"If Una Challoner only knew the truth," he thought, "I think even her love would recoil from such a trial. Reginald Blake, the wealthy bastard, is one thing; but Reginald Blake, the pauper bastard, is another. Yes, I think I hold the best hand in this game; as to Patience! bah! my cards are somewhat too strong for her to beat."
Mr. Beaumont had only arrived a short time, and was seated before the fire smoking in the dull light of the winter afternoon, preparatory to writing a letter to Reginald. Margery, bright and alert, was clearing away the luncheon, so Mr. Beaumont, wishing to be quite sure of his ground, began to question her concerning the events which had taken place during his absence.
"I hear Miss Challoner is going to be married to Mr. Blake," he said genially; "it's a good match for her."
"And for him, too, sir," retorted Margery indignantly. "Miss Una is as sweet a young lady as you will find anywhere."
"No doubt," answered Beaumont blandly. "They are a charming couple, and certainly deserve the good opinion of everybody; but tell me, Margery, what about Dr. Nestley? I suppose he has gone long ago?"
"No," said Margery, shaking her head, "he is still here."
"In this place?"
"Yes sir, very--very ill."
"Humph!" thought Beaumont, "got the jumps, I expect. What is the matter with him?" he asked aloud.
"He lost his way in the snow storm last week," explained Margery deliberately, "and nearly died, but Farmer Sanders found him on the bridge and brought him here."