e his leave of her, he said, in
a very low voice:--

"Do you mean to be true to me or not when Luttrell comes home,
Elizabeth?"

"I shall keep my word to you, Percival. Oh, don't--don't--say that to me
again!" she cried, bursting into tears, as she saw the lurking doubt
that so constantly haunted his mind.

"I won't," he said. "I will never say it again if you tell me that you
trust me as I trust you."

"I do trust you."

"And I am not so base and mean as you said I was?"

For, perhaps, the first time in her life, she kissed him of her own
accord. It was with this kiss burning upon his lips that Percival leaned
out of the window of the railway-carriage as the train steamed away into
the darkness, and waved a last farewell to the woman he loved.

He had been rather imperious and masterful during the last few days; he
felt conscious of it now, and was half-sorry for it. It had seemed to
him that, if he did this thing for Brian Luttrell, he had at least the
right to some reward. And he claimed his reward beforehand, in the shape
of close companionship and gentle words from Elizabeth. He did not
compel her to kiss him--he remembered his magnanimity in that respect
with some complacency--but he had demanded many other signs of
good-fellowship. And she had seemed ready enough to render them. She had
wanted to go with him and Mr. Heron to London, and help him to prepare
for the voyage. But he would not allow her to leave Strathleckie. He had
only a couple of days to spare, and he should be hurried and busy. He
preferred saying good-bye to her at Dunmuir.

The reason of his going was kept a profound secret from all the Herons
except the father, who gave his consent to the plan cordially, though
with some surprise.

"But what will become of your profession?" he had asked of Percival.
"Won't three or four months' absence put you sadly out of the running?"

"You forget my prospects," Percival replied, with his ready, cynical
laugh. "When I've squared the matter with Brian Luttrell, and married
Elizabeth, I shall have no need to think of my profession." Mr. Heron
shifted his eye-glasses on his nose uneasily, and screwed up his face
into an expression of mild disapproval, but couldn't think of any
suitable reply. "Besides," said Percival, "I've got a commission to do
some papers on Brazilian life. The _Evening Mail_ will take them. And I
am going to write a book on 'Modern Morality' as I go out. I fully
expect to make m