y literary work pay my travelling expenses, sir."

"I thought Elizabeth paid those," said Mr. Heron, in a hesitating sort
of way.

"Well, she thinks she will do so," said Percival, "and that's all she
need know about the matter."

Mr. Colquhoun, to whom Elizabeth had gone for advice on the day after
Percival's proposition, was very cautious in what he said to her. "It's
the best plan in the world," he remarked, "in one way."

"In what way?" asked Elizabeth, anxiously.

"Well, Mr. Heron goes as your affianced husband, does he not? Of course,
he can represent your interests better than anybody else."

"I thought he was going to prevent my interests from being too well
represented," said Elizabeth, half-smiling. "I want him to make Mr.
Luttrell understand that I have no desire to keep the property at all."

"There is one drawback," said Mr. Colquhoun, "and one that I don't see
how Mr. Heron will get over. He has never seen Brian, has he? How will
he recognise him? For the lad's probably gone under another name. It's
just a wild-goose chase that he's starting upon, I'm afraid."

"They have seen each other."

"Mr. Heron didn't tell me that. And where was it they saw each other,
Miss Murray?"

"In Italy--and here. Here at Strathleckie. Oh, Mr. Colquhoun, it was
Brian Luttrell who came with us as the boys' tutor, and we did not know.
He called himself Stretton." And then Elizabeth shed a small tear or
two, although she did not exactly know why.

Mr. Colquhoun's wrath and astonishment were not to be described. That
Brian should have been so near him, and that they should have never met!
"I should have known him anywhere!" cried the old man. "Grey hair! do
you tell me? What difference does that make to a man that knew him all
his life, and his father before him? And a beard, you say? Toots! beard
or no beard, I should have known Brian Luttrell anywhere."

Angela Vivian, being taken into their confidence, supplied them with
several photographs of Brian in his earlier days. And Percival was
admitted to Netherglen to look at a portrait of the brothers (or reputed
brothers), painted not long before Richard's death. He looked at it long
and carefully, but acknowledged afterwards that he could not see any
likeness between his memories of Mr. Stretton and the pictured face,
with its fine contour, brown moustache, and smiling eyes, a face in
which an expression of slight melancholy seemed to be the index to
intense suscept