ct herself.

While looking at her, a thought flashed across Hugo's mind, and matured
itself later in the day into a complete plan of action. He remembered
the will that Mrs. Luttrell had made in his favour. Had that will ever
been signed? By the curious brusqueness with which Mr. Colquhoun had
lately treated him, he fancied that it had. If it was signed, he was the
heir; he would be the master ultimately of Netherglen. Why should he go
away? Dino Vasari had ordered him never to come again into Mrs.
Luttrell's presence; but Dino Vasari was now shut up in some Italian
monastery, and was not likely to hear very much about the affairs of a
remote country-house in Scotland. At any rate, when Mrs. Luttrell was
dead, even Dino could not object to Hugo's taking possession of his own
house. When Mrs. Luttrell was dead! And when would she die?

The doctor, whom Hugo consulted with great professions of affection for
his aunt, gave little hope of long life for her. He wondered, he said,
that she had survived the stroke that deprived her of speech and the use
of her limbs: a few weeks or months, in his opinion, would see the end.

Hugo considered the situation very seriously. It would be better for him
to stay at Netherglen, where he could ascertain his aunt's condition
from time to time, and be sure that there were no signs of returning
speech and muscular power. Dared he risk disobedience to Dino's command?
On deliberation, he thought he dare. Dino could prove nothing against
him: it would be assertion against assertion, that was all. And most
people would look on the accusations that Dino would bring as positive
slander. Hugo felt that his greatest danger lay in his own
cowardice--his absence of self-control and superstitious fear of Dino's
eye. But if the young monk were out of England there was no present
reason to be afraid. And when such a piece of luck had occurred as Mrs.
Luttrell's paralytic stroke seemed likely to prove to Hugo, it would be
folly to take no advantage of it. Hugo had had one or two wonderful
strokes of luck in his life; but he told himself that this was the
greatest of all. He was rather inclined to attribute it to his
possession of a medal which had been blessed by the Pope (for, as far as
he had any religion at all, Hugo was still a Romanist), which his mother
had hung round his neck whilst he was a chubby-faced boy in Sicily. He
wore it still, and was not at all above considering it as a charm for
ens