"Oh." Then there was a long silence. Dino sat down in a chair facing that of Hugo, and confronted him steadily. "I understood," he said at last, "when I was in Italy, that he had resolved to give up all claim to his name, or to his estate. He had disagreeable associations with both. He determined to let himself be thought dead, and to earn his own living under the name of John Stretton." "He did do so," said Hugo, softly; "but he has changed his mind." "And why?" "If I tell you why, may I ask you to keep what I say a profound secret?" Dino hesitated. Then he said firmly, "I will keep it secret so long as he desires me to do so." "Then listen. The reason of his change of mind is this. He has fallen in love. You will ask--with whom? With the woman to whom his estate has passed--Miss Murray. He means to marry her, and in that way to get back the estate which, by his own mad folly, he has forfeited." "Is this true?" said Dino, slowly. He fixed his penetrating dark eyes upon Hugo as he spoke, and turned a little pale. "And does this lady--this Miss Murray--know who he is? For I hear that he calls himself Stretton in her house. Does she know?" Hugo deliberated a little. "No," he answered, "I am sure that she does not." Dino rose to his feet. "It is impossible," he said, with an indignant flash of his dark eyes, which startled Hugo; "Brian would never be so base." "My only wonder is," murmured Hugo, reflectively, "that Brian should be so clever." "You call it clever?" said Dino, still more indignantly. "You call it clever to deceive a woman, to marry her for her money, to mislead her about one's name? Are these your English fashions? Is it clever to break your word, to throw away the love and the help that is offered you, to show yourself selfish, and designing, and false? This is what you tell me about the man whom you call your cousin, and then you ask me to admire his behaviour? Oh, no, I do not admire it. I call it mean, and base, and vile. And that is why he would not come to see me himself; that is why he sent you as an emissary. He could not look me in the face and tell me the things that you have told me!" He sat down again. The fire died out of his eyes, the hectic colour from his cheek. "But I do not believe it!" he said, more sorrowfully than angrily; and in a much lower voice; "I do not believe that he means to do this thing. He was always good and always true." Hugo watched him, and spoke after a little pause. "You had his letter," he said. "He told you to believe what I said to you. I could explain his views."