"The sower scattereth his seeds

In rich or barren ground,

And soon the earth in place of weeds

With golden corn is crowned."

Meanwhile the old squire was much better in health, owing to the skill of Dr. Nestley, but dreading a relapse he insisted upon the young doctor staying with him for a time, and, though miserly as a rule, yet paid him a handsome sum for his services, so great was his dread of death. As Nestley's practice was not a very large one he looked upon this whim of the squire's as an unexpected piece of good luck, so made a hurried visit to the country town where he lived and, having arranged with his partner about the carrying on of their joint business, returned to Garsworth and took up his abode at the Grange as the medical attendant of the old man.

The village doctor did not give in to this arrangement without a struggle, but Squire Garsworth, who consulted no man's feelings or interests when they clashed with his own desires, soon reduced the local Sangrado to silence.

Mr. Beaumont came daily to the Grange in order to paint the portrait of its master, and was now deeply interested in the picture, which was beginning to have a wonderful fascination for him. In truth the squire was no commonplace model, for his keen, ascetic face with the burning eyes and his spare figure wrapped in a faded black velvet dressing-gown made a wonderfully picturesque study. Besides, Basil liked to hear the wild extravagant talk of the old man, who talked in a desultory sort of manner, mingling gay stories of his hot youth, with mystical revelations of medi?val alchemists and whimsical theories of spiritual existence. That he was mad, Beaumont never for a moment doubted; nevertheless, his madness was productive of a certain fantasy of thought that proved most alluring to the poetic nature of the artist, weary of the commonplace things of the work-a-day world.

With regard to Reginald the artist treated him in his usual manner, and neither by word nor deed betrayed the relationship which existed between them, but nevertheless used all his powers of fascination to attain a mastery over the young man's mind.

In this he was partially successful, for nothing is so flattering to the vanity of an unformed youth as the notice bestowed upon him by a cultured man of the world. The artist told him stories of London and Parisian life, described the famous men he had met, the beautiful women he had known, and the keen excitements of Bohemian life, thus investing an unknown world with a magic and glamour which could not fail to attract a nature so clever, ardent and impressionable as that of this unsophisticated lad.

Patience Allerby, living in a state of almost monastic seclusion, congratulated herself upon her foresight in defeating Beaumont's possible plans, little dreaming that he was now enmeshing her son in subtle toils which would render him the willing slave of his heartless father. It was true that Una, with a woman's keen instinct, distrusted the brilliant adventurer, and ventured to warn Reginald against him, but the young man received such a warning with somewhat ill grace and talked about the need of experience. Beaumont, with his keen power of penetration, soon discovered that Una distrusted him, and as it was his aim to gain her over to his side he soon hit upon a plan by which he hoped to achieve his end.

One morning, after he had been working at the squire's portrait, he was strolling out on the terrace when he met Una leaning over the balustrade, looking at the still pool of water, encircled by a marble rim, in the centre of which was a group of Naiads and Tritons which should have spouted water in wreaths of foam from their conch shells, but as the source of the fountain was dried up there only remained the stagnant waters in the basin, reflecting their enforced idleness.

Una was thinking about Beaumont when he appeared, and in no very generous strain, as she was afraid of his rapidly increasing influence over the plastic mind of her lover--therefore when the artist paused beside her she was by no means prepared to receive him with that suave courtesy with which she generally greeted everyone.

"I'm glad to see you, Miss Challoner," observed Beaumont lifting his hat, "as I want to speak to you about Blake."

"About Mr. Blake," said Una rather coldly, "yes?"

"Of course you know how I admire his voice," remarked Beaumont leisurely, "and thinking it a pity he should waste its sweetness on the desert air of Garsworth I wrote up to a friend of mine in London."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Beaumont," said Una in a more cordial tone, "and what does your friend say?"

"He wants Blake to go up to London, and will take him to Marlowe, who is a very celebrated teacher of singing; if Marlowe is satisfied, Blake can study under him, and when he is considered fit can make his appearance."

"It will take a lot of money," observed Una thoughtfully.

"Oh! I've no doubt that can be arranged," said Beaumont quietly. "Blake and myself will come to some agreement about things, but I am anxious that Blake should benefit by his talents."

"What do you mean?" asked Miss Challoner in a puzzled tone, "I do not understand."

"Of course you do not," answered the artist smoothly. "You do not understand the world--I do--and at the cost of expenditure of money, and sacrifice of illusions. Blake has an exceptionally fine organ and great musical talent; if he went up to London unprovided with money--of which I understand he has not any great store--he would very likely be picked up by some hanger-on of musical circles who would do him more harm than good, perhaps force him to sing before he was matured and thus run the very probable risk of a failure--or if he was taught by a good master and made a great success, unless he was very careful, some impresario would entice him into some agreement to last for years which would be eminently disadvantageous to him in the end."

"But surely no men are so base?&q............