“Speak out, sir; that muttering jars on my nerves, and irritates me,” said the Judge, in a slow firm tone. “Come,” said Beattie, cheerfully, “you are better now; the weakness has passed off.” “There is no weakness in the case, sir,” said the old man, sitting bolt upright in the chair, as he grasped and supported himself by the arms. “It is the ignoble feature of your art to be materialist. You can see nothing in humanity but a nervous cord and a circulation.” “The doctor's ministry goes no further,” said Beattie, gently. “Your art is then but left-handed, sir. Where 's Haire?” “Here, at your side,” replied Haire. “I must finish my story, Haire. Where was it that I left off? Yes; to be sure,--I remember now. This boy of Sewell's--Reginald Victor Sewell--was, with my permission, to take the name of Lendrick, and be called Reginald Victor Sewell Lendrick.” “And become the head of your house?” “The head of my house, and my heir. She did not say so, but she could not mean anything short of it.” “What has your son done to deserve this?” asked Haire, bluntly. “My son's rights, sir, extend but to the modest fortune I inherited from my father. Whatever other property I possess has been acquired by my own ability and labor, and is mine to dispose of.” “I suppose there are other rights as well as those of the statute-book?” “Listen to this, Beattie,” cried the old Judge, with a sparkle of the eye,--“listen to this dialectician, who discourses to me on the import of a word. It is not generous I must say, to come down with all the vigor of his bright, unburdened faculties upon a poor, weak, and suffering object like myself. You might have waited, Haire, till I had at least the semblance of power to resist you.” “What answer did you give her?” asked Haire, bluntly. “I said,--what it is always safe to say,--'_Le roi s'avisera_.' Eh, Beattie? this is the grand principle of your own craft. Medicine is very little else than 'the wisdom of waiting.' I told her,” continued he, “I would think of it,--that I would see the child. 'He is here,' said she, rising and leaving the room, and in a few moments returned, leading a little boy by the hand,--a very noble-looking child, I will say, with a lofty head and a bold brow. He met me as might a prince, and gave his hand as though it were an honor he bestowed. What a conscious power there is in youth! Ay, sirs, that is the real source of all the much-boasted vigor and high-heartedness. Beattie will tell us some story of arterial action or nervous expansion; but the mystery lies deeper. The conscious force of a future development imparts a vigor that all the triumphs of after life pale before.” “'_Fiat justitia, ruât coelum_,'” said Haire,--“I'd not provide for people out of my own family.” “It is a very neat though literal translation, sir, and, like all that comes from you, pointed and forcible.” “I'd rather be fair and honest than either,” said Haire, bluntly.