habit of parenthetical composition.]

Sir William Brandon did not give himself time to re-read this letter,
in order to make it more intelligible, before he wrote to one of his
professional compeers, requesting him to fill his place during his
unavoidable absence, on the melancholy occasion of his brother's
expected death; and having so done, he immediately set off for Warlock.
Inexplicable even to himself was that feeling, so nearly approaching to
real sorrow, which the worldly lawyer felt at the prospect of losing his
guileless and unspeculating brother. Whether it be that turbulent and
ambitious minds, in choosing for their wavering affections the very
opposites of themselves, feel (on losing the fellowship of those calm,
fair characters that have never crossed their rugged path) as if they
lost, in losing them, a kind of haven for their own restless thoughts
and tempest-worn designs!--be this as it may, certain it is that when
William Brandon arrived at his brother's door, and was informed by
the old butler, who for the first time was slow to greet him, that the
squire had just breathed his last, his austere nature forsook him at
once, and he felt the shock with a severity perhaps still keener than
that which a more genial and affectionate heart would have experienced.

As soon as he had recovered his self-possession, Sir William made
question of his niece; and finding that after an unrelaxing watch during
the whole of the squire's brief illness, nature had failed her at his
death, and she had been borne senseless from his chamber to her own,
Brandon walked with a step far different from his usual stately gait to
the room where his brother lay. It was one of the oldest apartments
in the house, and much of the ancient splendour that belonged to
the mansion ere its size had been reduced, with the fortunes of its
successive owners, still distinguished the chamber. The huge mantelpiece
ascending to the carved ceiling in grotesque pilasters, and scroll-work
of the blackest oak, with the quartered arms of Brandon and Saville
escutcheoned in the centre; the panelled walls of the same dark
wainscot; the armorie of ebony; the high-backed chairs, with their
tapestried seats; the lofty bed, with its hearse-like plumes and
draperies of a crimson damask that seemed, so massy was the substance
and so prominent the flowers, as if it were rather a carving than a
silk,--all conspired with the size of the room to give it a feudal