Brian hesitated. He knew well enough the exact locality of the house to which they were going: he had visited it himself in other days. But it was several miles from Netherglen: he would be allowed, he knew, to absent himself from the drawing-room or the dinner-table whenever he chose, he need not come in contact with the people whom he used to know. Besides, he was changed beyond recognition. And probably the two women at Netherglen led so retired a life that neither of them was likely to be encountered--not even at church; for, although the tenants of Netherglen and Strathleckie went to the same town for divine worship on Sunday mornings, yet Mrs. Luttrell and Angela attended the Established Church, while the Herons were certain to go to the Episcopal. And Hugo was away. There was really small chance of his being seen or recognised. He thought that he should be safe. And, while he still hesitated, he looked up and saw that the eyes of Miss Murray were bent upon him with so kindly an inquiry, so gracious a friendliness in their blue depths, that his fears and doubts suddenly took wing, and he thought of nothing but that he should still be with her. He consented. And then, for the first time, it crossed his mind to wonder whether she was a connection of the Murrays to whom his estate had passed, and from whom he believed that Mr. Heron was renting the Strathleckie house. He had left England without ascertaining what members of the Murray family were living; and the letter in which Mr. Colquhoun detailed the facts of Elizabeth's existence and circumstances, had reached Geneva after his departure upon the expedition which was supposed to have resulted in his death. He had never heard of the Herons. He imagined Gordon Murray to be still living--probably with a large family and a wife. He knew that they could not live at Netherglen, and he wondered vaguely whether he should meet them in the neighbourhood to which he was going. Murray was such an ordinary name that in itself it told him nothing at all. Elizabeth Murray! Why, there might be a dozen Elizabeth Murrays within twenty miles of Netherglen: there was no reason at all to suppose that this Elizabeth Murray was a connection of the Gordon Murrays who were cousins of his own--no, not of his own: he had forgotten that never more could he claim that relationship for himself. They were cousins of some unknown Brian Luttrell, brought up under a false name in a small Italian village. What had become of that true Brian, whom he had refused to meet at San Stefano? And had Father Cristoforo succeeded in finding the woman whom he sought, and supplying the missing links in the evidence? In that case, the Murrays would soon hear of the claimant to their estate, and there would be a law-suit. Brian began to feel interested in the matter again. He had lost all care for it in the period following upon his illness. He now foresaw, with something almost like pleasure, that he could easily obtain information