made it your home for as many months in the year as you chose. I don't
see why you should not do so. I shall not return to this neighbourhood."

"It does not seem to occur to you," said Mrs. Luttrell, in measured
tones, "that Angela and I may also have an objection to residing in a
place which will henceforth have so many painful memories attached to
it."

"If that is the case," said Brian, after a little pause, "there is no
more to be said."

"I will ask Angela," said Mrs. Luttrell, stretching out her hand to a
little handbell which stood upon the table at her side.

Brian started. "Then I will come to you again," he said, moving hastily
to the door. "I will see you after lunch."

"Pray do not go," said his mother, giving two very decisive strokes of
the bell by means of a pressure of her firm, white fingers. "Let us
settle the matter while we are about it. There will be no need of a
second interview."

"But Angela will not want to see me."

"Angela----Ask Miss Vivian to come to me at once if she can" (to the
maid who appeared at the door)--"Angela expressed a wish to see you this
morning."

Brian stood erect by the mantelpiece, biting his lips under his soft,
brown moustache, and very much disposed to take the matter into his own
hands, and walk straight out of the room. But some time or other Angela
must be faced; perhaps as well now as at any other time. He waited,
therefore, in silence, until the door opened and Angela appeared.

"Brian!" said the soft voice, in as kind and sisterly a tone as he had
ever heard from her.

"Brian!"

She was close to him, but he dared not look up until she took his
unresisting hand in hers and held it tenderly. Then he raised his head a
very little and looked at her.

She had always been pale, but now she was snow-white, and the extreme
delicacy and even fragility of her appearance were thrown into strong
relief by the dead black of her mourning gown. Her eyes were full of
tears, and her lips were quivering; but Brian knew in a moment, by
instinct, that she at least believed in the innocence of his heart,
although his hand had taken his brother's life. He stooped down and
kissed the hand that held his own, so humbly, so sorrowfully, that
Angela's heart yearned over him. She understood him, and she had room,
even in her great grief, to be sorry for him too. And when he withdrew
his hand and turned away from her with one deep sob that he did not know
how to repress, sh