Man alive, are you going to faint, Hugo? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I've had a headache. Then my aunt is satisfied as to the
genuineness of this claim?"

"Satisfied! She's more than satisfied," said the old lawyer, with a
groan. "I doubt myself whether the court will see the matter in the same
light. If Miss Murray, or if Brian Luttrell, would make a good fight, I
don't believe this Italian fellow would win the case. He might. Brett
says he would; But Brian--God bless him! he might have told me he was
living still--Brian has gone off to America, poor lad! and Elizabeth
Murray--well, I'll make her fight, if I can, but I doubt--I doubt."

"My aunt wants this fellow to have Strathleckie and Netherglen, too,
then?"

"Yes, she does; so you are cut out there, Hugo. Don't build on
Netherglen, if Margaret Luttrell's own son is living. I must be going:
Brett's to dine with me. I used to know him in London."

"Is Dino Vasari staying here, then?"

Mr. Colquhoun raised a warning finger. "You'll have to learn to call him
by another name, if he stays in this house, young man," he said. "He
declines to be called Brian--he has that much good sense--but it seems
that Dino is short for Bernardino, or some such mouthful, and we're to
call him Bernard to avoid confusion. Bernard Luttrell--humph!--I don't
know whether he will stay the night or not. We met Miss Murray on our
way up. The young man looked at her uncommonly hard, and asked who she
was. I think he was rather struck with her. Good-bye, Hugo; take care of
yourself, and don't be too downhearted. Poor Brian always told me to
look after you, and I will." But the assurance did not carry the
consolation to Hugo's mind which Mr. Colquhoun intended.

The two lawyers drove away to Dunmuir together. Hugo watched the red
lamps of the dog-cart down the road, and then turned away from the
window with a gnawing sense of anxiety, which grew more imperious every
moment. He felt that he must do something to relieve it. He knew where
the interview with Dino was taking place. Mrs. Luttrell had lately been
growing somewhat infirm: a slight stroke of paralysis, dangerous only in
that it was probably the precursor of other attacks, had rendered
locomotion particularly distasteful to her. She did not like to feel
that she was dependent upon others for aid, and, therefore, sat usually
in a wheeled chair in her dressing-room, and it was the most easily
accessible room from her sleeping apartment. S