Mrs Hardon slightly drew down the corners of her mouth in a contemptuous grimace as she left the room, but returned in a few minutes looking pale and scared; and then she carefully closed the door after her. "It's quite taken my breath away!" exclaimed Mrs Hardon. "He frightened me: what made you tell me that Septimus was dead?" "Well, isn't he?" said the doctor, shuffling hastily round in his chair. "Dead?" exclaimed Mrs Hardon. "If he is, it's his ghost that has come down: that's all." "Come down?" cried the doctor, turning of a dirty pallid hue. "And he's walked all the way from London. And you never saw such a poor, deplorable-looking object in your life. He looks twenty years older, that he does." "What does he want?" cried the doctor, panting in spite of his efforts to keep down his emotion. "Says he's come down to see his father, and to attend to his affairs." "Well, tell him to go to Keening's. I won't see him--I won't see him. My nerves won't bear it; they have not recovered from the last shock yet, let alone that horrible night of the robbery." "But you'd better see him," said Mrs Hardon, whose woman's heart was touched by her visitor's aspect. "No, no; I can't--I can't bear it, and it's better that I should not;" and as he spoke there was no dissimulation in the doctor's words or mien: he was undoubtedly very much moved. "But you must see him; and besides, it will seem so strange if it's known in the town that you sent him away like that." "Well--er--well--perhaps I had better," said the doctor; "where is he? I'll go to him, or--no, let him come in here; but put away the wine first." Mrs Hardon took no notice of the last remark, but went out, and returned directly with Septimus Hardon, footsore, dusty, and travel-stained. "Good-evening, Mr Septimus," said the doctor, in the tone of voice he had heard so often from his patients, and as he spoke he slightly bent forward, but lay back again directly in his chair, without offering his visitor a seat. "Good-evening, Mr Septimus. I suppose we must say Hardon?" "If you please, uncle," said Septimus, somewhat startled at his strange reception--a reception more chilling even than in his diffidence he had anticipated. "Sit down, Septimus, you look tired," said Mrs Hardon, pouring out a glass of wine for the visitor, who drank it with avidity, for he was faint and agitated, feeling somewhat like the Prodigal, though this was no prodigal's welcome. "How do you find business, Mr Septimus?" said the doctor, perspiring freely, but now speaking calmly and slowly. "Bad--bad," said Septimus. "I have lost all, and been put to great shifts, while my poor wife is a confirmed invalid." "Dear me, dear me!" said the doctor blandly, "how sad! I might perhaps be able to give her advice. I suppose she could not call at my surgery any morning before ten?"