e began his story. And this time
Brian read it all.

He put down the letter at last with a curious smile: the smile of a man
who does not want to acknowledge that he suffers pain. "Dino," he said
to himself, lingeringly. "Dino! It is he who is Brian Luttrell, then,
after all. And what am I? And, oh, my poor Elizabeth! But she will only
regret the loss of the money because she will no longer be able to help
other people. The Herons will suffer more than she. And Percival Heron!
How will it affect him? I think he will be pleased. Yes, I think he is
disinterested enough to be thoroughly pleased that she is poor. I should
be pleased, in his case.

"There is no doubt about it now, I suppose," he said, beginning to pace
up and down the little room, with slow, uneven steps and bent head. "I
am not a Luttrell. I am a Vasari. My mother's name was Vincenza
Vasari--a woman who lied and cheated for the sake of her child. And I
was the child! Good God! how can it be that I have that lying blood in
my veins? Yet I have no right to say so; it was all done for me--for
me--who never knew a mother's love. Oh, mother, mother, how much happier
your son would have been if you had reared him in the place where he was
born, amongst the vines and olive-yards of his native land.

"And I must see Dino to-morrow. So he knows the whole story. I
understand now why he thought ill of me for not coming to meet him, poor
fellow! I must go early to-morrow."

He went, but as soon as he reached Dino's bed-side he found that he knew
not what to say, Dino looked up at him with eyes full of grave, wistful
affection, and suddenly smiled, as if something unwontedly pleasant had
dawned upon his mind.

"Ah," he said, "at last--you know."

"Yes, I know," said Brian.

"And you are sorry? I am sorry, too."

"No," said Brian, finding it rather difficult to express himself at that
moment; "I am not sorry that you are the man who will bear the name of
Luttrell, that I have wrongly borne so long. I suppose--from what the
Prior says--that your claim can be proved; if I were in my old position
I should be the first to beg you to prove it, and to give up my name and
place to you if justice required it. As it is, I do not stand in your
way, because the old Brian Luttrell--the one who killed his brother, you
know--is dead."

"But if you were in your old position, could you still pardon me and be
friendly with me, even if I claimed my rights?"

"I hope so," said