was quite
alive to the difficulties of the situation. If this young monk went with
his story to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth believed it, what would become of
her fidelity to him? With his habitual cynicism, he told himself that no
woman would keep her word, if by doing so she lost a fortune and a lover
both. He must hear this story, if only to prevent its being told to her.

"Well," he said at last, taking his pipe from the mantelshelf, "I'll
listen. Be so good as to make your story short. I have no time to
waste." And then he rammed the tobacco into the bowl with his thumb in a
suggestively decisive manner, lighted it, and proceeded to puff at his
pipe with a sort of savage vigour. He sent out great clouds of smoke,
which speedily filled the air and rendered speaking difficult to Dino,
whose lungs had become delicate in consequence of his wound. But
Percival was rather pleased than otherwise to inconvenience him.

"There are several reasons," the young man began, "why Brian Luttrell
wished to be thought dead. He had killed his brother by accident, and
Mrs. Luttrell thought that there had been malice as well as carelessness
in the deed. That was one reason. His mother's harshness preyed upon his
mind and drove him almost to melancholy madness. Mrs. Luttrell made
another statement, and made it in a way that convinced him that she had
reasons for making it----"

"Can't you cut it short?" said Percival. "It's all very interesting, no
doubt: but as I don't care a hang what Brian Luttrell said, or thought,
or did, I should prefer to have as little of it as possible."

"I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I must tell my story in my own
way," answered Dino. The flash of his eye and the increased colour in
his cheek showed that Heron's words irritated him, but his voice was
carefully calm and cool. "Mrs. Luttrell's statement was this: that Brian
Luttrell was not her son at all. I have in my possession the letter that
she wrote to him on the subject, assuring him confidently that he was
the child of her Italian nurse, Vincenza Vasari, and that her own child
had died in infancy, and was buried in the churchyard of San Stefano.
Here is the letter, if you like to assure yourself that what I have said
is true."

Percival made a satirical little bow of refusal. But a look of attention
had come into his eyes.

"Brian believed this story absolutely, although he had then no proof of
its truth," continued Dino. "She told him that th