"What have you done!" cried the baronet, passionately.
"Shall I show you two letters, Reginald Eversleigh--two letters which,
by a strange combination of circumstances, have reached my hands; and
in each of which there is the clue to a shameful story--a cruel and
disgraceful story, of which you are the hero?"
"What letters?"
"You shall read them," replied Sir Oswald. "They are addressed to you,
and have been in your possession; but to so fine a gentleman such
letters were of little importance. Another person, however, thought
them worth preserving, and sent them to me."
The baronet took up two envelopes from the table, and handed them to
his nephew.
At the sight of the address of the uppermost envelope, Reginald
Eversleigh's face grew livid. He looked at the lower, and then returned
both documents to his uncle, with a hand that trembled in spite of
himself.
"I know nothing of the letters," he faltered, huskily.
"You do not!" said his uncle; "then it will be necessary for me to
enlighten you."
Sir Oswald took a letter from one of the envelopes, but before reading
it he looked at his nephew with a grave and mournful countenance, from
which all traces of scorn had vanished.
"Before I heard the history of this letter, I fully believed that, in
spite of all your follies and extravagances, you were at least
honourable and generous-hearted.
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