he was in her
dressing-room now, and Dino Vasari was with her.

Hugo stole quietly through the passage until he reached the door of Mrs.
Luttrell's bed-room, which was ajar. He slipped into the room and looked
round. It was dimly lighted by the red glow of the fire, and by this dim
light he saw that the door into the dressing-room was also not quite
closed. He could hear the sound of voices. He paused a moment, and then
advanced. There was a high screen near the door, of which one fold was
so close to the wall that only a slight figure could slip behind it,
though, when once behind there, it would be entirely hidden. Hugo
measured it with his eye: he would have to pass the aperture of the door
to reach it, but a cautious glance from a distance assured him that both
Mrs. Luttrell and Dino had their backs to him and could not see. He
ensconced himself, therefore, between the screen and the wall: he could
see nothing, but every word fell distinctly upon his ear.

"Sit down beside me," Mrs. Luttrell was saying--how could her voice have
grown so tender?--"and tell me everything about your past life. I
knew--I always knew--that that other child was not my son. I have my own
Brian now. Call me mother: it is long since I have heard the word."

"Mother!" Dino's musical tones were tremulous. "My mother! I have
thought of her all my life."

"Ay, my poor son, and but for the wickedness of others, I might have
seen and known you years ago. I had an interloper in my house throughout
all those years, and he worked me the bitterest sorrow of my life."

"Do not speak so of Brian, mother," said Dino, gently. "He loved
you--and he loved Richard. His loss--his grief--has been greater even
than yours."

"How dare you say so to me?" said Mrs. Luttrell, with a momentary return
to her old, grim tones. Then, immediately softening them--"But you may
say anything you like. It is pleasure enough to hear your voice. You
must stay with me, Brian, and let me feast my eyes on you for a time. I
have no patience, no moderation left: 'my son was dead and is alive
again, he was lost and is found.'"

He raised his mother's hand and kissed it silently. The action would, of
course, have been lost upon Hugo, as he could not see the pair, but for
Mrs. Luttrell's next words.

"Nay," she said, "kiss me on the cheek, not on the hand, Brian. I let
Hugo Luttrell do it, because of his foreign blood; but you have only a
foreign training which you must forget