Aunt Margaret."

He bent down to kiss her hand in his graceful, foreign fashion; but she
drew it somewhat hastily away.

"No. None of your Sicilian ways for me, Hugo. That foreign drop in your
blood is just what I hate. But you're the only Luttrell left; and I hope
I know my duty. I want to have a talk with you about the house, and the
property, and so on."

"I shall be glad if I can do anything to help you," said Hugo, smoothly.
His cheek was beginning to flush; he wished that his aunt would come to
the point. Suspense was very trying! But Mrs. Luttrell seemed to be in
no hurry.

"You know, perhaps," she said, "that I am a tolerably rich woman still.
The land, the farms, and the moors, and all that part of the property
passed to Miss Murray upon my sons' deaths; but this house and the
grounds (though not the loch nor the woods) are still mine, and I have a
fair income with which to keep them up. I should like to know that one
of my husband's name was to come after me. I should like to know that
there would be Luttrells of Netherglen for many years to come."

She paused a few minutes, but Hugo made no reply.

"I have a proposition to make to you," she went on presently. "I don't
make it without conditions. You shall hear what they are by-and-bye. I
should like to make you my heir. I can leave my money and my house to
anyone I choose. I have about fifteen-hundred a-year, and then there's
the house and the garden. Should you think it worth having?"

"I think," said Hugo, with a wily avoidance of any direct answer, "that
it is very painful to hear you talk of leaving your property to anyone."

"That is mere sentimental nonsense," replied his aunt, with a
perceptible increase in the coldness of her manner. "The question is,
will you agree to the conditions on which I leave my money to you?"

"I will do anything in my power," murmured Hugo.

"I want you, then, to arrange to spend at least half the year with me
here. You can leave the army; I do not think that it is a profession
that suits you. Live here, and fill the place of a son to me. I have no
sons left. Be as like one of them as it is in your power to be."

In spite of himself Hugo's face fell. Leave the army, leave England,
bury himself for half the year with an old woman in a secluded spot,
which, although beautiful in summer and autumn, was unspeakably dreary
in winter? She had not required so much of Richard or Brian; why should
she ask for such a sacr