ibility of temperament and great refinement of mind. "The
eyes are like Stretton's," he said, "and that is all." He took two of
the photographs with him, however, as part of his equipment.

Mrs. Luttrell continued in the state in which she had been found after
her interview with Dino. She could not speak: she could not move: her
eyes had an awful consciousness in them which told that she was living
and knew what was going on around her: otherwise she might easily have
been mistaken for one already dead. It was difficult to imagine that she
understood the words spoken in her presence, and for some time her
attendants did not realise this fact, and spoke with less caution than
they might have done respecting the affairs of the neighbourhood. But
when the doctor had declared that her mind was unimpaired, Mr. Colquhoun
thought it better to come and give her some account of the things that
had been done during her illness, on the mere chance that she might hear
and understand. He told her that Dino had gone to Italy, that Brian had
sailed for South America, and that Percival Heron had gone to fetch him
back, in order to make some arrangement about the property which
Elizabeth Murray wished to give up to him. He thought that there was a
look of relief in her eyes when he had finished; but he could not be
sure.

Hugo, after staying for some days at the hotel in Dunmuir, ventured
rather timidly back to Netherglen. Now that Dino was out of the way, he
did not see why he should not make use of his opportunities. He entered
the door of his old home, it was true, with a sort of superstitious
terror upon him: Dino had obtained a remarkable power over his mind, and
if he had been either in England or Scotland, Hugo would never have
dared to present himself at Netherglen. But his acquaintances and
friends--even Angela--thought his absence so strange, that he was
encouraged to pay a call at his aunt's house, and when there, he was
led, almost against his will, straight into her presence. He had heard
that she could not speak or move; but he was hardly prepared for the
spectacle of complete helplessness that met his gaze. There might be
dread and loathing in the eyes that looked at him out of that impassive
face; but there was no possibility of the utterance by word of mouth. An
eternal silence seemed to have fallen upon Margaret Luttrell: her
bitterest enemy might come and go before her, and against none of his
devices could she prote