Read it through once

And there was yet another event to be recorded, something so wonderful that news of it must, perforce, be sent to the friend in London. The Doctor, dining with a friend off a brace of grouse sent by another friend, “took three glasses of claret, and afterwards two glasses more; enjoying them, not taking them, as he does the gravy, medicinally; but feeling the pleasure, the strange pleasure, that gentlemen do feel in the scent and taste of fine wine, especially when shared with a friend. _And he called me again, ‘my treasure,’_ always his favourite word for his poor daughter. It rejoices my heart. _Of course its previous omission was accidental._ I feel sure now that he was not angry; but before, I had _so_ feared it; and it had _so_ grieved me—grieved me to the very bottom of my heart. So that, if it had pleased God to take him _then_, I do believe that I should have died of very grief. I thought that I must have said something, or done something, or left something unsaid or undone, that had displeased him. _Now_, so far as that goes, my heart is at ease, and it is the taking off of a great load.”