"Tut, tut, tut, man! this will never do," said Mr. Colquhoun, rebukingly. "You're not a girl, nor a child, to cry for a sharp word or two. What's wrong?"
But he got no answer. Not even when Hugo, spent and exhausted with the violence of his emotion, lifted up his face and asked hoarsely for brandy. Mr. Colquhoun gave him what he required, without asking further questions, and tried to induce him to take some solid food; but Hugo absolutely refused to swallow anything but a stiff glass of brandy and water, and allowed himself to be conducted to a bed-room, where he flung himself face downwards on the bed, and preserved a sullen silence.
Mr. Colquhoun did not press him to speak. "I'll hear it all from Margaret Luttrell to-morrow morning," he said to himself. "My mind misgives me that there have been strange doings up at Netherglen to-night. But I'll know to-morrow."
It was at that very moment that Angela Vivian, going into the dressing-room, found a motionless, silent figure, sitting upright in the wheeled arm-chair, a figure, not lifeless, indeed, but with life apparent only in the agonised glance of the restless eyes, which seemed to plead for help. But no help could be given to her now. No more hard words could fall from those stricken lips: no more bitter sentences be written by those nerveless fingers. She might live for years, if dragging on a mute, maimed existence could be, indeed, called living; but, as far as power over the destiny of others, of doing good or harm to her loved ones, was concerned, Margaret Luttrell was practically dead!
Mr. Colquhoun heard the news of Mrs. Luttrell's seizure on the following morning, and made good use of it as a reproach to Dino in the conversation that he had with him. But Dino, although deeply grieved at the turn which things had taken, stood firm. He would have nothing to do with the Strathleckie or the Luttrell properties. Whereupon, Mr. Colquhoun went straight to Miss Murray, and told her, to the best of his ability, the long and intricate story. Be it observed that, although Mr. Colquhoun knew that Brian was living, and that he had lately been in England, he did not know of Brian's appearance at Strathleckie under the name of Stretton, and was, therefore, unable to give Elizabeth any information on this point.
Elizabeth was imperative in her decision.
"At any rate," she said, "the property cannot belong to me. It must belong either to Mr. Luttrell or to Mr. Vasari. I have no right to it."
"Possession is nine points of the law, my dear," said the lawyer. "Nobody can turn you out until Brian comes home again. It may be all a mistake."
"You don't think it a mistake, Mr. Colquhoun?"
Mr. Colquhoun smiled, pursed up his lips, and gave his head a little shake, as much as to say that he was not going to be tricked into any expression of his private opinions.