think so."
"Ah! doubtful. I'll put the question in another way. Are you ambitious? If you are, you must have perseverance--one is the natural outcome of the other."
"How so?"
"Logically in this way--an ambitious man wants to succeed--he can't succeed without perseverance--ergo, he perseveres to succeed in his ambition. Now then, are you persevering or ambitious?"
"I'm not sure."
"No!" Beaumont did not seem disappointed at this reply, but went on talking. "Then you have no incentive; you are in the chrysalis stage; get an incentive, and you will change to a butterfly."
"What incentive can I obtain."
"That depends upon your temperament--the desire to leave the dull village--the desire to have money, and above all, the desire to be loved by some woman."
"Ah," said Blake, whom this last remark stung sharply, "at least I have that incentive."
Beaumont laughed.
"Then the result must follow, you will persevere and succeed."
Blake was much impressed with Beaumont's remarks, for a vision rose before him of a bright future and a famous name with Una for his wife. Then the recollection of the dark secret of his birth came back to him; if what he surmised were true, he would have nothing to work for as there would be an insuperable bar between him and the girl he loved. The roseate scenes he had conjured up vanished, and in their place he only saw the sorrow of a lonely life. He sighed involuntarily, and shook his head.
"It all depends on one thing," he said sadly.
"And that one thing?" asked Beaumont keenly.
"It is at present a secret," replied Blake curtly, whereupon Beaumont laughed lightly in no wise offended, and they walked on for a short distance in silence. They were now nearing the Grange, and Beaumont was going to turn back when he saw Nestley coming down the road.
"Here is Nestley," he said carelessly, "so you can learn all about the Squire from him, and need not go to the Grange."
"I must go to the Grange," replied Blake.
Beaumont smiled and whistled the air of "Love's Young Dream," for he had heard rumours in the village which led him to believe that Blake was in love with the Squire's beautiful cousin. Reginald understood him, and was about to make some angry remark when Nestley came up to them and put an end to the conversation.
"Well, doctor," said Beaumont lightly, "and how is your patient?"
Nestley's face wore a frown as he recognised Beaumont, but he evidently determined not to give his enemy the pleasure of seeing his annoyance, so, smoothing his features to a bland smile, he replied in the same conversational manner:
"Better--much better--he'll be all right soon--less excitable--but the body is worn out."
"And the brain?" asked the artist.
"Oh, that's all right--he's got a wonderful brain."
"Slightly cracked," interposed Blake, nodding to 

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