"She always was delicate," put in Mrs Hardon hastily, for she was annoyed at her husband's behaviour; while something kept, as it were, whispering to her, "He is from London, and may know something of my poor girl." There was a dead silence then for some few minutes, which the doctor broke. "I--er--er--I--er--I think you have hardly come on a visit of ceremony," he said; "you wished to see me?" and after coughing away something which seemed to form in his throat, he spoke in his most unguental tones--in the voice he kept for married ladies upon particular occasions. "I came down," said Septimus, in a broken voice, "upon seeing my poor father's death. It was shown to me--by a friend--newspaper--torn scrap--I have walked down--weak--and ill." Mrs Hardon uttered an exclamation, for Septimus had risen as he spoke, and stood working his hands together, as he gazed appealingly at his uncle; and then, as he trailed off in his speech, he reeled and clutched at the table, sweeping off a wine-glass in his effort to save himself from falling. "Better now," said Septimus faintly, as he sank into the chair behind him. "I am sorry, but I feel overcome, and weak, and giddy. I have had much sorrow and trouble lately, and my father's death was so sudden." The doctor winced a little, but recovered himself in a moment, for he was used to witnessing trouble, and could bear it. "Yes--yes--a sad thing,--very sad--mournful I may say," he observed. "But my poor brother always was so distant and peculiar in his dealings with his relations. Of course you know that the funeral takes place to-morrow?" "No," replied Septimus; "I know nothing beyond what I have told you, and I come to my father's brother for information." "Yes, just so," said the doctor; "but I can not refrain from blaming my poor brother; doubtless you had given him great cause of offence, but he ought to have made some provision for you." "I did write to him again and again," said Septimus, "but I suppose he felt too angry, and--let it rest now; I have struggled through all my trouble without his help, and I do not complain." "Just so," said the doctor; "but it would have been more just if he had made some provision." "You have seen his will, I suppose?" said Septimus. "O no!" said the doctor, "there is no will." "Then he has left no legacies?" said Septimus. "Not one," replied the doctor; "but I am not surprised--he never was a business man." "I am sorry too," said Septimus softly, "for the sake of my cousins and yourselves;" and Septimus started as he saw the wince Mrs Hardon gave at the mention of the word "cousins." "Yes," said the doctor blandly; "it would have been more just towards you. For even if he had only left you a hundred or two they would have been acceptable, no doubt." "I don't understand you," said Septimus. "I was alluding to your being left so unprovided for," said the doctor. "It seems so sad."