So they wrote to their brother to meet them on the platform, scarcely believing that they could be there in so short a time from London; for they never had travelled by rail before; and they set forth in wonderful spirits, and laughed at the strange, giddy rush of the travelling, and made bets with each other about punctual time (for trains kept much better time while new), and, as long as they could time it, they kept time to a second.

But, sad to relate, they wanted no chronometers when they arrived at Bristol, both being killed at a blow, with their watches still going, and a smile on their faces.

For the train had run into a wall of Bath stone, and several of the passengers were killed.
The sight of his two brothers carried out like this, after so many years of not seeing them, was too much for Mr.Herbert Castlewood's nerves, which always had been delicate.

And he shivered all the more from reproach of conscience, having made up his mind not to lend them any money, as a practical banker was compelled to do.

And from that very moment he began to feel great pain.
Mrs.Price assured me that the doctors all agreed that nothing but change of climate could restore Mr.Castlewood's tone and system, and being full of art (though so simple, as she said, which she could not entirely reconcile), he set off for Italy, and there he stopped, with the good leave of his partners, being now valued highly as heir to the Dean, who was known to have put a good trifle together.