FRIENDS AND BROTHERS.
In a little room on the second-floor of a London lodging-house near
Manchester-square, Brian Luttrell was packing a box, with the few scanty
possessions that he called his own. He had little light to see by, for
the slender, tallow candle burnt with a very uncertain flame: the glare
of the gas lamps in the street gave almost a better light. The floor was
uncarpeted, the furniture scanty and poor: the fire in the grate
smouldered miserably, and languished for want of fuel. But there was a
contented look on Brian's face. He even whistled and hummed to himself
as he packed his box, and though the tune broke down, and ended with a
sigh, it showed a mind more at ease than Brian's had been for many a
long day.
"Heigho!" he said, rising from his task, and giving the box a shove with
his foot into a corner, "I wonder where Dino is? He ought not to be out
so late with that cough of his. I suppose he has gone to Brett and
Grattan's. I am glad the dear fellow has put himself into their hands.
Right ought to be done: she would have said so herself, and I know Dino
will be generous. It would suit him very well to take a money
compensation, and let her continue to reign, with glories somewhat
shorn, however, at Strathleckie. I am afraid he will do nothing but
enrich San Stefano with his inheritance. He certainly will not settle
down at Netherglen as a country squire.
"What will my mother say? Pooh! I must get out of that habit of calling
her my mother. She is no relation of mine, as she herself told me. Mrs.
Luttrell!--it sounds a little odd. Odder, too, to think that I must
never sign myself Brian Luttrell any more. Bernardino Vasari! I think I
might as well stick to the plain John Stretton, which I adopted on the
spur of the moment at San Stefano. I suppose I shall soon have to meet
the woman who calls herself--who is--my mother. I will say nothing harsh
or unkind to her, poor thing! She has done herself a greater injury than
she has done me."
So he meditated, with his face bent over his folded arms upon the
mantelpiece. A slow step on the stair roused him, he poked the fire
vigorously, lighted another candle, and then opened the door.
"Is that you, Dino?" he said. "Where have you been for the last three
hours?"
Dino it was. He came in without speaking, and dropped into a chair, as
if exhausted with fatigue. Brian repeated his question, but when Dino
tried to answer it, a fit of coughing choked his words. It lasted
several minutes, and left him panting, with the perspiration standing in
great beads upon his brow.
With a grave and anxious face Brian brought him some water, wrapped a
cloak round his shaking shoulders, and stood by him, waiting for the
paroxysm of coughing to abate. Dino's cough was seldom more than the
little hacking one, which the wound in his side seemed to have left, but
it was always apt to grow worse in cold or foggy weather, and at times
increased to positive violence. Brian, who had visited him regularly
while he was in hospital, and nursed him with a woman's tenderness as
soon as he was discharged from it, had never known it to be so bad as it
was on this occasion.
"You've been overdoing yourself, old fellow," he said, affectionately,
when Dino was able to look up and smile. "You have been out too late.
And this den of mine is not the place for you. You must clear out of it
as soon as you can."
"Not as long as you are here," said Dino.
"That was all very well as long as we could remain unknown. But now that
Brett and Grattan consent to take up your case, as I knew they would all
along, they will want to see you: your friends and relations will want
to visit you; and you must not be found here with me. I'll settle you in
new lodgings before I sail. There's a comfortable place in Piccadilly
that I used to know, with a landlady who is honest and kind."
"Too expensive for me," Dino murmured, with a pleasant light in his
eyes, as Brian made preparations for their evening meal, with a skill
acquired by recent practice.
"You forget that your expenses will be paid out of the estate," said
Brian, "in the long run. Did not Brett offer to advance you funds if you
wanted them?"
"Yes, and I declined them. I had enough from Father Christoforo,"
answered Dino, rather faintly. "I did not like to run the risk of
spending what I might not be able to repay."
"Brett would not have offered you money if he did not feel very sure of
his case. There can be no doubt of that," said Brian, as he set two
cracked tea-cups on the table, and produced a couple of chops and a
frying-pan from a cupboard. "You need not be afraid."
For some minutes the sound of hissing and spluttering that came from the
frying-pan effectually prevented any further attempts at conversation.
When the cooking was over, Dino again addressed his friend.
"Do you want to know what I have been doing?"
"Yes, I mean you to give an account of yourself. But not until you have
had some food. Eat and drink first; then talk."
Dino smiled and came to the table. But he had no appetite: he swallowed
a few mouthfuls, evidently to please Brian only; then went back to the
solitary arm-chair by the fire, and closed his eyes.
Brian did not disturb him. It was plain that Dino, not yet strong after
his accident, had wearied himself out. He was glad, however, when the
young man roused himself from a light and fitful doze, and said in his
naturally tranquil voice:--
"I am ready to give an account of myself, as you call it, now."
"Then tell me," said Brian, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, and
looking down upon the pale, somewhat emaciated countenance, with a
tender smile, "what you mean by going about London in a dress which I
thought that you had renounced for ever?"
"It only means," said Dino, returning the smile, "that you were
mistaken. I had not renounced it, and I think that I shall keep to it
now."
"You can hardly do that in your position," said Brian, quietly.
"My position! What is that to me? 'I had rather be a door-keeper in the
house of the Lord'--you know what I mean: I have said it all to you
before. If I go back to Italy, Brian, and the case falls through, as it
may do through lack of witnesses, will you not take your own again?"
"And turn out Miss Murray? Certainly not." Then, after a pause, Brian
asked, rather sternly, "What do you mean by the lack of witnesses? There
are plenty of witnesses. There is--my--my mother--for one."
"No. She is dead."
"Dead. Vincenza Vasari dead?"
Dino recounted to him briefly enough the details of the catastrophe, but
acknowledged, in reply to his quick questions, that there was no
necessity for his claim to be given up on account of the death of these
two persons. Mr. Brett, with whom he had conferred before visiting
Percival Heron, had assured him that there could be no doubt of his
identity with the child whom Mrs. Luttrell had given Vincenza to nurse;
and, knowing the circumstances, he thought it probable that the law-suit
would be an amicable one, and that Miss Murray would consent to a
compromise. All this, Dino repeated, though with some reluctance, to his
friend.
"You see, Brian," he continued, "there will be no reason for your hiding
yourself if my case is proved. You would not be turning out Miss Murray
or anybody else. You would be my friend, my brother, my helper. Will you
not stay in England and be all this to me? I ask you, as I have asked
you many times before, but I ask it now for the last time. Stay with me,
and let it be no secret that you are living still."
"I can't do it, Dino. I must go. You promised not to ask it of me again,
dear old fellow."
"Let me come with you, then. We will both leave Miss Murray to enjoy her
inheritance in peace."
"No, that would not be just."
"Just! What do I care for justice?" said Dino, indignantly, while his
eyes grew dark and his cheeks crimson with passionate feeling. "I care
for you, for her, for the happiness of you both. Can I do nothing
towards it?"
"Nothing, I think, Dino mio."
"But you will stay with me until you go? You will not cast me off as you
have cast off your other friends? Promise me."
"I promise you, Dino," said Brian, laying his hand soothingly on the
other's shoulder. It seemed to him that Dino must be suffering from
fever; that he was taking a morbidly exaggerated view of matters. But
his next words showed that his excitement proceeded from no merely
physical cause.
"I have done you no harm, at any rate," he said, rising and holding
Brian's hand between his own. "I have made up my mind. I will have none
of this inheritance. It shall either be yours or hers. I do not want it.
And I have taken the first step towards ridding myself of it."
"What have you done?" said Brian.
"Will you ever forgive me?" asked Dino, looking half-sadly,
half-doubtfully, into his face. "I am not sure that you ever will. I
have betrayed you. I have said that you were alive."
Brian's face first turned red, then deathly pale. He withdrew his hand
from Dino's grasp, and took a backward step.
"You!" he said, in a stifled voice. "You! whom I thought to be my
friend!"
"I am your friend still," said Dino.
Brian resumed his place by the mantelpiece, and played mechanically with
the ornaments upon it. His face was pale still, but a little smile had
begun to curve his lips.
"So," he said, slowly, "my deep-laid plans are frustrated, it seems. I
did not think you would have done this, Dino. I took a good deal of
trouble with my arrangements."
The tone of gentle satire went to Dino's heart. He looked appealingly at
Brian, but did not speak.
"You have made me look like a very big fool," said Brian, quietly, "and
all to no purpose. You can't make me stay in England, you know, or
present myself to be recognised by Mrs. Luttrell, and old Colquhoun. I
shall vanish to South America under another name, and leave no trace
behind, and the only result of your communication will be to disturb
people's minds a little, and to make them suppose that I had repented of
my very harmless deception, and was trying to get money out of you and
Miss Murray."
"Nobody would think so who knows you."
"Who does know me? Not even you, Dino, if you think I would take
advantage of what you have said to-night. Go to-morrow, and tell Brett
that you were mistaken. It is Brett you have told, of course."
"It is not Brett."
"Who then?"
"Mr. Percival Heron," said Dino, looking him steadily in the face.
Brian drew himself up into an upright posture, with an ejaculation of
astonishment. "Good Heavens, Dino! What have you been doing?"
"My duty," answered Dino.
"Your duty! Good Heavens!--unpardonable interference I should call it
from any one but you. You don't understand the ways of the world! How
should you, fresh from a Romish seminary? But you should understand that
it is wiser, safer, not to meddle with the affairs of other people."
"Your affairs are mine," said Dino, with his eyes on the ground.
Brian laughed bitterly. "Hardly, I think. I have given no one any
authority to act for me. I may manage my affairs badly, but on the whole
I must manage them for myself."
"I knew that I should have to bear your reproaches," said Dino, with
folded arms and downcast eyes. Then, after a pause, during which Brian
walked up and down the room impatiently, he added in a lower tone, "But
I did not think that they would have been so bitter."
Brian stopped short and looked at him, then came and laid his hand
gently on his shoulder. "Poor Dino!" he said, "I ought to remember how
unlike all the rest of the world you are. Forgive me. I did not mean to
hurt you. No doubt you thought that you were acting for the best."
Dino looked up, and met the somewhat melancholy kindness of Brian's
gaze. His heart was already full: his impulsive nature was longing to
assert itself: with one great sob he threw his arms round Brian's neck,
and fell weeping upon his shoulder.
"But, my dear Dino," said Brian, when the storm (the reason of which he
understood very imperfectly) had subsided, "you must see that this
communication of my secret to Mr. Heron will make a difference in my
plans."
"What difference?"
"I must start to-morrow instead of next week."
"No, Brian, no."
"I must, indeed. Heron will tell your story to Brett, to Colquhoun, to
Mrs. Luttrell, to Miss Murray. He may have telegraphed it already. It is
very important to him, because, you see," said Brian, with a sad
half-smile, "he is going to marry Miss Murray, and, unless he knows your
history, he will think that my existence will deprive her of her
fortune."
"I do not believe he will tell your story to anyone."
"Dino, caro mio! Heron is a man of honour. He can do nothing less,
unfortunately."
"I think he will do less. I think that no word of what I have told him
will pass his lips."
"It would be impossible for him to keep silence," remarked Brian,
coldly, and Dino said nothing more.
It was after a long silence, when the candle had died out, and the fire
had grown so dim that they could not see each other's faces, that Brian
said in a low, but quiet tone--
"Did you tell him why I left Strathleckie?"
"Yes, I did."
Brian suppressed a vexed exclamation. It was no use trying to make Dino
understand his position.
"What did he say?" he asked.
"He knew already."
"Ah! Yes. So I should have supposed." And there the conversation ended.
Long after Dino was tranquilly sleeping, Brian Luttrell sat by the
ricketty round table in the middle of the room labouring at the
composition of one or two letters, which seemed very difficult to write.
Sheet after sheet was torn up and thrown aside. The grey dawn was
creeping in at the window before the last word was written, and the
letters placed within their respective envelopes. Slowly and carefully
he wrote the address of the longest letter--wrote it, as he thought, for
the last time--Mrs. Luttrell, Netherglen, Dunmuir. Then he stole quietly
out of the house, and slipped it into the nearest pillar-box. The other
letter--a few lines merely--he put in his pocket, unaddressed. On his
return he entered the tiny slip of a room which Dino occupied, fearing
lest his movements should have disturbed the sleeper. But Dino had not
stirred. Brian stood and looked at him for a little while, thinking of
the circumstances in which they had first met, of the strange bond which
subsisted between them, and lastly of the curious betrayal of his
confidence, so unlike Dino's usual conduct, which Brian charitably set
down to ignorance of English customs and absence of English reserve. He
guessed no finer motive, and his mouth curled with an irrepressible, if
somewhat mournful, smile, as he turned away, murmuring to himself:--
"I have had my revenge."
He did not leave England next day. Dino's entreaties weighed with him;
and he knew also that he himself had acted in a way which was likely to
nullify his friend's endeavours to reinstate him in his old position. He
waited with more curiosity than apprehension for the letter, the
telegram, the visit, that would assure him of Percival's uprightness.
For Brian had no doubt in his own mind as to what Percival Heron ought
to do. If he learnt that Brian Luttrell was still living, he ought to
communicate the fact to Mr. Colquhoun at least. And if Mr. Colquhoun
were the kindly old man that he used to be, he would probably hasten to
London to shake hands once more with the boy that he had known and loved
in early days. Brian was so certain of this that he caught himself
listening for the door-bell, and rehearsing the sentences with which he
should excuse his conduct to his kind, old friend.
But two days passed away, and he watched in vain. No message, no
visitor, came to show him that Percival Heron had told the story.
Perhaps, however, he had written it in a letter. Brian silently
calculated the time that a letter and its answer would take. He found
that by post it was not possible to get a reply until an hour after the
time at which he was to start.
In those two days Dino had an interview with Mr. Brett, from which he
returned looking anxious and uneasy. He told Brian, however, nothing of
its import, and Brian did not choose to ask. The day and the hour of
Brian's departure came without further conversation between them on the
subject which was, perhaps, nearer than any other to their hearts. Dino
wanted to accompany his friend to the ship by which he was to sail: but
Brian steadily refused to let him do so. It was strange to see the
relation between these two. In spite of his youth, Dino usually inspired
a feeling of respect in the minds of other men: his peculiarly grave and
tranquil manner made him appear older and more experienced than he
really was. But with Brian, he fell naturally into the position of a
younger brother: he seemed to take a delight in leaning upon Brian's
judgment, and surrendering his own will. He had been brought up to
depend upon others in this way all through his life; but Brian saw
clearly enough that the habit was contrary to his native temperament,
and that, when once freed from the leading-strings in which he had
hitherto been kept, he would certainly prove himself a man of remarkably
strong and clear judgment. It was this conviction that caused Brian to
persist in his intention of going to South America: Dino would do better
when left to himself, than when leaning upon Brian, as his affection led
him to do.
"You will come back," said Dino, in a tone that admitted of no
contradiction. "I know you will come back."
"Dino mio, you will come to see me some day, perhaps," said Brian.
"Listen. I leave their future in your care. Do you understand? Make it
possible for them to be happy."
"I will do what is possible to bring you home again."
"Caro mio, that is not possible," said Brian. "Do not try. You see this
letter? Keep it until I have been an hour gone; then open it. Will you
promise me that?"
"I promise."
"And now good-bye. Success and good fortune to you," said Brian, trying
to smile. "When we meet again----"
"Shall we ever meet again?" said Dino, with one arm round Brian's neck,
with his eyes looking straight into Brian's, with a look of pathetic
longing which his friend never could forget. "Or is it a last farewell?
Brother--my brother--God bless thee, and bring thee home at last." But
it was of no earthly home that Dino thought.
And then they parted.
It was more than an hour before Dino thought of opening the letter which
Brian had left with him. It ran as follows:--
"Dino mio, pardon me if I have done wrongly. You told my story and I
have told yours. I feared lest you, in your generosity, should hide the
truth, and therefore I have written fully to your mother. Go to her if
she sends for you, and remember that she has suffered much. I have told
her that you have the proofs: show them to her, and she will be
convinced. God bless you, my only friend and brother."
Dino's head dropped upon his hands. Were all his efforts vain to free
himself from the burden of a wealth which he did not desire? The Prior
of San Stefano had forced him into the position of a claimant to the
estate. With his long-formed habits of obedience it seemed impossible to
gainsay the Prior's will. Here, in England, it was easier. And Dino was
more and more resolved to take his own way.
A letter was brought to him at that moment. He opened it, and let his
eyes run mechanically down the sheet. Then he started violently, and
read it again with more attention. It contained one sentence and a
signature:--
"If Dino Vasari of San Stefano will visit me at Netherglen, I will hear
what he has to say.
"Margaret Luttrell."
Could he have expected more? And yet, to his excited fancy, the words
seemed cold and hard.