Arriving at his lodgings in town, he received intelligence he had not at all expected, and which he was ill prepared to bear. The very day he left London a messenger arrived to inform him, that his father was dying, and desired his immediate attendance. The servants had been instructed to inform all inquirers that their master had gone to Ireland. Day after day messengers arrived, and still the same answer was given. His afflicted mother, suspecting some cheat, determined to travel to London herself, to awaken the slumbering soul of her undutiful son: to her also the same answer was returned; nor could she obtain any hint or clue that might enable her to discover his retreat; she was convinced, however, that he had not gone to Ireland. Although fatigued and almost exhausted by the journey, she could not be persuaded to take any refreshments in town, but hastened back to console her dying husband. Uncertain what part of Scotland he should visit, and what stay he might make at each place, he had directed his confidential servant not to send any letters after him. A large packet had accumulated in his absence, which the servant put into his hand at the time he communicated the above unwelcome intelligence. Glancing over the letters, his attention was arrested by one in deep mourning, in the hand-writing of his mother; he guessed the rest. It contained an account of his father’s death; but shuddering at the apprehension of its contents, he could not muster resolution sufficient to break the seal. His carriage was still at the door,—he threw himself in, and ordered the coachman to drive to the country; but the horses were fatigued, and fresh ones must be procured. To fill up the awful interval occasioned by this delay, he again looked over the packet of letters, and found three from his affianced bride. He opened and read one, which was filled with sweet murmurs and gentle upbraidings for his increased delay; the other was to the same effect; but the third was serious and important. It informed him of the death of her father, who, she said, “expired in an instant, without a moment’s warning.” This news he declared thrust into his bosom like a dagger; and, to make his cup of misery overflow, the certainty of his own father’s death, with the reproaches of his last breath which he expected, only were wanting: his mother’s letter would have removed all doubt on this subject, and no man was more impatient of suspense, yet he durst not venture on the perusal; every time he took it up his heart misgave him, and his soul seemed to die away.