THE BEAUFORTS
CHAPTER I.
A VISIONARY
HE sun was sending slanting rays through a western window into Mr. Beaufort's modest house, as he wended his way slowly, very slowly, home. He was a middle-aged man, with a slight stoop and grey hair, which he wore falling over his shoulders. His face was hand some but slightly discontented; his mouth had some bitter lines round it; his whole expression was irritable. In all respects he looked like a man who had missed the right
