"May I smoke my pipe, doctor?" "Oh, yes, as long as you like, man. You're not bad; and take my advice: just you forget all about your fetch, as you call it, and don't go to the church any more in the dark." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. AFTER CHURCH. The doctor left the sexton's cottage, thinking deeply on the way in which the brain is affected by the weakness of the body. "Poor old fellow!" he muttered; "nearly a hundred years old, and clinging to life more tightly than ever. Believes he saw something, of course. Not fit to go out alone. But he'll pull round, and perhaps last for years. Wonderful constitution, but also an exemplification of my pet theory. Humph! coming out of church. Well, I must meet 'em, I suppose. Hallo! what's going to happen? Has Salis converted the pair of reprobates? Morning, Squire; morning, Mr Candlish." He shook hands--professionally, as he called it--with the young squire and his brother, who were just out of church, and walked slowly on with them, discussing the hunt, election matters, and the state of the country. "Why don't you hunt more, doctor?" said the squire, a florid, fine-looking man, singularly like his brother, but more athletic of build. "Want of time," said the doctor good-humouredly. "Too many irons in the fire." "You work too hard. But look here--don't be offended; I've always a spare mount or two when you are disposed for a gallop." "Thanks; I'll ask one of these days--which never come," the doctor added to himself. "And now, good-day." "No, no; come on, and have a bit of dinner with us--early dinner to-day." "Thanks--no; I've a patient or two to see, and I want a word with the parson." "We don't," said the squire; "eh, Tom? We've had ours." Tom Candlish scowled. "Well, always glad to see you, doctor--non-professionally," said the squire; and they went on, while North turned back to meet Salis, wondering why Tom Candlish had condescended to come to church. "To stare at Leo, I'll be sworn, and Salis must have felt it. I'll be bound to say he made a dozen mistakes in the service this morning through that fellow coming. And, as for the squire--that young man drinks, and he had better look out, or Moredock will have a grand funeral to attend." "Good morning, doctor. Were you coming to see me?" "Ah, Mrs Berens! I beg your pardon; I didn't see you." "No, doctor, you never do seem to see me. You forget your most anxious patients," said the lady pathetically. "But, really, you did not send me word." "No, I did not send you word. I lived in hope of your coming." "Thank goodness!" thought the doctor. "This woman is growing dangerous." His pious ejaculation was consequent upon the fact that his friend, the curate, was approaching in company with Leo. Mrs Berens became aware of the fact at the same time, and though she uttered no pious ejaculation, she was equally pleased, for two reasons.