rt, tough turf of the camp a little way
without speaking, and then Purvis began, in his smooth thin voice,
riding a little nearer to his companion so as to make himself heard
without undue exertion, 'I wanted to speak to you alone.'

'Say on,' said Peter.

When he was riding Purvis was perhaps at his worst. He had an ugly
seat in the saddle, and his dark grey suit, made with trousers, was
worn without riding-boots. He looked straight in front of him with his
tired watery eyes with the perpetual tear in them, and said, 'I believe
we are within measurable distance of finding the man you seek.'

Peter looked full at him, but the other did not turn his head; his
horse cantered along lazily in the evening light as he sat loosely in
the saddle, his pale, expressionless face turned towards the path by
which they were travelling.

'The name of the man,' he said, 'is Edward Ogilvie.'

'Yes,' said Peter; 'my brother.' The thing was out now, and he could
thank Heaven that he did not wear his heart on his sleeve.

'It is a very strange story!' said Purvis.

'May we have it?' asked Peter briefly. He might employ Purvis, but it
galled him to think that his future lay in his hands.

'No,' said Purvis, in his hesitating, thin voice. 'You can't have it
for the present. To begin with,' he continued, turning towards Peter
for the first time, and raising pathetically large eyes towards him, 'I
am not going to speak about it until I am sure, nor am I going to speak
about it until I have asked you for some necessary details which will
make a mischance or a case of mistaken identity impossible. I don't
want to make a fool of myself, as you have trusted me so far.'

'Ask me anything you like,' said Peter laconically. His mind was
pretty full just then, and there was a note of confidence in Purvis's
voice which gave him the idea that their search was nearly over. He
began to wonder how much money he had, and whether there was any chance
of the Scottish place being his. Bowshott, of course, would pass away
from him, and the beautiful house with its galleries and its gardens
would be the property of some unknown man. Possibly the man had a
wife, and where Jane was to have reigned as mistress there would be
some woman, unused to great houses, and with manners perhaps not suited
to her position. He wondered what his mother would have thought about
it all, and whether she could in the least realize what the result of
her unfini