nformation upon her
mind, nor what would be her opinion of his conduct. He was in a state of
exasperating uncertainty about her views. The only thing of which he was
sure was her love and respect for truthfulness; he did not know whether
she would ever forgive any lapse from it. "Though, if it comes to that,"
he said to himself, as he finished his morning toilet, "she ought to be
as angry with Stretton as she is with me; for he took her in completely,
and, as for me, I only held my tongue. I suppose she will say that 'the
motive was everything.' Which confirms me in my belief that one man may
steal a horse, while the other may not look over the wall." And then he
went down to breakfast.

He was late, of course; when was he not late for breakfast? The whole
family-party had assembled; even Mrs. Heron was downstairs to welcome
her step-son. Percival responded curtly enough to their greetings; his
eyes and ears and thoughts were too much taken up with Elizabeth to be
bestowed on the rest of the family. And Elizabeth, after all, looked
much as usual. Perhaps there was a little unwonted colour in her cheek,
and life in her eye; she did not look as if she had not slept, or had
had bad dreams; there was rather an unusually restful and calm
expression upon her face.

"Confound the fellow!"--thus Percival mentally apostrophised the missing
Brian Luttrell. "One would think that she was glad of what I told her."
He was thoroughly put out by this reflection, and munched his breakfast
in sulky silence, listening cynically to his step-mother's idle
utterances and Kitty's vivacious replies. He was conscious of some
disinclination to meet Elizabeth's tranquil glance, of which he bitterly
resented the tranquillity. And she scarcely spoke, except to the
children.

"I wonder how poor Mrs. Luttrell is to-day," Isabel Heron was saying.
"It is sad that she should be so ill."

"Yes, I wondered yesterday what was the matter, when I met Hugo," said
Kitty. "He looked quite pale and serious. He was staying at Dunmuir, he
told me. I suppose he does not find the house comfortable while his aunt
is ill."

"Rather a cold-blooded young fellow, if he can consider that," said Mr.
Heron. "Mrs. Luttrell has always been very kind to him, I believe."

"Perhaps he is tired of Netherglen," said Kitty. ("Nobody knows anything
about the story of the two Brian Luttrells, then!" Percival reflected,
with surprise. "Elizabeth has a talent for silence when sh