I tried to quiet him in vain.
His servant and the landlord of the inn entered the room, but they only added fuel to the fire, and I made them go out again.

As I shut the door on them, I observed lying on a table near at hand the packet of letters from Miss Elmslie, which my unhappy friend preserved with such care, and read and re-read with such unfailing devotion.

Looking toward me just when I passed by the table, the letters caught his eye.

The new hope for the future, in connection with the writer of them, which my news was already awakening in his heart, seemed to overwhelm him in an instant at sight of the treasured memorials that reminded him of his betrothed wife.

His laughter ceased, his face changed, he ran to the table, caught the letters up in his hand, looked from them to me for one moment with an altered expression which went to my heart, then sank down on his knees at the table, laid his face on the letters, and burst into tears.
I let the new emotion have its way uninterruptedly, and quitted the room without saying a word.