d glancing out now and again at his
eyes, like the fire which darts from the windows of a burning
building.

He wondered now, as he thought of the wrongs he had borne, as it
seemed to him, so patiently; in Rainham's lifetime there had
doubtless been reasons, but was he never to retaliate? Had not he
considered other people enough? His forbearance struck him now as a
kind of weakness, as something almost contemptible, to be thought of
with a feeling akin to shame.

Finally he was ushered up into Mr. Furnival's room, a pleasant
apartment on the first floor, with windows looking out upon a
charming oasis of grass and trees. The lawyer apologized for keeping
him waiting, intimated delicately that he had a pressing appointment
in five minutes' time, and expressed his sympathy with Oswyn's
difficulty as to the letters.

"It's quite a matter for you to decide," he said. "If you like to
take the responsibility you may burn them forthwith, unread; or you
may give them to me, to file with the other papers. But I should
advise you to glance through the later letters, at all events. May I
look at them? Thanks."

Oswyn had given him the packet of letters, and he spread them out on
the table at which he was sitting, methodically, in little heaps,
clearing a space among the piles of drafts and abstracts which lay
before him.

"I think we may destroy these," said Oswyn, pointing to the little
bundle tied up with riband. "I think I know what they are."

"As you like," said Mr. Furnival; "they appear to be from a lady.
Yes, I don't think you need read them."

"And these," continued Oswyn. "They are all from Lady Garnett, and
it is extremely unlikely that they can have any business reference."

"That disposes of nearly all," said the lawyer cheerfully. "I may
put them on the fire, then?"

Oswyn bowed a grave assent, and Mr. Furnival dropped the little
packets quickly into the hottest part of the fire.

"Now, here is a letter with a very recent postmark," he continued.
"A man's writing, too, I should say. Will you read this, while I go
through the others? It looks like rather a long epistle."

The handwriting seemed familiar to Oswyn, and his hand trembled
slightly as he turned to the signature for corroboration. As he
guessed, it was from Lightmark.

"I think I had better read this," he said grimly, half to himself.

He glanced quickly through the letter, and then read it a second
time slowly, and while he was reading it