But there was no hope to be derived from Sir Oswald's face. A mask of
stone could not have been more inflexible.
"Good morning, sir," said Reginald, in accents that were tremulous with
suppressed rage.
He could say no more, for the servant was in attendance, and he could
not humiliate himself before the man who had been wont to respect him
as Sir Oswald Eversleigh's heir. He took up his hat and cane, bowed to
the baronet, and left the room.
Once beyond the doors of his uncle's mansion, Reginald Eversleigh
abandoned himself to the rage that possessed him.
"He shall repent this," he muttered. "Yes; powerful as he is, he shall
repent having used his power. As if I had not suffered enough already;
as if I had not been haunted perpetually by that girl's pale,
reproachful face, ever since the fatal hour in which I abandoned her.
But those letters; how could they have fallen into my uncle's hands?
That scoundrel, Laston, must have stolen them, in revenge for his
dismissal."
He went to the loneliest part of the Green Park, and, stretched at full
length upon a bench, abandoned himself to gloomy reflections, with his
face hidden by his folded arms.
For hours he lay thus, while the bleak March winds whistled loud and
shrill in the leafless trees above his head--while the cold, gray light
of the sunless day faded into the shadows of evening.
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