“I tossed it down on the seat, not caring to read any news since Lottie was dead. In fact, I felt a peculiar hatred against all telegraph lines, and more especially against the one that had brought me the fatal news. Mr. Steelbrim started his engine forward with such a sudden plunge that it threw me to the third seat behind where I was standing, pitching me head foremost against the stove-pipe, slightly bruising my head. I think the effect of the shock was beneficial, for it seemed to relieve the smothering sensation which had afflicted me for some time. Seating myself where I could watch Wallingford--for I was afraid he meditated self-murder--I began to conjecture in regard to the contents of the envelope that lay on the seat just in front of me, and as is usual in such cases, never guessed anywhere near the truth. I might have gone on conjecturing for a hundred years, and I dare say I never would have made the right guess as to the purport of the message. After taxing my mind in that way for five minutes: “‘I have hit the mark at last,’ I muttered to myself: ‘The sheriff will let Miss Bramlett attend Lottie’s funeral.’ “Having satisfied myself that I had at last made the proper guess, I took the envelope, tore it open and held it carelessly for some time before I commenced reading it. I have that particular telegram here in my bosom; and I have no doubt my friends would like to hear it read. I had often heard men say that the danger of death being caused by good news was equal to that produced by bad; but I never did credit any such notions until after I received that dispatch. I am now a full believer in the idea that death could be, and doubtless has often been, produced by the sudden shock occasioned by the reception of unexpected good news; but let me read you the telegram: “‘MEMPHIS, 10:10 P. M.