when the candle had died out, and the fire
had grown so dim that they could not see each other's faces, that Brian
said in a low, but quiet tone--

"Did you tell him why I left Strathleckie?"

"Yes, I did."

Brian suppressed a vexed exclamation. It was no use trying to make Dino
understand his position.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"He knew already."

"Ah! Yes. So I should have supposed." And there the conversation ended.

Long after Dino was tranquilly sleeping, Brian Luttrell sat by the
ricketty round table in the middle of the room labouring at the
composition of one or two letters, which seemed very difficult to write.
Sheet after sheet was torn up and thrown aside. The grey dawn was
creeping in at the window before the last word was written, and the
letters placed within their respective envelopes. Slowly and carefully
he wrote the address of the longest letter--wrote it, as he thought, for
the last time--Mrs. Luttrell, Netherglen, Dunmuir. Then he stole quietly
out of the house, and slipped it into the nearest pillar-box. The other
letter--a few lines merely--he put in his pocket, unaddressed. On his
return he entered the tiny slip of a room which Dino occupied, fearing
lest his movements should have disturbed the sleeper. But Dino had not
stirred. Brian stood and looked at him for a little while, thinking of
the circumstances in which they had first met, of the strange bond which
subsisted between them, and lastly of the curious betrayal of his
confidence, so unlike Dino's usual conduct, which Brian charitably set
down to ignorance of English customs and absence of English reserve. He
guessed no finer motive, and his mouth curled with an irrepressible, if
somewhat mournful, smile, as he turned away, murmuring to himself:--

"I have had my revenge."

He did not leave England next day. Dino's entreaties weighed with him;
and he knew also that he himself had acted in a way which was likely to
nullify his friend's endeavours to reinstate him in his old position. He
waited with more curiosity than apprehension for the letter, the
telegram, the visit, that would assure him of Percival's uprightness.
For Brian had no doubt in his own mind as to what Percival Heron ought
to do. If he learnt that Brian Luttrell was still living, he ought to
communicate the fact to Mr. Colquhoun at least. And if Mr. Colquhoun
were the kindly old man that he used to be, he would probably hasten to
London to shake hands once mo