"I am Brian Luttrell's cousin," said Hugo, quietly, "and I come from him."

"Then you know—you know——" Dino stammered, and he looked eagerly into Hugo's face.

"I know all."

"You know where he is now?"

"I do. I have brought you a letter from him—a sort of introduction," said Hugo, with a faint smile. "I trust that you will find it satisfactory."

"No introduction is necessary," was Dino's polite reply. "I have heard him speak of you."

Hugo's eyes flashed an interrogation. What had Brian said of him? But Dino's tones were so courteous, his face so calmly impassive, that Hugo was reassured. He bowed slightly, and placed a card and a letter on the table. Dino made an apology for opening the letter, and moved away from the table whilst he read it.

There was a pause. Hugo's face flushed, his hands twitched a little. He was actually nervous about the success of his scheme. Suppose Dino were to doubt the genuineness of that letter!

It consisted of a few words only, and they were Italian:—

"Dino mio," it began, "the bearer of this letter is my cousin Hugo, who knows all the circumstances and will explain to you what are my views. I am ill, and cannot come to London. Burn this note.

Dino read it twice, and then handed it to Hugo, who perused it with as profound attention as though he had never seen the document before. When he gave it back, he was almost surprised to see Dino take it at once to the grate, deposit it amongst the coals, and wait until it was consumed to ashes before he spoke. There was a slight sternness of aspect, a compression of the lips, and a contraction of the brow, which impressed Hugo unfavourably during the performance of this action. It seemed to show that Dino Vasari might not be a man so easy to deal with as Brian Luttrell.

"I have done what I was asked to do," he said, drawing himself up to his full height, and turning round with folded arms and darkening brow. "I have burnt his letter, and I should now be glad, Mr. Luttrell, to hear the views which you were to explain to me."

"My cousin Brian——" began Hugo, with some deliberation; but he was not allowed to finish his sentence. Quick as thought, Dino Vasari interrupted him.

"Pardon me, would it not be as well—under the circumstances—to speak of the gentleman in question as Mr. Stretton?"

Hugo shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no objection," he said, "so long as you do not take my calling him by that name to be the expression of my opinion concerning the subject under consideration."

This was so elaborate a sentence that Dino took some little time to consider it.

"I see," he said at last, with a questioning look; "you mean that you are not convinced that he is the son of Vincenza Vasari?"

"Neither is he," said Hugo.

"But if we have proof——"

"Mr. Vasari, you cannot imagine that my cousin will give up his rights without a struggle?"

"But he has given them up," said Dino, vehemently. "He refuses to be called by his own name; he has let the estates pass away from him——"

"But he means to claim his rights again," said Hugo.

"Oh." Then there was a long silence. Dino sat down in a chair facing that of Hugo, and confronted him steadily. "I understood," he said at last, "when I was in Italy, that he had resolved to give up all claim to his name, or to his estate. He had disagreeable associations with both. He determined to let himself be thought dead, and to earn his own living under the name of John Stretton."

"He did do so," said Hugo, softly; "but he has changed his mind."

"And why?"

"If I tell you why, may I ask you to keep what I say a profound secret?"

Dino hesitated. Then he said firmly, "I will keep it secret so long as he desires me to do so."

"Then listen. The reason of his change of mind is this. He has fallen in love. You will ask—with whom? With the woman to whom his estate has passed—Miss Murray. He means to marry her, and in that way to get back the estate which, by his own mad folly, he has forfeited."

"Is this true?" said Dino, slowly. He fixed his penetrating dark eyes upon Hugo as he spoke, and turned a little pale. "And does this lady—this Miss Murray—know who he is? For I hear that he calls himself Stretton in her house. Does she know?"

Hugo deliberated a little. "No," he answered, "I am sure that she does not."

Dino rose to his feet. "It is impossible," he said, with an indignant flash of his dark eyes, which startled Hugo; "Brian would never be so base."

"My only wonder is," murmured Hugo, reflectively, "that Brian should be so clever."

"You call it clever?" said Dino, still more indignantly. "You call it clever to deceive a woman, to marry her for her money, to mislead her about one's name? Are these your English fashions? Is it clever to break your word, to throw away the love and the help that is offered you, to show yourself selfish, and designing, and false? This is what you tell me about the man whom you call your cousin, and then you ask me to admire his behaviour? Oh, no, I do not admire it. I call it mean, and base, and vile. And that is why he would not come to see me himself; that is why he sent you as an emissary. He could not look me in the face and tell me the things that you have told me!"

He sat down again. The fire died out of his eyes, the hectic colour from his cheek. "But I do not believe it!" he said, more sorrowfully than angrily; and in a much lower voice; "I do not believe that he means to do this thing. He was always good and always true."

Hugo watched him, and spoke after a little pause. "You had his letter," he said. "He told you to believe what I said to you. I could explain his views."

"Ah, but look you, perhaps you do not understand," said Dino, turning towards him with renewed vivacity. "It is a hard position, this of mine. Ever since I was a little child, it was hinted to me that I had English parents, that I did not belong to the Vasari family. When I grew older, the whole story of Vincenza's change of the children was told to me, and I used to think of the Italian boy who had taken my place, and wonder whether he would be sorry to exchange it for mine. I was not sorry; I loved my own life in the monastery. I wanted to be a priest. But I thought of the boy who bore my name; I wove fancies about him night and day; I wished with all my heart to see him. I used to think that the day would come when I should say to him—'Let us know each other; let us keep our secret, but love each other nevertheless. You can be Brian Luttrell, and I will be Dino Vasari, as long as the world lasts. We will not change. But we will be friends.'"

His voice grew husky; he leaned his head upon his hands for a few moments, and did not speak. Hugo still watched him curiously. He was interested in the revelation of a nature so different from his own; interested, but contemptuous of it, too.

"I could dream in this way," said Dino at last, "so long as no land—no money—was concerned. While Brian Luttrell was the second son the exchange of children was, after all, of very little consequence. When Richard Luttrell died, the position of things was changed. If he had lived, you would never have heard of Vincenza Vasari's dishonesty. The priests knew that there would be little to be gained by it. But when he died my life became a burden to me, because they were always saying—'Go and claim your inheritance. Go to Scotland and dispossess the man who lords it over your lands, and spends your revenues. Take your rights.'"

"And then you met Brian?" said Hugo, as the narrator paused again.

"I met him and I loved him. I was sorry for his unhappiness. He learnt the story that I had known for so many years, and it galled him. He refused to see the man who really ought to have borne his name. He knew me well enough, but he never suspected that I was Mr. Luttrell's son. We parted at San Stefano with friendly words; he did not suspect that I was leaving the place because I could not bear to see him day by day brooding over his grief, and never tell him that I did not wish to take his place."

"But why did you not tell him?"

"I was ordered to keep silence. The Prior said that he would tell him the whole story in good time. They sent me away, and, after a time, I heard from Father Cristoforo that he was gone, and had found a tutorship in an English family, that he vowed never to bear the name of Luttrell any more, and that the way was open for me to claim my own rights, as the woman Vincenza Vasari had been found and made confession."

"So you came to England with that object?"

"With the object, first," said Dino, lifting his face from his crossed arms, "of seeing him and asking him whether he was resolved to despoil himself of his name and fortune. I would not have raised a hand to do either, but, if he himself did it, I thought that I might pick up what he threw away. Not for myself, but for the Church to which I belong. The Church should have it all."

"Would you give it away?" cried Hugo.

"I am to be a monk. A monk has no property," was Dino's answer. "I wanted to be sure that he did not repent of his decision before I moved a finger."

"You seem to have no scruple about despoiling Miss Murray of her goods," said Hugo, drily.

A fresh gleam shot from the young man's eyes.

"Miss Murray is a woman," he said, briefly. "She does not need an estate. She will marry."

"Marry Brian Luttrell, perhaps."

"If she marries him as Mr. Stretton, she must take the consequences."

"Well," said Hugo, "I must confess, Mr. Vasari, that I do not understand you. In one breath you say you would not injure Brian by a hair's-breadth; in another you propose to leave him and his wife in poverty if he marries Miss Murray."

"No, pardon me, you mistake," replied Dino, gently. "I will never injure him whom you call, Brian, but if he keeps the name of Stretton I shall claim the rights which he has given up. And, when the estate is mine, I will give him and his wife what they want; I will give them half, if they desire it, but I will have what is my own, first of all, and in spite of all."

"You say, in fact, that you will not injure Brian, but that you do not care how much you injure Miss Murray."

"That is not it," cried Dino, his dark eye lighting up and his form positively trembling with excitement. "I say that, if Brian himself had come to me and asked me to spare him, or the woman he loved, for his sake I would have yielded and gone back to San Stefano to-morrow; I would have destroyed the evidence; I would have given up all, most willingly; but when he treats me harshly, coldly—when he will not, now that he knows who I am, make one little journey to see me and tell me what he wishes; when he even tries to deceive me, and to deceive this lady of whom you speak—why, then, I stand upon my rights; and I will not yield one jot of my claim to the Luttrell estate and the Luttrell name."

"You will not?"

"I will fight to the death for it."

Hugo smiled slightly.

"There will be very little fighting necessary, if you have your evidence ready. You have it with you, I presume?"

"I have copies; the original depositions are with my lawyer."

"Ah. And he is——"

"A Mr. Grattan; there is his address," said Dino, placing a card before his visitor. "I suppose that all further business will be transacted through him?"

"I suppose so. Then you have made your decision?"

"Yes. One moment, Mr. Luttrell. Excuse me for mentioning it; but you have made two statements, one of which seems to me to contradict the other." Dino had recovered all his usual coolness, and fixed his keen gaze upon Hugo in a way which that young man found a little embarrassing. "You told me that Brian—as we may still call him—intended to claim his old name once more. Then you said that he meant to marry Miss Murray under the name of Stretton. You will remark that these two intentions are incompatible; he cannot do both these things."

Hugo felt that he had blundered.

"I spoke hastily," he said, with an affectation of ingenuous frankness, which sat very well upon his youthful face. "I believe that his intentions are to preserve the name of Stretton, and to marry Miss Murray under it."

"Then I will tell Mr. Grattan to take the necessary steps to-morrow," said Dino, rising, as if to hint that the interview had now come to an end.

Hugo looked at him with surprised, incredulous eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Vasari," he said, naively, "don't let us part on these unfriendly terms. Perhaps you will think better of the matter, and more kindly of Brian, if we talk it over a little more."

"At the present moment, I think talk will do more harm than good, Mr. Luttrell."

"Won't you write yourself to Brian?" faltered Hugo, as if he hardly dared to make the suggestion.

"No, I think not. You will tell him my decision."

"I'm afraid I have been a bad ambassador," said Hugo, with an air of boyish simplicity, "and that I have offended you."

"Not at all." Dino held out his hand. "You have spoken very wisely, I think. Do not let me lose your esteem if I claim what I believe to be my rights."

Hugo sighed. "I suppose we ought to be enemies—I don't know," he said. "I don't like making enemies—won't you come and dine with me to-night, just to show that you do not bear me any malice. I have rooms in town; we can be there in a few minutes. Come back with me and have dinner."

Dino tried to evade the invitation. He would much rather have been alone; but Hugo would take no denial. The two went out together without summoning the landlady: Hugo took his companion by the arm, and walked for a little way down the street, then summoned a hansom from the door of a public-house, and gave an address which Dino did not hear. They drove for some distance. Dino thought that his new friend's lodgings were situated in a rather obscure quarter of London; but he made no remark in words, for he knew his own ignorance of the world, and he had never been in England before. Hugo's lodgings appeared to be on the second-floor of a gloomy-looking house, of which the ground-floor was occupied by a public bar and refreshment-room. The waiters were German or French, and the cookery was distinctly foreign in flavour. There was a touch of garlic in every dish, which Dino found acceptable, and which was not without its charm for Hugo Luttrell.

Dessert was placed upon the table, and with it a flask of some old Italian wine, which looked to Dino as if it had come straight from the cellars of the monastery at San Stefano. "It is our wine," he said, with a smile. "It looks like an old friend."

"I thought that you would appreciate it," said Hugo, with a laugh, as he rose and poured the red wine carelessly into Dino's glass. "It is too rough for me; but I was sure that you would like it."

He poured out some for himself and raised the glass, but he scarcely touched it with his lips. His eyes were fixed upon his guest.

Dino smiled, praised his host's thoughtfulness, and swallowed a mouthful or two of the wine; then set down his glass.

"There is something wrong with the flavour," he said: "something a little bitter."

"Try it again," said Hugo, averting his eyes. "I thought it very good. At any rate, it is harmless: one may drink any amount of it without doing oneself an injury."

"Yes, but this is curiously coarse in flavour," persisted Dino. "One would think that it was mixed with some other spirit or cordial. But I must try it again."

He drained his glass. Hugo refilled it immediately, but soon perceived that it was needless to offer his guest a second draught. Dino raised his hand to his brow with a puzzled gesture, and then spoke confusedly.

"I do not know how it is," he said. "I am quite dizzy—I cannot see—I——"

His eyes grew dim: his hands fell to his sides, and his head upon his breast. He muttered a few incoherent words, and then sank into silence, broken only by the sound of his heavy breathing and something like an occasional groan. Hugo watched him carefully, and smiled to himself now and then. In a short time he rose, emptied the remainder of the wine in the flask into Dino's glass, rinsed out the flask with clear water, then poured the dregs, as well as the wine in the glasses, into the mould of a large flower-pot that stood in a corner of the room. "Nobody can tell any tales now, I think," said Hugo, with a triumphant, disagreeable smile. And then he called the waiter and paid his bill—as if he were a temporary visitor instead of having lodgings in the house, as he had led Dino to believe.

The waiter glanced once or twice at the figure on the chair. "Gentleman had a leetle moche to drink," he said, nodding towards poor Dino.

"A little too much," said Hugo, carelessly. "He'll be better soon." Then he went and shook the young man by the arm. "Come," he said, "it's time for us to go. Wake up; I'll see you home. That wine was a little too strong for you, was it not?"

Dino opened his eyes, half-rose, muttered something, and then sank back in his chair.

"Gentleman want a cab, perhaps?" said the waiter.

"Well, really, I don't know," said Hugo, looking quite puzzled and distressed. "If he can't walk we must have a cab; but if he can, I'd rather not; his lodgings are not far from here. Come, Jack, can't you try?"

Dino, addressed as Jack for the edification of the waiter, rose, and with Hugo's help staggered a few steps. Hugo was somewhat disconcerted. He had not counted upon Dino's small experience of intoxicating liquors when he prepared that beverage for him beforehand. He had meant Dino to be wild and noisy: and, behold, he presented all the appearance of a man who was dead drunk, and could hardly walk or stand.

They managed to get him downstairs, and there, revived by the fresh air, he seemed able to walk to the lodgings which, as Hugo said, were close at hand. The landlord and the waiters laughed to each other when the two gentlemen were out of sight. "He must have taken a good deal to make him like that," said one of them. "The other was sober enough. Who were they?" The landlord shook his head. "Never saw either of them before yesterday," he said. "They paid, at any rate: I wish all my customers did as much." And he went back to the little parlour which he had quitted for a few moments in order to observe the departure of the gentleman who had got so drunk upon a flask of heady Italian wine.

Meanwhile, Hugo was leading his victim through a labyrinth of dark streets and lanes. Dino was hard to conduct in this manner; he leaned heavily upon his guide, he staggered at times, and nearly fell. The night was dark and foggy; more than once Hugo almost lost his bearings and turned in a wrong direction. But he had a reason for all the devious windings and turnings which he took; he was afraid of being spied upon, followed, tracked. It was not until he came at last to a dark lane, between rows of warehouses, where not a light twinkled in the rooms, nor a solitary pedestrian loitered about the pavement, that he seemed inclined to pause. "This is the place," he said to himself, tightening his grasp upon the young man's arm. "This is the place I chose."

He led Dino down the lane, looking carefully about him until he came to a narrow archway on his left hand. This archway opened on a flagged passage, at the end of which a flight of steps led up to one of the empty warehouses. It was a lonely, deserted spot.

He dragged his companion into this entry; the steps of the two men echoed upon the flags for a little way, and then were still. There was the sound of a fall, a groan, then silence. And after five minutes of that silence, Hugo Luttrell crept slowly back to the lane, and stood there alone. He cast one fearful glance around him: nobody was in sight, nobody seemed to have heard the sounds that he had heard. With a quick step and resolute mien he plunged again into the network of little streets, reached a crowded thoroughfare at last, and took a cab for the Strand. He had a ticket for a theatre in his pocket. He went to the theatre.