Percival felt a decided dread of his next meeting with Elizabeth. He could not guess what would be the effect of his information upon her mind, nor what would be her opinion of his conduct. He was in a state of exasperating uncertainty about her views. The only thing of which he was sure was her love and respect for truthfulness; he did not know whether she would ever forgive any lapse from it. "Though, if it comes to that," he said to himself, as he finished his morning toilet, "she ought to be as angry with Stretton as she is with me; for he took her in completely, and, as for me, I only held my tongue. I suppose she will say that 'the motive was everything.' Which confirms me in my belief that one man may steal a horse, while the other may not look over the wall." And then he went down to breakfast.

He was late, of course; when was he not late for breakfast? The whole family-party had assembled; even Mrs. Heron was downstairs to welcome her step-son. Percival responded curtly enough to their greetings; his eyes and ears and thoughts were too much taken up with Elizabeth to be bestowed on the rest of the family. And Elizabeth, after all, looked much as usual. Perhaps there was a little unwonted colour in her cheek, and life in her eye; she did not look as if she had not slept, or had had bad dreams; there was rather an unusually restful and calm expression upon her face.

"Confound the fellow!"—thus Percival mentally apostrophised the missing Brian Luttrell. "One would think that she was glad of what I told her." He was thoroughly put out by this reflection, and munched his breakfast in sulky silence, listening cynically to his step-mother's idle utterances and Kitty's vivacious replies. He was conscious of some disinclination to meet Elizabeth's tranquil glance, of which he bitterly resented the tranquillity. And she scarcely spoke, except to the children.

"I wonder how poor Mrs. Luttrell is to-day," Isabel Heron was saying. "It is sad that she should be so ill."

"Yes, I wondered yesterday what was the matter, when I met Hugo," said Kitty. "He looked quite pale and serious. He was staying at Dunmuir, he told me. I suppose he does not find the house comfortable while his aunt is ill."

"Rather a cold-blooded young fellow, if he can consider that," said Mr. Heron. "Mrs. Luttrell has always been very kind to him, I believe."

"Perhaps he is tired of Netherglen," said Kitty. ("Nobody knows anything about the story of the two Brian Luttrells, then!" Percival reflected, with surprise. "Elizabeth has a talent for silence when she chooses.") Kitty went on carelessly, "Netherglen is damp in this weather. I don't think I should care to live there." Then she blushed a little, as though some new thought had occurred to her.

"The weather is growing quite autumnal," said Mrs. Heron, languidly. "We ought to return to town, and make our preparations——" She looked with a sly smile from Percival to Elizabeth, and paused. "When is it to be, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth drew up her head haughtily and said nothing. Percival glanced at her, and drew no good augury from the cold offence visible in her face. There was an awkward silence, which Mrs. Heron thought it better to dispel by rising from the table.

Percival smoked his morning cigar on the terrace with his father, and wondered whether Elizabeth was not going to present herself and talk to him. He was ready to be very penitent and make every possible sign of submission to her wishes, for he felt that he had wronged her in his mind, and that she might justly be offended with him if she guessed his thoughts. He paced up and down, looking in impatiently at the windows from time to time, but still she came not. At last, standing disconsolately in the porch, he saw her passing through the hall with little Jack in her arms, and the other boys hanging on to her dress, quite in the old Gower-street fashion.

"Elizabeth, won't you come out?" he said.

"I can't, just now. I am going to give the children some lessons. I do that, first thing."

"Always?"

"Ever since Mr. Stretton left," she said.

"Give them a holiday. I want you. There are lots of things we have to talk about."

"Are there? I thought there was nothing left to say," said she, sweetly but coldly. "But I am going to Dunmuir at half-past two this afternoon, and you can drive down with me if you like."

She passed on, and shut herself into the study with the children. Percival felt injured. "She should not have brought me all the way from London if she had nothing to say," he grumbled. "I'll go back to-night. And I might as well go and see Colquhoun this morning."

He went down to Mr. Colquhoun's office, and was not received very cordially by that gentleman. The interview resulted in rather a violent quarrel, which ended by Percival being requested to leave Mr. Colquhoun's presence, and not return to it uninvited. Mr. Colquhoun could not easily forgive him for neglecting to inform the Luttrells, at the earliest opportunity, of Brian's reappearance. "We should have saved time, money, anxiety: we might have settled the matter without troubling Miss Murray, or agitating Mrs. Luttrell; and I call it downright dishonesty to have concealed a fact which was of such vital importance," said Mr. Colquhoun, who had lost his temper. And Percival flung himself out of the room in a rage.

He was still inwardly fuming when he seated himself beside Elizabeth that afternoon in a little low carriage drawn by two grey ponies—an equipage which she specially affected—in order to drive to Dunmuir. For full five minutes neither of them spoke, but at last Elizabeth said, with a faint accent of surprise:—

"I thought you had something to say to me."

"I have so many things that I don't know where to begin. Have you nothing to say—about what I told you last night?"

"I can only say that I am very glad of it."

"The deuce you are!" thought Percival, but his lips were sealed. Elizabeth went on to explain herself.

"I am glad, because now I understand various things that were very hard for me to understand before. I can see why Mr. Stretton hesitated about coming here; I see why he was startled when he discovered that I was the very girl whom he must have heard of before he left England. Of course, I should never have objected to surrender the property to its rightful owner; but in this case I shall be not only willing but pleased to give it back."

Her tone was proud and independent. Percival did not like it, but would not say so.

"I was saying last night," she continued, "that Brian Luttrell must come back. This discovery makes his return all the more necessary. I am going now to ask Mr. Colquhoun what steps had better be taken for bringing him home."

"Do you think he will come?"

"He must come. He must be made to see that it is right for him to come. I have been thinking of what I will ask Mr. Colquhoun to say to him. If he remembers me"—and her voice sank a little—"he will not refuse to do what would so greatly lighten my burden."

"Better write yourself, Elizabeth," said Percival, in a sad yet cynical tone. "You can doubtless say what would bring him back by the next steamer."

She made no answer, but set her lips a little more firmly, and gave one of the grey ponies a slight touch with the whip. It was the silence that caused Percival to see that she was wounded.

"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. Colquhoun, and he agrees with me that this proceeding is of very doubtful utility.... Now, don't interrupt me, I beg. If I throw cold water on this plan, it is only that I may suggest another which I think better.... Salt is a mere clerk: we cannot tell him all the circumstances, and the arguments that he will use will probably be such as a man like Luttrell will despise. I mean that he will put it on the ground of Luttrell's own interests—not Dino Vasari's, or—or yours.... What I propose is that someone should go who knows the story intimately, who knows the relations of all the parties.... If you like to trust me, I will do my best to bring Brian Luttrell home again."

"You!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Oh, Percival, no."

"And why not? I assure you I will act carefully, and I am sure I shall succeed. I have even persuaded Mr. Colquhoun of my good intentions—with some difficulty, I confess. Here is a note from him to you. He read it to me after writing it, and I know what he advises you to do."

Elizabeth read the note. It consisted only of these words: "If you can make up your mind to let Mr. Percival Heron go in Salt's place, I think it would be the better plan.—J. C."

"I'll be on my good behaviour, I promise you," said Percival, watching her, with lightness of tone which was rather belied by the mournful expression of his eyes. "I'll play no tricks, either with him or myself; and bring him safely back to Scotland—on my honour, I will. Do you distrust me so much, Elizabeth?"

"Oh, no, no. Would it not be painful to you? I thought—you did not like Mr. Luttrell." She spoke with great hesitation.

Percival made a grimace. "I don't say that I do like him. I mean to say that I want to show you—and myself—that I do—a little bit—regret my silence, and will try my best to remedy the mischief caused by it. A frank confession which ought to please you."

"It does please me. I am sure of it. But you must not go—you must not leave your work——"

"Oh, my work can be easily done by somebody else. That is what this telegram is about, by-the-bye. I must send an answer, and it depends upon your decision."

"Can I not consult any one? My uncle? Mr. Colquhoun?"

"You know Mr. Colquhoun's opinion. My father will think exactly as you and I do. No, it depends entirely upon whether you think I shall do your errand well, Elizabeth, and whether you will give me the chance of showing that I am not so ungenerous and so base as you say you think me. Tell me to fetch Brian Luttrell home again, and I will go."

And, with tears in her eyes, Elizabeth said, "Go."