words showed either ignorance or languid
neglect of the usages of society, but they did not offend him. He wanted
to come again. He wanted to see more of Kitty.

He had ridden from Strathleckie to Netherglen, and he paced his horse
slowly along the solitary road which he had to traverse on his way
homewards. The beautiful autumn tints and the golden haze that filled
the air had no attractions for him. But it was pleasant to him to be
away from Mrs. Luttrell; and he wanted a little space of time in which
to meditate upon his future course of action. He had seen the woman whom
his aunt wished him to marry. Well, she was handsome enough; she was
rich; she would look well at the head of his table, ruling over his
household, managing his affairs and her own. But he would rather that it
had been Kitty.

At this point he brought his horse to a sudden standstill. Before him,
leaning over a gate with his back to the road, he saw a man whom he
recognised at once. It was Mr. Stretton, the tutor. He had taken off his
hat, and his grey hair looked very remarkable upon his youthful figure.
Hugo walked his horse slowly forward, but the beat of the animal's feet
on the hard road aroused the tutor from his reverie. He glanced round,
saw Hugo approaching, and then, without haste, but without hesitation,
quietly opened the gate, and made his way into the field.

Hugo stopped again, and watched him as he crossed the field. He was very
curious concerning this stranger. He felt as if he ought to recognise
him, and he could not imagine why.

Mr. Stretton was almost out of sight, and Hugo was just turning away,
when his eye fell upon a piece of white paper on the ground beside the
gate. It looked like a letter. Had the tutor dropped it as he loitered
in the road? Hugo was off his horse instantly, and had the paper in his
hand. It was a letter written on thin, foreign paper, in a small, neat,
foreign hand; it was addressed to Mr. John Stretton, and it was written
in Italian.

To Hugo, Italian was as familiar as English, and a momentary glance
showed him that this letter contained information that might be valuable
to him. He could not read it on the road; the owner of the letter might
discover his loss and turn back at any moment to look for it. He put it
carefully into his pocket, mounted his horse again, and made the best of
his way to Netherglen.

He was so late in arriving that he had little time to devote to the
letter before dinne