"But everything to God," murmured Angela. He raised his eyes to her face and did not speak. "Pray for His forgiveness, Hugo, and He will grant it. Even if your sins are as scarlet they shall be as white as snow."
"I want your forgiveness," he whispered, "and nothing more."
"I will give you mine," she said, and the tears fell from her eyes as she spoke; "and Brian will give you his: yes, Brian, yes. As we hope ourselves to be forgiven, Hugo, we forgive you; and we will pray with you for God's forgiveness, too."
She had taken Brian's hand and laid it upon Hugo's, and for a moment the three hands rested together in one strangely loving clasp. And then Hugo whispered, "Pray for me if you like: I—I dare not pray."
And, forgetful of any human presence but that of this sick, sinful soul about to come before its Maker, Angela prayed aloud.
He died in the early dawn, with his hand still clasped in hers. The short madness of his love for Kitty seemed to have faded from his memory. Perhaps all earthly things had grown rather faint to him: certain it was that his attempt on the lives of Dino and of Mrs. Luttrell did not seem to weigh very heavily on his conscience. It was the thought of Richard Luttrell that haunted him more than all beside. It was with a long, shuddering moan of fear—and, as Angela hoped (but only faintly hoped), of penitence—that his soul went out into the darkness of eternity.
With Hugo Luttrell's death, the troubles of the family at Netherglen seemed to disappear. Old Mrs. Luttrell's powers of speech remained with her, although she could not use her limbs; and the hardness and stubbornness of her character had undergone a marvellous change. She wept when she heard of Dino's death; but her affection for Brian, and also for Elizabeth, proved to be strong and unwavering. Her great desire—that the properties of Netherglen and Strathleckie should be united—was realised in a way of which she had never dreamt. Brian himself believed firmly that he was of Italian parentage and that Dino Vasari was the veritable heir of the Luttrells; but the notion was now so painful to Mrs. Luttrell, that he never spoke of it, and agreed, as he said to Elizabeth, to be recognised as the master of Netherglen and Strathleckie under false pretences. "For the whole estate, to tell the truth, is yours, not mine," he said. And she: "What does that matter, since we are man and wife! There is no 'mine and thine' in the case. It is all yours and all mine; for we are one."
In fact, no words were more applicable to Brian and Elizabeth than the quaint lines of the old poet: