The groom hesitated and shuffled; but, upon being kept sharply to the point, avowed that it was because the gentleman "seen from behind" looked so much like Mr. Brian Luttrell. "Of course, his face is quite different from Mr. Brian's, sir," he said, hastily, noting a shadow upon Hugo's brow; "and he has grey hair and a beard, and all that; but his walk was a little like poor Mr. Brian's, sir, I thought." Hugo was silent. He had not noticed the man's gait, but, in spite of the grey hair, the tanned complexion, the brown beard--which had lately been allowed to cover the lower part of Mr. Stretton's face, and had changed it very greatly--in spite of all these things he had noticed, and been startled by, the expression of a pair of grave, brown eyes--graver and sadder than Brian's eyes used to be, but full of the tenderness and the sweetness that Hugo had never seen in the face of any other man. Full, also, of recognition; there was the rub. A man who knows you cannot look at you in the same way as one who knows you not, and it was this look of knowledge which had unnerved Hugo, and make him doubt the evidence of his own senses. He was still silent and absorbed when he arrived at Netherglen, and felt glad to hear that he was not to see his aunt until later in the day. Angela came to meet him at the door; she was pale, and her black dress made her look very slender and fragile, but she had the old, sweet smile and pleasant words of welcome for him, and could not understand why his face was so gloomy, and his eyes so obstinately averted from her own. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Hugo was admitted to Mrs. Luttrell's sitting-room. He had scarcely seen her since the death of her eldest son, and was manifestly startled and shocked to see her looking so much more aged and worn than she had been two years ago. She greeted him much after her usual fashion, however; she allowed him to touch her smooth, cold cheek with his lips, and take her stiff hand into his own, but she showed no trace of any softening emotion. "Sit down, Hugo," she said. "I am sorry to have brought you away from your friends." "Oh, I was glad to come," said Hugo, confusedly. "I was not with friends; I was in town. It was late for town, but I--I had business." "This house is no longer a cheerful one," continued Mrs. Luttrell, in a cold, monotonous voice. "There are no attractions for young men now. It has been a house of mourning. I could not expect you to visit me." "Indeed, Aunt Margaret, I would have come if I had known that you wanted me," said Hugo, wondering whether his tardiness would entail the loss of Mrs. Luttrell's money. He recovered his self-possession and his fluency at this thought; if danger were near, it behoved him to be on the alert. "I have wanted you," said Mrs. Luttrell. "But I could wait. I knew that you would come in time. Now, listen to what I have to say." Hugo held his breath. What could she say that needed all this preamble?