"All right, you see, sir," said the apothecary, turning to Beaufort-- "no cause for alarm--very comforting that little passion--does him good-- sets one's mind easy. How did it happen? Ah, I understand! knocked down--might have been worse. Your groom (sharp fellow!) explained in a trice, sir. Thought it was my old friend here by the description. Worthy man--settled here a many year--very odd-eccentric (this in a whisper). Came off instantly: just at dinner--cold lamb and salad. 'Mrs. Perkins,' says I, 'if any one calls for me, I shall be at No. 4, Prospect Place.' Your servant observed the address, sir. Oh, very sharp fellow! See how the old gentleman takes to his dog--fine little dog--what a stump of a tail! Deal of practice--expect two accouchements every hour. Hot weather for childbirth. So says I to Mrs. Perkins, 'If Mrs. Plummer is taken, or Mrs. Everat, or if old Mr. Grub has another fit, send off at once to No. 4. Medical men should be always in the way- that's my maxim. Now, sir, where do you feel the pain?" "In my ears, sir." "Bless me, that looks bad. How long have you felt it?" "Ever since you have been in the room." "Oh! I take. Ha! ha!--very eccentric--very!" muttered the apothecary, a little disconcerted. "Well, let him lie down, ma'am. I'll send him a little quieting draught to be taken directly--pill at night, aperient in the morning. If wanted, send for me--always to be found. Bless me, that's my boy Bob's ring. Please to open the door, ma' am. Know his ring--very peculiar knack of his own. Lay ten to one it is Mrs. Plummer, or perhaps. Mrs. Everat--her ninth child in eight years--in the grocery line. A woman in a thousand, sir!" Here a thin boy, with very short coat-sleeves, and very large hands, burst into the room with his mouth open. "Sir--Mr. Perkins--sir!" "I know--I know-coming. Mrs. Plummer or Mrs. Everat?" "No, sir; it be the poor lady at Mrs. Lacy's; she be taken desperate. Mrs. Lacy's girl has just been over to the shop, and made me run here to you, sir." "Mrs. Lacy's! oh, I know. Poor Mrs. Morton! Bad case--very bad--must be off. Keep him quiet, ma'am. Good day! Look in to-morrow-nine o'clock. Put a little lint with the lotion on the head, ma'am. Mrs. Morton! Ah! bad job that." Here the apothecary had shuffled himself off to the street door, when Arthur laid his hand on his arm. "Mrs. Morton! Did you say Morton, sir? What kind of a person--is she very ill?" "Hopeless case, sir--general break-up. Nice woman--quite the lady--known better days, I'm sure." "Has she any children--sons?" "Two--both away now--fine lads--quite wrapped up in them--youngest especially." "Good heavens! it must be she--ill, and dying, and destitute, perhaps,"-- exclaimed Arthur, with real and deep feeling; "I will go with you, sir. I fancy that I know this lady--that," he added generously, "I am related to her."