“So I have seen from the beginning.”

“I will not deny,” he added, “that I have ambition.  That I wish to be distinguished at the bar.”

“An honorable ambition,” said I.

“Nor that, sometimes—­in moments of weakness, perhaps—­my dreams have gone higher.  But I am a very young man, and youth is ardent and imaginative,” he added.

“And you have this great advantage,” I replied, “that, with every year added to your life, you may, if you will, grow wiser and stronger.  You stand, as all young minds, at the bottom of a ladder.  The height to which you climb will depend upon your strength and endurance.”

“If we both live long enough, Doctor, you may see me on the topmost rundle, for I shall climb with unwearying effort.”

He spoke with a fine enthusiasm, that lent a manly beauty to his face.

“Climb on,” I answered, “and you will rise high above the great mass, who are aimless and indolent.  But you will have competitors, few, but vigorous and tireless.  In the contest for position that you must wage with these, all your powers will be taxed; and if you reach the topmost rundle to which you aspire, success will be, indeed, a proud achievement.”

“I have the will, the ambition, the courage, and the endurance, Doctor,” was his reply.  “So, if I fail, the fault will lie here,” and he touched, significantly, his forehead.

“For lack of brains?” said I, smiling.

“Yes.  The defect will lie there,” he answered, smiling in return.

“Brains are remarkable for latent capacity.  If stimulated, they develop new powers, and this almost without limit.  All they want is to be well supplied with the right kind of food, and well worked at the same time.”

“I believe that, Doctor, and find vast encouragement in the thought,” and Wallingford laughed pleasantly.

Our parting words were growing voluminous.  So we shook hands again, repeated our mutual good wishes, and separated.  In the afternoon he started for Boston, from whence he sailed, on the next day, for England.

This was towards the latter end of June.  He was to write to Mrs. Montgomery immediately on his arrival out, and again as soon as he had obtained an interview with the Willoughby family.  Early in August, she received his first letter, which was brief, simply announcing his arrival at Liverpool.

About three weeks after the coming of this letter, I received a note from Mrs. Montgomery asking me to call.  On meeting her, I noticed something in her manner that struck me as unusual.  She did not smile, as was her wont, when we met, her countenance retaining its usual serious expression.  I thought she looked paler, and just a little troubled.

“Thank you for calling so promptly, Doctor,” she said.  “I am afraid you will think me troublesome.  But you have always shown a kindly interest in me, though a stranger; and have proved, in all cases, a sound adviser.”