"Keep all that to yourself," said Brian, in a quick, resolute tone.

"There is no use in telling it to me. You conquered the temptation, if there was one; that I know; and if there was anything else, forget it, as I shall forget what you have told me. I have something to ask your pardon for, besides."

Percival's chest heaved; the emotion of the moment found vent in one audible sob. He stretched out his hand, which Brian clasped in silence.

For a few minutes neither of them spoke.

"It was chiefly to prove to myself that I was not such a black sheep as some persons declared me to be, that I made up my mind to follow you and bring you back," said Percival, with his old liveliness of tone. "You see I had been more selfish than anybody knew. Shall I tell you how?"

"If you like."

"You say you don't know what Dino Vasari suggested. That subtle young man made a very bold proposition. He said he would give up his claim to the property if I would relinquish my claim to Miss Murray's hand. The property and the hand thus set at liberty were both to be bestowed upon you, Mr. Brian Luttrell. Dino Vasari was then to retire to his monastery, and I to mine--that is, to my bachelor's diggings and my club--after annihilating time and space 'to make two lovers happy.'"

"Don't jest on that subject," said Brian in a low, pained tone. "What a wild idea! Poor Dino!"

"Poor me, I think, since I was to be in every sense the loser. I am sorry to say I didn't treat your friend with civility, Luttrell. After your departure, however, he went himself to Netherglen, and there, it seems, he put the finishing stroke to any claim that he might have on the property." And then Percival proceeded to relate, as far as he knew it, the story of Dino's visit to Mrs. Luttrell, its effect on Mrs.

Luttrell's health, and the urgent necessity that there was for Brian to return and arrange matters with Elizabeth. Brian tried to evade the last point, but Percival insisted on it so strongly that he was obliged to give him a decisive answer.

"No," he said, at last. "I'm sorry to make it seem as if your voyage had been in vain; but, if we ever get off the Rocas Reef, I shall go on to the Brazils. There is not the least reason for me to go home. I could not possibly touch a penny of the Luttrells' money after what has happened. Miss Murray must keep it."

"But, you see, there will be legal forms to go through, even if she does keep it, for which your presence will be required."

"You don't mean that, Heron; you know I can do all that in writing."

"You won't get Miss Murray to touch a farthing of it either."

"You must persuade her," said Brian, calmly. "I think you will understand my feeling, when I say that I would rather she had it--she and you--than anybody in the world."

"You must come back. I promised to bring you back," returned Percival, with some agitation of manner. "I said that I would not go back without you."

"I will write to Mr. Colquhoun and explain."

"Confound it! What Colquhoun thinks does not signify. It is Elizabeth whom I promised."

"Well," said Brian slowly, and with some difficulty, "I think I can explain it to her, too, if you will let me write to her."

Percival suppressed a groan.

"Why should I go back?" asked Luttrell. "I see no reason."

"And I wish you did not drive me to tell you the reason," said Percival, in crabbed, reluctant tones. "But it must come, sooner or later. If you won't go for any other reason, will you go when I tell you that Elizabeth Murray cares for you as she never cared for me, and never will care for any other man in the world? That was why I came to fetch you back; and, if you don't find it a reason for going back and marrying her, why--you deserve to stop on the Rocas Reef for the remainder of your natural life!"

CHAPTER XL.

KITTY.

Winter had come to our cold northern isles. The snow lay thick upon the ground, but a sharp frost had made it hard and crisp. It sparkled in a flood of brilliant sunshine; the air was fresh and exhilarating, the sky transparently blue. It was a pleasant day for walking, and one that Miss Kitty Heron seemed thoroughly to enjoy, as she trod the white carpet with which nature had provided the world.

She carried a little basket on her arm: a basket filled with good things for some children in a cottage not far from Strathleckie. The good things were of Elizabeth's providing; but Kitty acted as her almoner.

Kitty was a very charming almoner, with her slight, graceful little figure and _mignonne_ face set off by a great deal of brown fur and a dress of deep Indian red. The sharpness in the air brought a faint colour to her cheeks--Kitty was generally rather pale--and a new brightness to her pretty eyes. There was something delightfully bewitching about her: something provoking and coquettish: something of which Hugo Luttrell was pleasantly conscious as he came down the road to meet her and then walked for a little way at her side.

They did not say very much. There were a few ardent speeches from him, a vehement sort of love-making, which Kitty parried with a good deal of laughing adroitness, some saucy speeches from her which all the world might have heard, and then the cottage was reached.

"Let me go in with you," said Hugo.

"Certainly not. You would frighten the children."

"Am I so very terrible? Not to you; don't say that I frighten you."

"I should think not," said Kitty, with a little toss sideways of her dainty head. "I am frightened of nothing."

"I should think not. I should think that you were the bravest of women, as you are the most charming."

"Oh, please! I am not accustomed to these compliments. I must take my cakes to the children. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Hugo, taking her hand, and keeping it in his own while he spoke. "I may wait for you here and go back with you to Strathleckie, may I not?"

"Oh, dear, no," said Kitty. "You'll catch cold."

Then she looked down at her imprisoned hand, and up into his face, sweetly smiling all the time, and, if they had not been within sight of the cottage windows, Hugo would have taken her in his arms and kissed her there and then.

"I never catch cold. I shall walk about here till you come back. You don't dislike my company, I hope?"

It was said vehemently, with a sudden kindling of his dark eyes.

"Oh, no," answered Kitty, feeling rather frightened, in spite of her previous professions of courage, though she did not quite know why. "I shall be very pleased. I must go now." And then she vanished hastily into the cottage.

Hugo waited for some time, little guessing the fact that she was protracting her visit as much as possible, and furtively peeping through the blinds now and then in order to see if he were gone. Kitty had had some experience of his present mood, and was not certain that she liked it. But his patience was greater than hers. She was forced to come out at last, and before she had gone two steps he was at her side.

"I thought you were never going to leave that wretched hole," he said.

"Don't call it a wretched hole. It is very clean and nice. I often think that I should like to live in a cottage like that."

"With someone who loved you," said Hugo, coming nearer, and gazing into her face.

Kitty made a little _moue_.

"The cottage would only hold one person comfortably," she said.

"Then you shall not live in a cottage. You shall live in a far pleasanter place. What should you say to a little villa on the shores of the Mediterranean, with orange groves behind it, and the beautiful blue sea before? Should you like that, Kitty? You have only to say the word, and you know that it will be yours."

"Then I won't say the word," said Kitty, turning away her head. "I like Scotland better than the Mediterranean."

"Then let it be Scotland. What should you say to Netherglen?"

"I prefer Strathleckie," replied the girl, with her most provoking smile.