as obliged to go on to Geneva, as
he knew that letters and remittances were to await him there. As soon as
he had received the answer that Mr. Colquhoun would send to his letter
of inquiry, he would proceed to Italy at once.

Some delay in obtaining the expected remittances kept Brian for more
than a week at Geneva. And there, in spite of the seclusion in which he
chose to live, and his resolute avoidance of all society, it happened
that before he had been in the place three days he met an old University
acquaintance--a strong, cheery, good-natured fellow called Gunston,
whose passion for climbing Swiss mountains seemed to be unappeasable. He
tried hard to make Brian accompany him on his next expedition, but
failed. Both strength and energy were wanting to him at this time.

Mr. Colquhoun's answers to Brian's communications were short, and, to
the young-man's mind, unsatisfactory. "At the time when Mrs. Luttrell
first made the statement that she believed you to be Vincenza Vasari's
son, her mind was in a very unsettled state. Medical evidence went to
show that mothers did at times conceive a violent dislike to one or
other of their children. This was probably a case in point. The Vasaris
were honest, respectable people, and there was no reason to suppose that
any fraud had been perpetrated. At the same time, it was impossible to
convince Mrs. Luttrell that her own child had not died; and Mr.
Colquhoun was of opinion that she would never acknowledge Brian as her
son again, or consent to hold any personal intercourse with him."

"It would be better if I were dead and out of all this uncertainty,"
said Brian, bitterly, when he had read the letter. Yet, something in it
gave him a sort of stimulus. He took several long excursions, late
though the season was; and in a few days he again encountered Gunston,
who was delighted to welcome him as a companion. Brian was a practised
mountaineer; and though his health had lately been impaired, he seemed
to regain it in the cold, clear air of the Swiss Alps. Gunston did not
find him a genial companion; he was silent and even grim; but he was a
daring climber, and exposed his life sometimes with a hardihood which
approached temerity.

But a day arrived on which Brian's climbing feats came to an end. They
had made an easy ascent, and were descending the mountain on the
southern side, when an accident took place. It was one which often
occurs, and which can be easily pictured to onese