r evil courses, I shall keep the secret of your
conduct no longer. Then, when Brian comes home, he can reckon with you."

"Brian!" ejaculated Hugo.

"Yes: Brian. What I require from you is that you trouble Netherglen no
more. I cannot think of you with peace in my mother's house. You will
leave it to-night--at once."

"Yes," Hugo muttered. He had no desire to return to Netherglen.

"I am going to Dunmuir," said Dino. "You can walk on with me."

Hugo made no opposition. He turned his face vaguely in the specified
direction, and moved onward; but the sound of Dino's voice, clear and
cold, gave him a thrill of shame, amounting to positive physical pain.

"Walk before me, if you please. I cannot trust you."

They walked on: Hugo a pace or two in front, Dino behind. Not a word was
spoken between them until they reached the chief street of Dunmuir, and
then Dino called to him to pause. They were standing in front of Mr.
Colquhoun's door.

"You are not going in here?" said Hugo, with a sharp note of terror in
his voice. "You will not tell Colquhoun?"

"I will tell no one," said Dino, "so long as you fulfil the condition I
have laid upon you. This is our last word on the subject. God forgive
you, as I do."

They stood for a moment, face to face. The moon had risen, and its light
fell peacefully upon the paved street, the old stone houses, the broad,
beautiful river with its wooded banks, the distant sweep of hills. It
fell also on the faces of the two men, not unlike in feature and
colouring, but totally dissimilar in expression, and seemed to intensify
every point of difference between them. There was a lofty serenity upon
Dino Vasari's brow, while guilt and fear and misery were deeply
imprinted on Hugo's boyish, beautiful face. For the first time the
contrast between them struck forcibly on Hugo's mind. He leaned against
the stone wall of Mr. Colquhoun's house, and gave vent to his emotion in
one bitter, remorseful sob of pain.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

WHAT PERCIVAL KNEW.

Mr. Colquhoun and Mr. Brett were sitting over their wine in the
well-lighted, well-warmed dining-room of the lawyer's house. They had
been friends in their earlier days, and were delighted to have an
opportunity of meeting (in a strictly unprofessional way) and chatting
over the memories of their youth. It was a surprise to both of them when
the door was opened to admit Dino Vasari and Hugo Luttrell: two of the
last visitors whom Mr. Colquh