Septimus tried to eat a few morsels, but his appetite was gone, and he soon laid down his knife and fork.
“Of course you’ll come down and live at the old place, Master Sep?” said Mrs Lower.
Septimus shook his head sadly.
“O, Master Sep!” cried the old lady, “don’t sell it; don’t part with it, it would be a sin.”
“But it will never be mine!” cried Septimus passionately. “O, nurse, nurse! this is a hard and a bitter world. I came down here almost in rags, tramping down like a beggar, and now, in cold and brutal terms, my uncle tells me that I am a bastard—that I have no right to enter my own father’s house; while, if this is true, I am a beggar still.”
Mrs Lower looked astounded. “What,” she exclaimed, “does he mean to say? But there, it’s nonsense. You can soon prove to him that you are not.”
“How?” exclaimed Septimus wearily. “Everything goes against me. I have been away ten years; my father sent me from his house; he refused all communications with me; and now I return on the day before the funeral.”
“O, but you must go to the lawyers!” cried Mrs Lower. “They can put you right.”
The couple sat talking for some time. It was refreshing to Septimus to find so sincere a welcome, for he had put Mrs Lower’s hospitality to the test on the strength of the sovereign his aunt had slipped into his hand. But the old dame could give him no information touching his birth, and but little respecting the place and time of his father’s marriage.
Weary at length of the subject, Septimus listened to the history of Somesham during the past few years, till, taking compassion upon her visitor’s jaded looks, Mrs Lower showed him his bedroom, where he tried to forget his present sorrows in sleep.