A waiter attended
me, and I suppose I gave my orders; for presently I
found myself, with a sudden return of consciousness,
beginning dinner. On the white cloth at my elbow lay
the letter, addressed in a clerk's hand, and bearing an
English stamp and the Edinburgh postmark. A bowl of
bouillon and a glass of wine awakened in one corner of
my brain (where all the rest was in mourning, the
blinds down as for a funeral) a faint stir of
curiosity; and while I waited the next course,
wondering the while what I had ordered, I opened and
began to read the epoch-making document:
"DEAR SIR,--I am charged with the melancholy duty of
announcing to you the death of your excellent
grandfather, Mr. Alexander Loudon, on the 17th ult.
On Sunday the 13th he went to church as usual in the
forenoon, and stopped on his way home, at the corner
of Princes Street, in one of our seasonable east
winds, to talk with an old friend. The same evening
acute bronchitis declared itself; from the first, Dr.
M'Combie anticipated a fatal result, and the old
gentleman appeared to have no illusion as to his own
state.
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