refreshing sounds of the Bavarian country life.
All journeys have an end and in time Morton arrived at the Hotel Cecil in London. Here he found his mail awaiting him. A cable from home confirmed the one he had received in Vienna. They were glad he was soon to sail. His father’s condition remained unchanged. The telegram from Brindisi from the doctor was a shock. It read: “Our friend died on November twelfth, conscious to the last, of acute uremia and heart failure. Body in vault. Property all sealed, your agent in possession. Wire or write further instructions. Detailed letter mailed you Mont Cenis mail, reach you seventeenth.”
Morton held the flimsy paper in his hand scarcely believing what he had read. It had come at last. He expected it and yet it shocked him deeply. Well, he must be up and doing quickly.
The wire from Donald told him that the ladies were leaving for Weimar that day. Mr. Tyler was with them