"Now, Tom," said Octavius, chuckling and placid, as he took the little bottle and spoon from the chimney-piece, "there's a decanter with some old port in that sideboard cellaret, and a glass with it. Help yourself, Tom; help yourself; this is my wine." "But you took a quantity of that laudanum just now," said the doctor. "You're a fool, Tom! You're a purring, sleek-coated fool!" chuckled the old man, hastily filling the spoon again, and swallowing its contents, "Help yourself--you like port, Tom--and then go, and don't come here any more till you're sent for." Doctor Hardon drew himself up to display his offended dignity, but the old man only watched him and chuckled sneeringly; so he slowly rose, and with his professional roll walked to the sideboard and back, filled his glass, and then placed the decanter upon the table. He then sat down, curiously watching his brother, who lay back in his chair, apparently gazing into the fire. The doctor raised the glass to his lips, lowered it once more, and then his fat white hand played nervously round his mouth, for there were strange thoughts in his heart again--strange, undefined thoughts that did not take any particular shape, though there was the glint and chink of money in them all, and its uselessness to the wreck before him; while the hints he had wanted to give him respecting a loan had been passed for want of opportunity. The doctor sighed, and seemed relieved; and then he wiped his forehead, which had turned damp; performed the same operation upon his hands, till the neat white cambric handkerchief was reduced to a miserable wisp; when, apparently further relieved, he took up his glass and drained it, but only to fill it again directly. The port was good, certainly. The doctor played with his glass amorously, touching the rim with his lips, sipping at the bell of the ruby flower like some mammoth bee; held it before the light, and closed one eye to get a more concentrated look at the deep, rich, tawny hue of the fine old wine. Soon he sipped again--largely this time--and rinsed the generous liquor round his mouth, assuming all the airs of a connoisseur; and then he finished the second glassful, and sighed gently, for the effect was decidedly mollifying. All this while Octavius Hardon never moved, but lay back in his chair. The doctor drew out his watch, and found it was ten; but he felt in no hurry to move, for he was accustomed to being late, and it would cause no uneasiness at home; besides, something might come of this, he thought; and as the idea crossed his mind, his forehead again turned slightly moist, and he glanced uneasily at the motionless figure before him. Then he started, for there was a rustle in the passage, and a tap at the door, which was directly after opened, and the housekeeper brought in a chamber-candlestick. "Shall I wait up till you go, sir?" she said to the doctor.