h obliged to you," murmured Percival, with lifted eyebrows;
"but I hardly understand----"

"You will understand quite soon enough, Mr. Heron," said the visitor,
quietly. "I have news for you that may not be agreeable. I believe that
you have a cousin, a Miss Murray, who lately succeeded to a great
fortune."

"Yes, but what has that to do with you, if you please?" demanded Heron,
his amiability vanishing into space.

The stranger lifted his hand.

"Allow me one moment. She inherited this fortune on the death of a Mr.
Brian Luttrell, I think?"

"Exactly--but what----"

"Excuse me, Mr. Heron. I come to my piece of news at last. Miss Murray
has no right to the property which she is enjoying. Mr. Brian Luttrell
is alive!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A REVELATION.

Percival started from his chair. His first exclamation was a rather
profane one, for which the monk immediately reproved him. He did not
take much notice of the reproof: he stared hard at the young man for a
minute or two, unconsciously repeated the objectionable expression, and
then took one or two turns up and down the room. After which he came to
a standstill, thrust his hands into his pockets, and allowed his
features to relax into a sardonically-triumphant smile.

"You couldn't tell me a thing which I should be better pleased to hear,"
he said. "But I don't believe it's true."

This was rude, but the visitor was not disconcerted. He looked at
Percival's masterful face with interest, and a little suspicion, and
answered quietly:--

"I do not know exactly what evidence will satisfy you, sir. Of course,
you will require evidence. I, myself, Bernardino Vasari of San Stefano,
can testify that I saw Brian Luttrell in our monastery on the 27th day
of November, some days after his reputed death. I can account for all
his time after that date, and I can tell you where he is to be found at
present. His cousin, Hugo Luttrell, has already recognised him, and,
although he is much changed, I fancy that there would be small doubt
about his identification."

"But why, in Heaven's name, did he allow himself to be thought dead?"
cried Percival.

"You know, probably, the circumstances attending his brother's death?"
said Dino, gently. "These, and a cruel letter from Mrs. Luttrell, made
him resolve to take advantage of an accident in which his companions
were killed. He made his way to a little inn on the southern side of the
Alps, and thence to our monastery, w