nd fish the loch for pike. Richard and a couple of his
friends were going to shoot in the neighbouring woods. And, while these
arrangements were making, and everybody was standing about the hall, or
in the wide porch which opened out into the garden, Hugo's name was
again mentioned.

"What has become of that boy?" said Mrs. Luttrell. "He is not generally
so late. Richard, do you know?"

"I'll tell you afterwards, mother," answered her son, in a low tone.
"Don't say anything more about him just now."

"Is there anything wrong?" said his mother, also lowering her voice. But
he had turned away.

"Brian, what is it?" she asked, impatiently.

"For Heaven's sake, don't ask Brian," said Richard, looking back over
his shoulder, "there is no knowing what he may not require you to
believe. Leave the story to me."

"I've no desire to tell it," replied Brian, moving away.

Luttrell's friends were already outside the hall door, lighting their
cigars and playing with the dogs. A keeper stood in the background,
waiting until the party should start.

"Aren't you coming, Brian?" said one of the young men.

"I'll join you presently," said Brian. "I am going down to the loch
first to get out the boat."

"What a splendid gun that is of yours!" said Archie Grant, the younger
of the two men. "It is yours, is it not? I saw it in the corner of the
hall as I came in. You had it the other day at the Duke's."

"It was not mine. It belongs to Hugo."

"Let me have a look at it again; it's an awfully fine one."

"Are you ready, Grant?" said Richard Luttrell, coming forward. "What are
you looking for?"

"Oh, nothing; a gun," said the young fellow. "I see it's gone. I thought
it was there when I first came in; it's of no consequence."

"Not your own gun, I suppose?"

"No, no; I have my own. It was Hugo's."

"Yes; rather a fine one," said Richard, indifferently. "You're not
coming, then?"--to Brian--"well, perhaps it's as well." And he marched
away without deigning to bestow another look or word upon his brother.

Five minutes afterwards, Mrs. Luttrell and Angela encountered each other
in a passage leading to one of the upper rooms. No one was near. Mrs.
Luttrell--she was a tall, handsome woman, strikingly like Richard, in
spite of her snow-white hair--laid her hand gently on Angela's shoulder.

"Why do you look so pale, Angela?" she said. "Your eyes are red, child.
Have you been crying because those ill-bred lads of mine could n