The stranger--a young man in a black cassock--bowed courteously, and seated himself in the chair that Percival pointed out. He then spoke in English, but with a foreign accent, which did not sound unpleasantly in Heron's ears. "I have not come on behalf of any charity," he said, "but I come in the interests of justice." "The same thing, I suppose, in the long run," Percival remarked to himself. "But what a fine face the beggar has! He's been ill lately, or else he is half-starved--shall I give him some whisky and a pipe? I suppose he would feel insulted!" While he made these reflections, he replied politely that he was always pleased to serve the interests of justice, offered his guest a glass of wine (chiefly because he looked so thin and pale)--an offer which was smilingly rejected--then crossed his legs, looked up to the ceiling, and awaited in silent resignation the pitiful story which he was sure that this young monk had come to tell. But, after a troubled glance at Mr. Heron's face, (which had a peculiarly reckless and defiant expression by reason of the tossed hair, the habitual frown and the bristles on his chin), the visitor began to speak in a very different strain from the one which Percival had expected. "I have come," he said, "on affairs which concern yourself and your family; and, therefore, I most heartily beg your pardon if I appear to you an insolent intruder, speaking of matters which it does not concern me to know." His formal English sentences were correct enough, but seemed to be constructed with some difficulty. Percival's eyes came down from the ceiling and rested upon his thin, pale face with lazy curiosity. "I should not have thought that my affairs would be particularly interesting to you," he said. "But there you are wrong, they interest me very much," said the young man, with much vivacity. His dark eyes glowed like coals of fire as he proceeded. "There is scarcely anyone whose fortunes are of so much significance to me." "I am much obliged to you," murmured Percival, with lifted eyebrows; "but I hardly understand----" "You will understand quite soon enough, Mr. Heron," said the visitor, quietly. "I have news for you that may not be agreeable. I believe that you have a cousin, a Miss Murray, who lately succeeded to a great fortune." "Yes, but what has that to do with you, if you please?" demanded Heron, his amiability vanishing into space. The stranger lifted his hand. "Allow me one moment. She inherited this fortune on the death of a Mr. Brian Luttrell, I think?" "Exactly--but what----" "Excuse me, Mr. Heron. I come to my piece of news at last. Miss Murray has no right to the property which she is enjoying. Mr. Brian Luttrell is alive!" CHAPTER XXVIII. A REVELATION.