There was no letter-box; Richard went to answer the knock.

An envelope addressed to himself in a small, formal hand.
His thoughts still busy with other things, he opened the letter mechanically as he re-entered the room.

He had never in his life been calmer; the early hour of study had kept his mind pleasantly active whilst his breakfast appetite sharpened itself.

Never was man less prepared to receive startling intelligence.
He read, then raised his eyes and let them stray from the papers on the table to the wax-fruit before the window, thence to the young leafage of the trees around the Baptist Chapel.

He was like a man whose face had been overflashed by lightning.