"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 his expression was such as to confirm the solicitor's previous opinion, that the man was a little bit mad.
When he had finished his perusal (he thought at the time that he should never forget a single word of that disgraceful letter), Oswyn sat in silence for some minutes, intently watching Mr. Furnival's struggles with a large bundle of papers and a small black bag.
The letter had, if such a thing were possible, increased his contempt for the writer; that the man was insincere (Oswyn would have used a far stronger term) he had been aware from the beginning; now he knew that he was a coward, a creature almost unworthy of his hatred.