But Doctor Hardon, taken aback at first by the fierce mien of Septimus, had now somewhat recovered his confidence, while the anger of the nephew was as short-lived, so utterly bewildering was the news he now heard; the insult to his mother's memory, the snatching away of the competence that seemed in his hands, the cool self-possession of his uncle,--all completely staggered him, and he knew not what to say or do. "Sir," said the doctor, rising and placing a hand within his waistcoat as he spoke with great dignity,--"sir, I must beg that this scene, this unseemly brawling, may not be continued in my house. You can find my solicitors, who will give you all the information you may require. The funeral takes place to-morrow, and, under the circumstances, I have taken upon myself the duty of seeing that proper respect is paid to the departed. You are folly aware that your presence would not have been even tolerated for an instant in my brother's house during his lifetime, and you presume on my forbearance by treating me as you do. Under the circumstances, I decline to hold any further communication with you. Had you come in humbleness and treated me with respect, I will not say what I might not have been tempted to do for you out of pity. As to your assumption of ignorance of your illegitimacy, it is simply absurd, for it is a matter of which you must have been fully aware. You know well, that when my brother declined to hold any further communication with you, it was not merely on account of your opposition to his wishes, but because it was painful to his feelings to be constantly reminded in daily life of the sins of his youth. I think too, now, that if you have any right feeling left, you will have the decency to end this most unseemly meeting by leaving at once, for it is to me, after my late sufferings, most painful. My poor brother!" Doctor Hardon paused to bury his face in his handkerchief, and congratulate himself upon the very effective way in which he had acted his part. He then made a show of wiping away a tear, and Mrs Hardon did likewise; but in the one case the tear was genuine, in the other counterfeit coin. As for Septimus Hardon he had never made but one enemy in his life-- himself; but had he owned a score, and they had stood around him at that minute, not a man of them could have struck a blow at the abject, crushed, spiritless, broken man, as, without word, almost without thought, he mechanically glanced round the room, turned, and then slowly walked out, closely followed by Mrs Hardon, who passed something into his hand as she closed the door upon his retreating form. Volume One, Chapter XVI. SEEKING HOSPITALITY.