"Hush, father!" cried Septimus. "I love her;" and he said those simple words with such reverence, such tenderness, that the old man paused and gazed almost wonderingly at the aspect worn by his son; but by degrees his anger gained the ascendant, and a stormy scene ensued in which the father threatened and besought in turn, while the son remained calm and immovable. Once he shrunk back and held up his hands deprecatingly, when the old man spoke harshly of the stricken woman; but directly after his face lit up with a pride and contentment which almost maddened the speaker. "You cannot keep a wife!" he gasped. Septimus smiled. "You were always a helpless, vacillating fool, and you have nothing but the few hundreds from your mother." Septimus bowed his head. "Dog!" roared the old man, "I'll leave every penny I have to your uncle's hussies if you dare to marry this woman." The son smiled sadly, but remained silent. "Why don't you speak?" roared Octavius, foaming with rage. "What would you have me say, father?" said Septimus calmly. "Say!" gasped the old man; "why, that you are a thankless, graceless, unnatural scoundrel. But where do you mean to go?" "To London," said Septimus. "To London!" sneered the old man; "and what for? No; go to Hanwell, or Colney Hatch, or sink your paltry money at a private asylum, if they will take you. To London, to leave me to my infirmities, with my book unfinished! But you'll take my curse with you; and may yon brazen, scheming woman--" "Hush!" cried Septimus fiercely, as he laid his hand upon his father's lips, when, beside himself with fury, Octavius struck his son heavily in the face, and then, as he fell back, the old man seized the poker, but only to throw it crashing back into the fender. Just at that moment, the door opened, a tall, dark, handsome girl hurried into the room, and stood between father and son, gazing in an agitated way from one anger-wrought countenance to the other. "Septimus! Uncle!" she cried, "what is the matter?" "He's a villain, girl--an unnatural scoundrel. He's going to marry that woman--Grey's wife--widow--relict--curse her!" "What, poor Mrs Grey?" said the girl, with the tears springing to her eyes. "God bless you for that, Agnes!" cried Septimus passionately, as he caught her in his arms, and kissed her affectionately. "Yes, _poor_ Mrs Grey," sneered the old man, looking savagely at the pair before him. "But there, let him go; and mind _you_, or you won't have what I've got. But there, you will, and your sisters will have something to fleer and jeer at then, and your father will purr in my face, and spit and swear behind my back. Bah! a cursed tom-cat humbug!" "Hush, uncle dear!" whispered Agnes, laying one hand upon his arm and the other upon his breast, her lip quivering as she spoke,--"hush! you are angry.--Don't say any more, Septimus." "No," replied Septimus sternly, "I have done."