last few minutes been standing with his eyes fixed on him in a state of painful surprise. "As we're going the same road, I'll walk part of the way with you."
"I really believe I am not quite well," said Mr. Wetherall, as he staggered across the room to look for his hat; "have you any brandy in the house, Eliza?"
His wife fetched him a glass of brandy, which having swallowed, he said he didn't doubt but it would set him right; but in attempting to place the glass on the table, he set it on one side and it fell to the ground. "I feel giddy," said he, "and I have a dimness before my eyes, but it will go off when I get into the air," and accompanied by Mr. Lyon, who seeing the condition he was in, offered him his arm, he left the house.
"It's a singular thing about that letter," said Mr. Lyon, when they had walked a little way; "isn't it?"
"Letter?" said Mr. Wetherall, interrogatively.
"The letter found under the grate," replied Mr. Lyon. "I wonder how it came there; or indeed how it ever got to the house at all."
"Oh, servants' letters are so ill directed that
