CHAPTER VIII.
THE LOVE LETTER.
'I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair.'
'No one,' Conyngham heard a voice exclaiming as he went into the garden on returning from his fruitless ride, 'no one knows what I have suffered.'
He paused in the dark doorway, not wishing to intrude upon Estella and her visitors; for he perceived the forms of three ladies seated within a miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in feathery luxuriance around a fountain. It was not difficult to identify the voice as that of the eldest lady, who was stout, and spoke in deep, almost manly tones. So far as he was able to judge, the suffering mentioned had left but small record on its victim's outward appearance.
'Old lady seems to have stood it well,' commented the Englishman in his mind.
'Never again
