The brothers were usually on such pleasant terms that their silence to each other during the meal became a matter of remark to others beside Angela and Mrs. Luttrell. Had they quarrelled? There was an evident coolness between them; for, on the only occasion on which they addressed each other, Richard contemptuously contradicted his brother with insulting directness, and Brian replied with what for him was decided warmth. But the matter dropped--perhaps each was ashamed of having manifested his annoyance in public--and only their silence to each other betrayed that anything was wrong. The party separated into three portions after luncheon. Mrs. Luttrell and a lady of her own age agreed to remain indoors, or to stroll quietly round the garden. Angela and two or three other young people meant to get out the boat and fish the loch for pike. Richard and a couple of his friends were going to shoot in the neighbouring woods. And, while these arrangements were making, and everybody was standing about the hall, or in the wide porch which opened out into the garden, Hugo's name was again mentioned. "What has become of that boy?" said Mrs. Luttrell. "He is not generally so late. Richard, do you know?" "I'll tell you afterwards, mother," answered her son, in a low tone. "Don't say anything more about him just now." "Is there anything wrong?" said his mother, also lowering her voice. But he had turned away. "Brian, what is it?" she asked, impatiently. "For Heaven's sake, don't ask Brian," said Richard, looking back over his shoulder, "there is no knowing what he may not require you to believe. Leave the story to me." "I've no desire to tell it," replied Brian, moving away. Luttrell's friends were already outside the hall door, lighting their cigars and playing with the dogs. A keeper stood in the background, waiting until the party should start. "Aren't you coming, Brian?" said one of the young men. "I'll join you presently," said Brian. "I am going down to the loch first to get out the boat." "What a splendid gun that is of yours!" said Archie Grant, the younger of the two men. "It is yours, is it not? I saw it in the corner of the hall as I came in. You had it the other day at the Duke's." "It was not mine. It belongs to Hugo." "Let me have a look at it again; it's an awfully fine one." "Are you ready, Grant?" said Richard Luttrell, coming forward. "What are you looking for?" "Oh, nothing; a gun," said the young fellow. "I see it's gone. I thought it was there when I first came in; it's of no consequence." "Not your own gun, I suppose?" "No, no; I have my own. It was Hugo's." "Yes; rather a fine one," said Richard, indifferently. "You're not coming, then?"--to Brian--"well, perhaps it's as well." And he marched away without deigning to bestow another look or word upon his brother.