medicine could do you good; that speech indicates a great toughness and
hardness and bitterness about the heart that does not accumulate in our
tender years."

Septimius took little or no notice of the raillery of the grim old doctor,
but employed the rest of the time in getting as much information as he
could out of his guest; and though he could not bring himself to show him
the precious and sacred manuscript, yet he questioned him as closely as
possible without betraying his secret, as to the modes of finding out
cryptic writings. The doctor was not without the perception that his
dark-browed, keen-eyed acquaintance had some purpose not openly avowed in
all these pertinacious, distinct questions; he discovered a central
reference in them all, and perhaps knew that Septimius must have in his
possession some writing in hieroglyphics, cipher, or other secret mode,
that conveyed instructions how to operate with the strange recipe that he
had shown him.

"You had better trust me fully, my good sir," said he. "Not but what I will
give you all the aid I can without it; for you have done me a greater
benefit than you are aware of, beforehand. No--you will not? Well, if you
can change your mind, seek me out in Boston, where I have seen fit to
settle in the practice of my profession, and I will serve you according to
your folly; for folly it is, I warn you."

Nothing else worthy of record is known to have passed during the doctor's
visit; and in due time he disappeared, as it were, in a whiff of
tobacco-smoke, leaving an odor of brandy and tobacco behind him, and a
traditionary memory of a wizard that had been there. Septimius went to
work with what items of knowledge he had gathered from him; but the
interview had at least made him aware of one thing, which was, that he