to Angela, and allowed himself to look as gloomy as he chose. She asked him what was the matter.

"I have been playing the heavy father, and giving away the bride," he said. And then he told her what he had advised.

"You want to have it over," she said, looking at him with her soft, serious eyes.

"To tell the truth, I believe I do."

"It is hard on you, now."

"Not a bit," said Percival, taking a seat beside her. "I ought not to mind. If I were Luttrell, I probably should glory in self-sacrifice, and say I didn't mind. Unfortunately I do. But nothing will drive me to say that it is hard. All's fair in love and war. Brian has proved himself the better man."

"Not the stronger man," said Angela, almost involuntarily.

"You think not? I don't think I have been strong! I have been wretchedly weak sometimes. Ah, there they come; they have settled it between them. They look bright, don't they?"

Angela made no answer, she felt a little indignant with Brian and Elizabeth for looking bright. It was decidedly inconsiderate towards Percival.

But Percival made no show of his wound to anybody except Angela. He seemed heartily glad when he heard that Elizabeth had consented to the speedy marriage in London, he was as cheerful in manner as usual, he held his head high, and ate and drank and laughed in his accustomed way. Even Elizabeth was deceived, and thought he was cured of his love for her. But the restless gleam of his eye and the dark fold between his brow, in spite of his merriment, told a different tale to the two who understood him best—Brian and Angela.

The marriage took place from Rupert's house, according to Percival's suggestion. It was a quiet wedding, and the guests were very various in quality. Mr. Heron came from Scotland for the occasion, Rupert and his sister, Mrs. Norman, Captain Somers and the two seamen—Jackson and Mason, were all present. Percival alone did not come. He had said nothing about his intention of staying away, but sent a note of excuse at the last moment. He had resumed his newspaper work, and a sudden call upon him required instant attention. Elizabeth was deeply disappointed. 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,

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."

"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.