saw
nothing that lay beneath the surface, nor, indeed, much that was on the
surface. All that he knew was, that at the moment when his future was
more uncertain than ever, he found himself more isolated and friendless
than ever he remembered to have been. The only set-off against all this
sense of desertion was the letter which Colonel Bramleigh had written in
his behalf, and which he had remembered to write as he lay suffering on
his sick bed. He had told the doctor where to find it, and said it lay
sealed and directed. The address was there, but no seal. It was placed
in an open envelope, on which was written, "Favored by the Rev. G.
L'Estrange." Was the omission of the seal accident or intention? Most
probably accident, because he spoke of having sealed it. And yet that
might have been a mere phrase to imply that the letter was finished.
Such letters were probably, in most cases, either open, or only closed
after being read by him who bore them. Julia would know this. Julia
would be able to clear up this point, thought he, as he pondered and
plodded homeward.

CHAPTER XXIV. DOUBTS AND FEARS.

"And here is the letter, Julia," said L'Estrange, as they sat at tea
together that same evening. "Here is the letter; and if I were as clever
a casuist as Colonel Bramleigh thought me, I should perhaps know whether
I have the right to read it or not."

"Once I have begun to discuss such a point, I distrust my judgment; but
when I pronounce promptly, suddenly, out of mere woman's instinct, I
have great faith in myself."

"And how does your woman's instinct incline here?"

"Not to read it. It may or may not have been the writer's intention
to have sealed it; the omission was possibly a mere accident. At all
events, to have shown you the contents would have been a courtesy at the
writer's option. He was not so inclined--"

"Stop a bit, Julia," cried he, laughing. "Here you are arguing the
case, after having given me the instinctive impulse that would not wait
for logic. Now, I'll not stand 'floggee and preachee' too."

"Don't you see, sir," said she, with a mock air of being offended,
"that the very essence of this female instinct is its being the
perception of an inspired process of reasoning, an instinctive sense of
right, that did not require a mental effort to arrive at?"

"And this instinctive sense of right says, Don't read?"

"Exactly so."

"Well, I don't agree with you," said he, with a sigh. "I don't know