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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42974 ***
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+     1. Page scan source:
+        Google Books: http://books.google.com/books?id=YwYwAAAAYAAJ
+        (Harvard University)
+
+     2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
+
+
+
+
+
+                          TOILERS OF BABYLON
+
+
+                               A Novel
+
+
+
+                                  BY
+
+                            B. L. FARJEON
+
+                              AUTHOR OF
+
+           "PERIL OF RICHARD PARDON" "GREAT PORTER SQUARE"
+                          "AUNT PARKER" ETC.
+
+
+
+
+                  _For life the prologue is to death
+                     And love its sweetest flower
+                  And death is as the spring of life
+                     And love its richest dower_
+
+
+
+
+                               NEW YORK
+                  HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
+                                 1889
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       B. L. FARJEON'S NOVELS.
+
+                                *  *  *
+
+   AN ISLAND PEARL. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 30 cents.
+   AUNT PARLER. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.
+   CHRISTMAS ANGEL. 12mo, Paper, 25 cents.
+   GOLDEN GRAIN. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents.
+   GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.
+   JESSIE TRIM. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents.
+   JOSHUA MARVEL. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents.
+   LOVE'S HARVEST. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.
+   LOVE'S VICTORY. 8vo, Paper, 20 cents.
+   MISER FAREBROTHER. Illustrated. 4to, Paper, 25 cents.
+   SELF-DOOMED. 12mo, Paper, 25 cts.
+   SHADOWS ON THE SNOW. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 30 cents.
+   THE BELLS OF PENRAVEN. 4to, Paper, 10 cents.
+   THE BRIGHT STAR OF LIFE. 12mo, Paper, 25 cents.
+   THE DUCHESS OF ROSEMARY LANE. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents.
+   THE KING OF NO-LAND. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 25 cents.
+   THE NINE OF HEARTS. 12mo, Paper, 25 cents.
+   THE PERIL OF RICHARD PARDON. Ill'd. 8vo, Paper, 30 cents.
+   THE SACRED NUGGET. 12mo, Paper, 25 cents.
+   TOILERS OF BABYLON. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents.
+
+                              *  *  *  *
+              Published By HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
+
+==>_Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to
+any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the
+price_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                         TOILERS OF BABYLON.
+
+                           *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I.
+
+
+The horse was very old, the caravan very dilapidated. As it was
+dragged slowly along the country roads it shook and creaked and
+wheezed, protesting, as it were, that it had performed its duty in
+life and that its long labors justly entitled it to permanent repose.
+The horse, with its burden behind it, had long ago given over
+complaining, and, although its plight was no less woful, was
+demonstrative only through physical compulsion. With drooping head,
+lustreless eyes, and laboring breath, it plodded on, with many a
+longing look at tempting morsels out of its reach.
+
+At the present moment it was at rest, released from the shafts, and
+partaking of a spare meal, humanly provided, eking it out with sweet
+tid-bits, not too abundant, munched from the fragrant earth. Sitting
+on the ground at the back of the caravan was a man with a book in his
+hand, which sometimes he read with the air of one who was in the
+company of an old and beloved friend; at other times he gazed around
+with pensive delight upon the beauties of nature, which in no part of
+the world find more exquisite representation than in the county of
+Surrey. In the rear of the caravan were lovely stretches of woodland,
+through vistas of which visions of cathedral aisles could be seen by
+the poetical eye. Across the narrow road was a scene which brought to
+the man's mind some lines in the book he held. Turning over its pages,
+he called out, in a voice not strong, but clear:
+
+"William Browne might have camped on this very spot, Nansie, and drawn
+its picture. The resemblance is wonderful." Then he read from the
+book:
+
+
+          "'Here the curious cutting of a hedge,
+     There, by a pond, the trimming of the sedge;
+     Here the fine setting of well-shading trees,
+     The walks there mounting up by small degrees;
+     The gravel and the green so equal lie,
+     They, with the rest, drawing on your lingering eye.
+     Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air,
+     Arising from the infinite repair
+     Of odoriferous buds; and herbs of price,
+     As if it were another paradise,
+     So please the smelling sense that you are fain,
+     Where you last walked, to turn and walk again.
+     There the small birds with their harmonious notes
+     Sing to a spring that smileth as it floats.'"
+
+
+A practical flight of wooden steps at the back of the caravan afforded
+means of getting in and out, and when the man began to speak aloud a
+young woman issued from the interior of the conveyance, and stood upon
+the top of the little ladder, listening to his words.
+
+"It is very beautiful, father," she said. "To think that it was
+written nearly three hundred years ago!"
+
+"Yes, Nansie, in the days of Shakespeare; and it might be to-day. That
+is the marvel of it."
+
+He fell to his book again, and Nansie, who held a teapot in her hand,
+beat a retreat and resumed her domestic duties.
+
+A peculiar feature of the caravan was that it was commercially empty.
+In times gone by it had been used for trading and speculative
+purposes, by gypsies, by enterprising travellers, by venders of
+basketware, by dealers in birds. It had served as mart and
+dwelling-house, and had played its part in numberless fairs when they
+were in fashion. Now it contained nothing marketable, and bore about
+it no sign to denote that its denizens were travelling for profit; but
+that, even in its old age, it was being put to pleasant use was proved
+by the smoke curling from the little chimney projecting through the
+roof.
+
+In due time Nansie reappeared, bearing two loose boards which she laid
+upon a pair of low trestles, spreading over them a white cloth. Upon
+this improvised table she set a smoking teapot, milk and sugar, and a
+plate of bread-and-butter, cut reasonably thick.
+
+"Tea is ready, father."
+
+She ate with an appetite. Her father ate more daintily. Before putting
+the food into his mouth he cut it into devices of fish and bird, which
+he then proceeded to slice and carve, evidently adding thereby to his
+enjoyment of the humble fare. And yet through all, whether he ate or
+read or mused, there was about him a conspicuous air of melancholy.
+
+It was the evening hour, and the season was spring. It was a warmer
+spring than usual; there was a taste of summer in the air. They ate in
+silence, until the man remarked:
+
+"You did not hear the nightingale last night?"
+
+"No, father."
+
+"It sang for hours, Nansie."
+
+She nodded, and said: "I wish you could sleep as soundly as I do,
+father."
+
+"I used to in my young days, and must be content. I am glad you sleep
+well. You have other wishes."
+
+"Yes," said Nansie, calmly.
+
+"You have a fine trick of composure, Nansie. What stirs within does
+not always find outward expression."
+
+"I take after you, father," said Nansie, in an affectionate tone. "I
+have you to thank for all that is good in me."
+
+"It is a pleasant hearing, but it cuts both ways. Do not your other
+wishes trouble you?"
+
+"A little; but everything will come right."
+
+"A comfortable philosophy, my dear child; but womanly."
+
+"It was mother's," said Nansie. "I caught it from her."
+
+"I know; and I could never make the dear mother understand that it was
+inadequate for the practical purposes of life. Eventually we may be
+satisfied that everything will come right, but before the end is
+reached there are many turnings. The mischief of it is"--and there was
+now in his face as he turned it more fully towards her an expression
+both whimsical and sad--"that we carpet the turning we wish to take
+with flowers of fancy which, as we proceed, fade utterly away. That is
+a human experience."
+
+"I am human," said Nansie, and she pressed her young face to his.
+
+"I could laugh and I could weep," he said, responding fondly to her
+caress. "In truth, my dear child, you perplex me."
+
+"Or," suggested Nansie, "is it you who are perplexing yourself?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders affectionately, and did not reply.
+
+The young woman was fair and beautiful. Though cast in a delicate
+mould, she was strong and redolent of health. Her face was slightly
+browned, and harmonized with her brown hair and brown eyes, the light
+in which was bright and tender. The man looked old, but was barely
+forty-five, and on his face were signs of suffering, patiently borne.
+They were dressed like persons in humble life, but with a certain
+refinement, observable more in the woman than in the man. For five
+evenings they had tarried on this spot. Each morning they had
+harnessed the horse to the caravan, and had journeyed slowly and
+aimlessly onward till noon, and then had turned back towards their
+camping-ground, which lay in the shadow of the beautiful Surrey woods,
+at a sufficient distance from the narrow road to escape casual
+observation. The right of doing so probably did not belong to the
+wayfarers, and this had disturbed the man somewhat, but he had fixed
+upon the spot for a particular purpose, and up to this evening had not
+been interfered with.
+
+"At what hour last night," said Nansie, presently, "did you hear the
+nightingale?"
+
+"It must have been near midnight," replied her father. "At the same
+time to-night it will sing again. Have you finished your tea?"
+
+"Yes, father."
+
+"Then go again to the post-office, and see if there is a letter for
+me. I am growing anxious at not receiving one. You need not stop to
+clear these things; I will put them away."
+
+She rose and stood for a moment with her hand resting lightly on his
+shoulder. He drew her face down to his, and kissed her. With a bright
+nod she left him, carrying with her a written order authorizing the
+delivery of any letters which might be lying in the post-office for
+her father.
+
+Godalming, the town for which she was bound, was within a mile, and
+she stepped out briskly. But when she was about midway, and no one was
+in sight, she made a little detour into the woods, and drew from her
+bosom a picture. It was the portrait of a young man, and she gazed
+fondly at it, and kissed it as fondly. Then she drew forth a letter,
+and read it and pressed it to her lips; after which she replaced the
+letter and the portrait, and proceeded on her errand. Her thoughts may
+be thus fashioned into words:
+
+"I wrote to him yesterday, and I sent him a telegram in the evening,
+knowing we should be here to-day. He may be absent. I hope not; I hope
+he has received both. Will he write, or will he come? Will he be angry
+that I have accompanied my father? At all events he knows, and he is
+never unjust. Ah! if he were here with us, how happy I should be! I
+love him, I love him, I love him!"
+
+She blew a kiss into the air.
+
+In less than half an hour she was in the Godalming post-office, making
+her inquiry.
+
+"Mr. James Loveday," said the female clerk, looking at the order
+handed to her by Nansie--she was familiar with it, having seen it on
+each of the three previous days. "Yes, there is, I think."
+
+She sorted some letters and handed one to Nansie, who, after
+hesitating a little, asked:
+
+"Is there a letter for Miss Loveday?
+
+"Are you Miss Loveday?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"No, there are none."
+
+"Or for Miss Nansie Loveday? N-a-n-s-i-e."
+
+"That's a curious way to spell Nancy," said the clerk. "No, there
+are none."
+
+Nansie lingered.
+
+"Or for Manners?" she asked, with singular timidity and bashfulness.
+
+"Mrs. or Miss?" inquired the clerk.
+
+Nansie's face and neck were scarlet as she replied: "Mrs."
+
+"None for that name," said the clerk.
+
+She lingered still, and said, with a kind of pathetic imploring:
+"Would a telegram be received here if addressed to the post-office
+till called for?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I sent one yesterday, and expected an answer. Is there any for either
+name?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Thank you," said Nansie, and walked out of the office, and set her
+face towards the caravan.
+
+The female clerk looked after her sympathizingly. There was a love
+note in her voice, and the post-office girl had a little sweethearting
+of her own on hand.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Nansie walked on, turning the letter in her hand, and glancing at it
+occasionally. The writing was strange to her, and on the envelope was
+the London post-mark. When, at the end of twenty minutes, she stood by
+her father's side, he was asleep.
+
+"Father!" she said, bending over him.
+
+He opened his eyes instantly, and smiled at her.
+
+"Ah, Nansie, it is you. I drop off constantly now, on the smallest
+provocation from silence or solitude. But it can scarcely be called
+sleep; I am conscious of all that is going on around me." He observed
+the letter in her hand, and he said, eagerly, "You have one!" and took
+it from her. "Yes, it is from my brother Joseph; I was beginning to
+fear that he was dead."
+
+He opened the letter and read it, and then remained a little while in
+thought. Presently he resumed the conversation.
+
+"You saw your uncle once, Nansie. Have you a recollection of him?"
+
+"Hardly any, father. How old could I have been when mother took me to
+see him? Not more than four or five, I think. I had a white dress and
+a blue sash, and I took him a bunch of flowers. He gave me some
+sweetmeats, I remember, and a shilling. But I have no recollection of
+his face. He lived in London, in a street off Whitechapel; that I
+know."
+
+"He lives there now. Your mother never spoke to you of him?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"You should be made acquainted with the story, Nansie, while I am here
+to relate it."
+
+She stopped the current of his speech.
+
+"Father, these last three or four weeks you have dropped hints which
+make me very anxious; they weigh heavily upon me. I know you are not
+well, but you harp upon it as if it were a serious illness. Tell me,
+father."
+
+They were sitting side by side now, and he was smoothing her hair with
+his hand.
+
+"I am far from well, Nansie."
+
+She interrupted him again, and now spoke with tremulous impetuosity.
+
+"You should take advice, father. You should go to a doctor."
+
+"There are reasons why I do not do so. First, Nansie, I have no money.
+Figuratively speaking, twopence ha'penny is all my fortune. To be
+exact, twenty-three shillings represents my worldly wealth. I am
+afraid I have been unwise, and yet I do not see what else I could have
+done. This Quixotic wandering of ours--I own it, it _is_ Quixotic--was
+in a certain measure forced upon me. Poor old Fleming, who owed me
+money, bequeathed his horse and caravan to me, his only creditor, and
+then he died. Had he left behind him wife or child I should have
+transferred to them this delightfully awkward property. Satisfying
+myself that it was legally and morally mine, the idea entered my head
+that a wandering tour through our lovely country lanes would
+invigorate me, would put new life into me. And for a companion, who
+more sweet than my own dear Nansie!"
+
+"There was another reason, father," said Nansie, gravely.
+
+"There was another reason," said Mr. Loveday, apprehensively. "I am
+coming to it. It would have been useless to consult physicians. I have
+consulted them again and again, and the result was always the same. A
+fever? Yes, there would be a fair chance of curing it. A toothache,
+a cold in the head, a chill? Yes, they could prescribe for those
+ills--but not for mine. It is my old heart-complaint, of which I have
+been repeatedly warned. When I was a lad it was thought I should not
+grow to manhood, but I did, as you see, and married your mother, and
+have by my side a dear child to cheer and comfort me. It is well to be
+prepared-- Why, Nansie, crying?"
+
+"I cannot help it, father, you speak so solemnly." She conquered her
+agitation and said: "That is not the reason I mean. There is another."
+
+"Concerning myself, Nansie?"
+
+"Concerning me, father."
+
+"You wish me to speak of it?"
+
+"It will be best."
+
+"So be it. I have not been always with you, Nansie, to guide and
+counsel you. Worldly circumstances would not permit me. I have cause
+to reproach myself. Had I been a carpenter or a bootmaker I might have
+been better able to fulfil my duties."
+
+"No one can reproach you, father; and I, who love you with my heart
+and soul, less than any in the world."
+
+"I thank you, child, and am grateful. At all events, something was
+done; I fitted you for the sphere of a private governess, and you
+obtained a situation. From time to time I came to see you, and you
+seemed to be happy."
+
+"I was happy, father."
+
+"You filled the situation two years, and then the sudden removal to
+another country of the family in which you were employed deprived you
+of it, and threw you upon the world. You did not inform me of this at
+the time, Nansie."
+
+"You had troubles and struggles of your own, father, and I did not
+wish to harass you."
+
+"Your endeavors to obtain another situation were unsuccessful; the
+gentleman who engaged you as governess to his children went away in
+your debt; you were almost at the end of your resources. Of all this I
+was ignorant until a few weeks since when I came to see you. Then and
+then only did I learn what had occurred; then and then only did I
+realize the dangerous position in which you were placed; then and then
+only did I discover that your affections were engaged to a gentleman
+whose father is a man of great wealth. My duty was clear; I had come
+into possession of this legacy, and it seemed to afford a favorable
+opportunity for the distraction of an unhealthy fancy-- You place your
+hand on my arm; you wish to speak."
+
+"No, father, no," said Nansie, struggling with her feelings; in the
+gathering dusk her father could not see the play of emotion in her
+features; and, indeed, during this latter recital she kept her face
+averted from him; "I am not yet at liberty to do so. Go on."
+
+"For the distraction of an unhealthy fancy," he resumed, "which might
+grow into a disease--which might wreck the happiness of a life most
+dear to me, I called upon you by the tie which binds and unites us--I
+am not wrong, dear child, in saying it unites us?"
+
+"No, my dear father, it unites us now and ever."
+
+"My child!' I called upon you to accompany me in my wanderings, and
+you consented. I think I have stated it fairly Nansie?"
+
+"Quite fairly, father."
+
+"Have you anything new to say about it?"
+
+"Nothing, except"--and a delicious smile played upon her lips--"except
+that I love Kingsley."
+
+"That is not new," he said, in a tone of whimsical reproach; "it is
+old. You have told me that before."
+
+"It is always new to me, father. And there is something else I _must_
+say."
+
+"Say it, Nansie."
+
+"Kingsley loves me."
+
+"Neither is that new. Apart from this I sometimes have an odd idea
+that you have a secret which you are keeping from me."
+
+"If I said I had, it would be half revealing it. Father, time will
+show."
+
+"That is a wiser philosophy than that 'Everything will come right.'
+Time does and will show. Shall I now relate the story of your uncle?"
+
+"If you please, father."
+
+"It will not take me long. Your mother, my dear Nansie, had two ardent
+lovers, your father and your uncle."
+
+"That was sad."
+
+"These are strokes of fate not to be avoided, and love, which unites,
+sometimes severs. It severed me and my brother, and neither he nor I,
+nor your mother, Nansie, was to blame for it. In youth we had a great
+affection for each other, although our characters were dissimilar. Our
+father was a poor gentleman--our family boat never floated into a
+golden stream--and he gave us as good an education as we could have
+gained in schools And colleges. He had a taste for books, and he
+cultivated the taste in us, his only children. He had ideas, too, and
+to be in his company was an entertainment. When he died he left each
+of us a little money, not more than a hundred pounds apiece, with
+which we were to seek our fortunes. We remained together, and in this
+association we became acquainted with your mother. By that time I had
+grown into a dreamer, and, I am afraid, a vagrant; your uncle was a
+dreamer also, but his visions were not entirely Utopian, and he was
+less of a Bohemian than I. He loved your mother passionately, and by
+force of fate we were rivals. We both tried our fortunes with her; it
+was not a case of one supplanting the other, but fair play on both
+sides; he failed and I succeeded. Your mother was a sweet and
+beautiful lady, and how I won her I know not."
+
+"Father," whispered Nansie, "you have a silver tongue and the heart of
+a man. That is how you won my mother."
+
+"Well, well, child, I should be past these flatteries, but as you said
+of yourself a while ago, I am human. My brother, learning that he had
+lost what he would have given the world to gain, cut himself adrift
+from us. He would not listen to reason, and I do not wonder at it.
+When was love really reasonable? What he did he did with
+determination, and all my implorings could not move him. He vowed that
+he and I should evermore be strangers, and so departed, and from that
+day we have not met. After my marriage I wrote to him from time to
+time, but he never replied to one of my letters. It was only when you
+and your mother returned from the visit you paid him that I learned he
+kept a bookshop in the East of London. I see his handwriting now for
+the first time in twenty years. Your mother and I constantly spoke
+about him; he possessed many admirable qualities; but, were I pushed
+to it, I should find it very difficult to say into what kind of a man
+he would grow, except that he would be constant and steadfast in his
+opinions. It was in the hope that he would soften towards me that,
+when you were a child, I sent you with your mother to see him. I see
+you now as you recalled yourself, in your little, white dress and blue
+sash, with the bunch of flowers you were to present to him. These are
+a part of a woman's innocently cunning ways, and I know it was in your
+dear mother's heart that, through you, your uncle should be won over
+to us. But the hopes in which we indulged were not realized. Your
+uncle was true to his word. It used to be said of him as a boy that he
+would die rather than break it--in which, when it becomes fixed in an
+earnest nature, there is sometimes a touch of folly or injustice--and
+I can recall many small incidents as a proof of his possession of this
+quality."
+
+"But he has written to you at last, father?"
+
+"Yes, Nansie."
+
+"In a kindly spirit?"
+
+"Yes, I am thankful to say."
+
+"This is good. Is my uncle married?"
+
+"No. In our last interview he vowed that he would never marry, and I
+doubt whether he would ever have yielded to the sentiment of love had
+his heart been again that way inclined. I deeply regret it. Life
+without love is at best a barren affair."
+
+With a sweet look Nansie raised her dewy eyes to his. He divined what,
+in the darkness, he could not clearly see.
+
+"It must be an honorable, honest, earnest love, child. You understand
+that?"
+
+"I understand it, father."
+
+"We will renew the subject another time. I am tired, and night has
+fallen. It is almost like summer--the sweetest spring in my
+remembrance. There is a fascination in shadows--spiritual suggestions
+and possibilities which cannot occur to the mind in sunlight. The
+night is dark and beautiful:
+
+
+        "'And silence girt the wood. No warbling tongue
+          Talked to the echo,
+          And all the upper world lay in a trance.'
+
+"Life is a dream, dear child. May yours be a happy one!"
+
+Then they did not speak for many minutes, and then it was Nansie's
+voice that was first heard.
+
+"What did you say to my uncle in the letter you wrote to him, father?"
+
+"I spoke to him of my illness, and of you. When your mother died I
+wrote informing him; but he took no notice of my letter. This time I
+appealed to him. I said, if anything happened to me you would be
+without a home. His answer is that you can find a home with him. My
+mind is greatly relieved. Now, my dear child, we will retire."
+
+"I will see to the beds, father. I shall not be long."
+
+She ascended the little flight of wooden steps, and the next moment
+a light from within the caravan was shining through one of the
+windows. This delightfully primitive dwelling-house contained three
+rooms or compartments. One was the kitchen, where the meals were
+cooked, and, in bad weather, partaken of. The other two were the
+sleeping-apartments of Nansie and her father. In each of these
+bedrooms was a window with a double sash, opening up and down.
+
+The beds were soon ready, and then Nansie called her father. He
+ascended the steps, and, pulling them up after him, made them fast.
+Father and daughter were thus in a stronghold, as it were, safe from
+invasion. Before entering the castle Mr. Loveday had seen that the old
+horse was safe, and had tethered it by a rope to one of the wheels.
+Then, kissing Nansie with much tenderness, he retired to rest. He
+slept in the back room, Nansie in the front, and the only means of
+ingress and egress was the back door in Mr. Loveday's bedroom. Thus he
+served as a kind of watch-dog to his daughter. She, partly disrobing,
+sat awhile by the open window, looking out upon the shadows. She had
+much to think of--her father's illness, their worldly circumstances,
+her absent lover; but her mind was as healthy as her body, and she
+looked upon all things hopefully. She did not muse long; finishing her
+preparations for bed, she closed the windows, and slid between the
+sheets. She slept for an hour, and awoke; slept again for a little
+while, and again awoke. This was not her usual habit; as a rule she
+could sleep seven or eight hours at a stretch. Perhaps she was
+listening for the nightingale's song. It came, and she listened in
+delight to the bird of love calling for its mate; and as she lay awake
+another sound reached her ears, as of a heavy body moving softly
+outside. It was not the old horse. What could it be? She slipped out
+of bed, and listened at the door which led from her room to her
+father's. She heard his soft breathing; he seemed to be peacefully
+sleeping. Presently, as she stood in darkness, she heard a whispering
+voice which caused her heart to throb wild with joy.
+
+"Nansie!"
+
+She glided to the window and raised the lower sash.
+
+"Kingsley!" she whispered, musically, in reply.
+
+"You are here, my darling! I have found you!"
+
+"Hush! Speak softly, or you will awake my father. What a time to come!
+How good you are!"
+
+"I received your letter and telegram, and could not rest What a hunt I
+have had for you! I must speak to you, Nansie. Can't you come out?"
+
+"Not to-night, Kingsley; it is impossible. Oh, Kingsley, how happy you
+have made me!"
+
+"What else do I live for? But I must speak to you, I say. I cannot
+wait."
+
+"You must--till to-morrow morning. Listen to the nightingale. Is it
+not sweet?"
+
+"To-morrow morning, you say. An eternity! How am I to be sure you will
+not disappear before then?"
+
+"I shall be here, in the woods, at sunrise. Could I keep away, knowing
+you were waiting for me? There--you make me say foolish things!"
+
+"Give me your hand, Nansie."
+
+She put her hand out of the window; her white arm was partly bared by
+the loosened sleeve. He, standing on the spoke of the wheel, took her
+hand and kissed it, and then did not relinquish it.
+
+"You are well, Nansie?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley."
+
+"Quite well?"
+
+"Quite well."
+
+"And your father?"
+
+"He is not well, I grieve to say."
+
+"We will make him so, you and I. But what a freak--to live like this!"
+
+"It is delightful."
+
+"Without me?"
+
+"I mean now that you are here. Good-night, Kingsley."
+
+"A moment yet. I will wait till the nightingale has finished its
+song."
+
+"You foolish Kingsley! It will sing for hours."
+
+"Nansie, I have so much to tell you!"
+
+"And I to tell you; but this is not the time. To-morrow at sunrise."
+
+"Yes, to-morrow at sunrise." He kissed her hand again. "Nansie, my
+father has arrived home."
+
+"At last!" There was a tremor of apprehension in her voice. "Have you
+seen him?"
+
+"Not yet. But he has sent for me, and I am going to him after seeing
+you to-morrow."
+
+"Where will you sleep, Kingsley?"
+
+"I have a bed at Godalming; but I am in no humor for sleep."
+
+"Be reasonable, Kingsley, if you love me." She leaned forward, raised
+his hand to her lips, and kissed it. "Now are you content?"
+
+"I should be false to you if I were to say I am. There, I have given
+you back your hand. Are _you_ content?"
+
+"It is yours forever and ever. Good-night, my love!"
+
+"Good-night, my heart! To-morrow at sunrise. Mind--not a moment later!
+Do not close the window yet."
+
+He managed to pluck some daisies, and he threw them up at her. She
+caught them, and even in the dark she could distinguish the golden
+tufts within their silver crowns.
+
+"Good-night, my love," she sighed again, pressing the flowers to her
+lips.
+
+"Good-night, my heart!"
+
+She listened to the last faint echo of his footfall, and then she
+sought her bed, and, smiling happily, fell asleep, with the daisies on
+her pillow.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Between midnight and sunrise a slight shower had fallen, scarcely
+damping the ground, but sufficient to draw out the perfume of the
+young flowers. The promise of spring was fulfilled, and tender bloom
+peeped up in places, and in others showed itself more boldly. About
+the trunks of ancient trees the sweet woodruff lurked; in sunny
+hedges the "cuckoo buds of yellow hue" proclaimed themselves; the
+heart-shaped leaves of the Irish shamrock were slowly unfolding;
+species of wild geranium and the strangely shaped orchises were
+abundant, the general commonwealth being represented by myriads of
+golden buttercups. Nansie and Kingsley stood near a great hawthorn,
+not yet in full bud, but already emitting a deliciously fine fragrance
+born of the light rain which had fallen during the night.
+
+"Why, Nansie," Kingsley was saying to her, "I never suspected you had
+gypsy blood in you."
+
+"I have none, as you know," was her response. "It was my father's
+whim, for which, I dare say, if he were here and was inclined to do
+so, he could give you several reasons. You can guess some of them,
+Kingsley."
+
+"The first and foremost is that he wished to keep us apart. He has not
+succeeded. I would hunt you all over the world, Nansie."
+
+"You must not be unjust to my father," said Nansie, "He was always
+full of fancies, Kingsley, but never harbored a bad one; and you must
+remember he does not know our secret yet. I love and honor him; he is
+a good man."
+
+"Or you could not have been his daughter. Full of fancies, indeed!"
+And Kingsley turned his head in the direction of the caravan. "Surely
+this is the strangest that ever entered the head of man! A gentleman
+and a scholar--for he is both, Nansie, and I suppose it was partly
+through your breeding that I was drawn to you--to go wandering through
+the land with his daughter, as though they belonged to the lost
+tribes! But there is an odd pleasantry about it that tickles one,
+after all."
+
+"You would enjoy it, Kingsley," said Nansie, with a delicious laugh,
+nestling close to him; "it has really been delightful."
+
+"Ah, you said that last night, and I asked you, in surprise, how it
+could have been, without me?"
+
+"And I did not have wit enough to answer you properly. Think of the
+hour! I was scarcely half awake. And Kingsley, having the fullest
+trust in you, which nothing ever can shake, you would not wish me to
+be unhappy even when we are parted. I can think of you in a happy mood
+when you are not with me, if only by looking forward to the time when
+we shall always be together. It will be soon, will it not?"
+
+"It must, it shall, either way," he replied; "but I do not think I was
+wrong in asking you to wait a little while."
+
+"You have done everything for the best, so far as I am concerned-- But
+for yourself!" Nansie paused and sighed.
+
+"But for myself," he said, taking up her words, "I have done that
+which is happiest and best, and that which falls to the lot of few
+men."
+
+"Ah, Kingsley?" she said, hiding her face on his shoulder.
+
+"I have won a faithful heart. What more could I desire?"
+
+"It is sweet to hear you say so; but if your father should be angry--"
+
+"What then? We are young and strong and willing, and shall be able to
+manage. I have friends who will give me a helping hand, as I would
+give them were our places changed. New men spring up every day,
+Nansie; the ladder is full of them, rising higher and higher. Why
+should I not be one of them? Why should I not be fortunate--in money,
+I mean; I am content with everything else--as my father was? When he
+was my age he had little more than I have. See what he is now. A
+power, mixing with those who bear historic names. And there are others
+as he is. The old ranks are widening, new men creep in, hold their
+heads high, and occupy positions of power and profit. The question
+will presently be, who are the masters? No, no, Nansie, I don't
+despair. I should not be worthy of you if I did. What ennobles a man?
+Rank? Hardly. He can prove himself worthy of it--that is all; then he
+may consider himself truly distinguished. Rank is mortal. Love is
+immortal. Ask the poets. Not that they know much better than any one
+else. After all, it is the heart that should be followed."
+
+"I have followed mine," said Nansie, looking fondly at him.
+
+She did not understand the drift of all he said, nor, indeed, did he
+himself, nor was he aware that his speech was of a wandering nature.
+He spoke enthusiastically, and sometimes he ran his fingers through
+his hair; and although he did this rather perplexedly, there was no
+indication in his manner of any want of confidence in himself or his
+opinions. When Nansie said she had followed her heart, he kissed her
+and said:
+
+"And I followed mine; it led me here to your side, my dearest, and I
+am happy. This is the loveliest morning! The rain has sweetened
+everything--for us! You are teaching me things, Nansie. I had no idea
+the early morning was so beautiful. The flowers, the dew--it is
+wonderful. If I were a poet I should say the earth was covered with
+jewels."
+
+"You are a poet, Kingsley."
+
+"No, no; I see things through your eyes. It is you who are the poet.
+But I have written verses, too. The fellows say poetry doesn't pay,
+and you must not encourage me. We must be sensibly worldly. What some
+of the fellows used to say was that I was prone to be discursive, but
+they were not judges. Between you and me, they were a little jealous
+because I could talk. Well, the gift of oratory is not a bad one--I
+don't say I have it, but I am seldom at a loss for words. It may not
+be a gift--it may be an art which a man may cultivate. That brings me
+back to my father. He was always fond of hearing me talk. He has often
+said, 'Talk away, Kingsley; you shall be in the House one day.' You
+know what I mean by the House, Nansie?--Parliament."
+
+"I like to hear you speak of your father, Kingsley, and that he loves
+you."
+
+"He does, sincerely. He says I am to do great things, and that all his
+hopes are centred in me. Why do you sigh, Nansie?"
+
+"Did I sigh, Kingsley?" she asked, with feminine duplicity. "It must
+be because I am overjoyed that we are together."
+
+"Dear girl! The reason I ramble on so about my father is because I
+wish you to know him thoroughly. He is very practical--so am I.
+Sentiment does not run in our family. Only he must be humored, because
+everything depends upon him. He is rather proud; he has a right to be
+so, being a self-made man. And obstinate; so am I. You do not know all
+sides of me yet, Nansie. I have heard it said of a man who has raised
+himself by his own exertions: 'Oh, he is only a man who has made
+money!' Now that is an exhibition of ignorance. For a man who was once
+poor to become a magnate--well, there is an element of romance in it.
+Look at Whittington. My father was a poor boy; his parents were poor,
+and could not afford to give him a good education. What he knows he
+has learned since he became a man. That opens up the question whether
+it was of any use sending me to college; whether a mistake was not
+made in not throwing me upon the world, as he was thrown? He has
+spoken to me of the philosopher's stone, and said he found it when he
+was young. 'Make use of others,' he says, and has furnished
+illustrations. 'Take a thousand workingmen,' he says, 'bricklayers,
+stonemasons, carpenters, anything. They work a certain number of hours
+per day for a certain number of shillings per week. So manage that
+from their labor you reap a profit of half an hour a day out of each
+man. That is a profit of five hundred hours per day for the organizer.
+At eight working hours per day you thus put, roughly speaking, into
+your pocket the earnings of sixty men out of the thousand.' That is
+the way in which my father became a contractor. Bridges, canals,
+foreign railways, he has made them all, and has had as many as eight
+thousand men working for him at one time. And all out of nothing. But
+this is prosaic stuff. Let us talk of ourselves. Your father is ill,
+you said. What is the matter with him?"
+
+"He suffers from his heart, Kingsley; I am in deep distress about
+him."
+
+"Perhaps he is frightening himself unnecessarily, my dear. He must
+consult the best physicians. Thorough rest, freedom from anxiety, a
+warmer climate--leave it to me, Nansie. It is only a matter of money."
+
+Nansie thought with sadness of the disclosure made by her father of
+the extent of his worldly resources, and at that moment the subject of
+her thoughts made his appearance. Mr. Loveday did not betray surprise
+at finding his daughter with Kingsley, but she blushed scarlet when
+she saw him, and Kingsley was not free from a certain embarrassment.
+
+"You rose before me this morning," said Mr. Loveday to Nansie. "Have
+you been out long?"
+
+"About half an hour, father," she replied.
+
+"You have not met Mr. Manners by accident," he observed.
+
+"No, father; Kingsley and I made the appointment last night."
+
+"Last night! At what strange hour, then, and where?" Kingsley looked
+at her encouragingly, and whispered: "Be brave. I will tell him all."
+
+This gave her courage.
+
+"The appointment, father," she said, archly, "was made last night when
+the nightingale was singing."
+
+He allowed his eyes to rest for a brief space upon hers, and he saw
+truth and innocence so clearly depicted therein that a deep breath
+escaped him, as though a weight had been lifted off his heart. But
+this assurance of his daughter's guilelessness was another argument
+against the man who, in the father's opinion, was playing upon her
+feelings.
+
+"Go and prepare breakfast, Nansie," said Mr. Loveday. "I will join you
+presently."
+
+"And Kingsley?" she asked. "He will also come?"
+
+"We shall see, we shall see," said Mr. Loveday, fretfully. "He and I
+have much to say to each other."
+
+"But I shall expect him," she said, kissing her father; then, with a
+bright look at Kingsley, she departed.
+
+"It was the only way to get rid of her," said Mr. Loveday, with a look
+of displeasure at the young man. "Even a father is compelled sometimes
+to practise deceit in his dealings with his children."
+
+The implied accusation in this remark was acknowledged by Kingsley in
+silence. Impulsive and wayward as he was, he was apt to resent an
+imputation reflecting upon his honor.
+
+"But then," continued Mr. Loveday, "a father is often justified in his
+deceit, especially in such a case as this, when he has to deal with a
+young and inexperienced girl."
+
+His manner was as unfortunate as his matter, and it was impossible to
+mistake his meaning; but Kingsley exhibited no resentment.
+
+"You are bringing an accusation against me, sir," he said. "The least
+you can do is to set it forth in plain terms."
+
+"I will do so. Were I disposed to be lenient--which I am not, because
+the welfare of my daughter is too near to my heart--I should call your
+conduct rash and inconsiderate. As it is, I have no hesitation in
+declaring it to be criminal."
+
+"I am glad Nansie is not present to hear you, sir."
+
+"I, also, am glad. You know as well as I do that I would not dare
+to speak so plainly were she here. I should have to temporize with
+her--in plainer terms, to use some of the arts you have used to
+entangle her."
+
+"Have I used such arts to such a purpose?" asked Kingsley. He was not
+accustomed to be addressed in such a manner and to be misjudged so
+promptly. "You make me aware of it for the first time."
+
+"Use none with me; be straightforward, if it is in your power. I am my
+daughter's protector, and I intend to protect her with firmness and
+authority." And yet as he spoke he pressed his hand to his heart, and
+looked before him apprehensively for a moment with the manner of a man
+to whom a spiritual warning had presented itself. Firm and confident
+as he endeavored to make his speech, he felt his powerlessness. He was
+a beggar, and the shadow of death hovered over him. Nevertheless he
+bravely pursued what he conceived to be his duty. "I have called your
+conduct criminal. You have some knowledge of the world. In what other
+words would you describe the behavior of a young man of fashion--you
+see I do you justice--"
+
+"You do not," interrupted Kingsley, "you do me a gross injustice, as
+you will be compelled to acknowledge before we have done."
+
+"How other than criminal is the conduct of a young man of fashion when
+he makes an appointment with a pure and innocent girl such as this in
+which I have surprised you? What construction would the world place
+upon it?"
+
+"I care little for the world, sir, where my affections are concerned."
+
+"That is to say, that you care little for the consequences of
+wrong-doing. I know, I know; it is the fashion of your set."
+
+"Upon my honor, sir," said Kingsley, warmly, "I cannot make up my mind
+how to take you. The attitude you have assumed rather puts me on my
+mettle, and though I could easily disarm you, perhaps it is as well
+that I should first hear you out."
+
+"The attitude _you_ assume, young gentleman, is an utterly
+unwarrantable one. I am speaking strongly, I admit, but I am justified
+by my duty as a parent."
+
+"And yet, sir, I may have equal justice on my side."
+
+"There can be no question of equality in this matter."
+
+"Pardon me, sir," said Kingsley--hurt as he was, his bearing towards
+Nansie's father was, if not deferential, respectful--"I thought this
+was a matter of the affections." And, conscious of his integrity, he
+could not help adding: "Shall your daughter be the judge, sir, between
+us?"
+
+In Mr. Loveday's eyes this was an added offence.
+
+"It is an unworthy challenge, Mr. Manners. It is not difficult for an
+inexperienced girl to choose between a lover and a father. Old
+affections, old ties, all records of a parent's anxious care, fade
+into nothingness when her heart is touched by the new love." He spoke
+now plaintively, and he noted the sympathizing look in Kingsley's
+face. It inspired him with hope; his voice became more gentle, his
+manner more appealing. "Mr. Manners, have pity on me. Let us speak as
+honest man to honest man."
+
+"Agreed, sir," said Kingsley, heartily.
+
+"My daughter is a poor girl; I am a poor man, and have been so all my
+life. There is no great misfortune in this; as much happiness is to be
+found in the ranks of the poor as in the ranks of the rich. When, some
+short time since, it first came to my knowledge that my daughter
+entertained an affection for you, there was but one course open to
+me--to effect a separation between you, in the hope that time and
+distance might work a healthful cure, and cause her to forget you."
+
+"But why, sir?" asked Kingsley, with smiling eyes.
+
+"You ask why? Surely you can yourself supply the answer. There is
+between you a disparity which renders it impossible that any good can
+spring from such an affection."
+
+"No, no, sir; not impossible. Pardon me for interrupting you."
+
+"I, as a matter of course, can form some reasonable conception of the
+future that lies before my child. She is poor; she will live among the
+poor; it is her lot, and not a hard one. It is only temptation, it is
+only a longing for what is out of her reach, that is likely to spoil
+her life, as it has spoiled the lives of many who have not had the
+strength to resist. Will you help to spoil the life of a child who is
+very dear to me?"
+
+"No," said Kingsley, fervently, "as Heaven is my judge, no!"
+
+"Mr. Manners," said Mr. Loveday, holding out his hand to the young
+man, "you said a moment or two since that I was doing you an injustice,
+and that I should be compelled to acknowledge it. I acknowledge it
+now, and I ask your pardon. You have been simply thoughtless. The time
+may come when, with children of your own to protect, you will look
+back to this meeting with satisfaction."
+
+"I shall always do that, sir. And now, sir, as we are on better terms,
+I may ask what it is you expect of me."
+
+"That you never see my daughter more; that you give me your promise
+not to intrude yourself upon her, nor write to her, and in that way
+help her in the task that lies before her, the task of forgetfulness."
+
+"A hard task, sir."
+
+"It may be, and all the sweeter when it is accomplished, because of
+the dangers from which its performance saves her. You promise me
+this?"
+
+"A moment, sir. If your daughter and I had been equal in
+station--which we are not; she is far above me." Being more at his
+ease, he relapsed now into his old manner of discursiveness. "If you
+knew me better you would excuse me for flying off at a tangent. It is
+a butterfly habit of mine, though I hope there is something of the
+grub in me! It may be needed by and by. If, as I was about to say,
+your daughter and I were equal in worldly station, both being equally
+poor or equally rich, and I asked you for her hand, would you refuse
+it to me?"
+
+"I think not," replied Mr. Loveday. "But knowing so little of you it
+would be necessary that I should know more, that I should be to some
+extent satisfied as to your past life."
+
+"And your inquiries in that respect being satisfactory," interrupted
+Kingsley, "you would not refuse?"
+
+"My daughter's heart should decide for me."
+
+"Let it decide for you now, sir," said Kingsley, in a tone both light
+and earnest. "No, do not take it amiss that I make this proposition,
+but listen to me a moment. Hitherto I have been pretty well thrust
+aside in this matter, as if I were a bit of stone, without feelings,
+or something very nearly resembling a monster with them. I am quite
+conscious that I am of an erratic disposition, flying hither and
+thither as the whim seizes me--almost as bad, my dear sir, as your
+eccentric wanderings in a caravan--but I am not at all conscious that
+I have any very distinct vice in me; the explanation of which may be
+that I lack strength of character, a proof that it is as undesirable
+in one man as it is desirable in another. I am not speaking in praise
+of myself, except perhaps in a negative way, which is not much to
+one's credit. Though I may tell you, sir, that I have not unfrequently
+been called a radical, and a radical is a personage. What I am
+endeavoring to express is that I have feelings, and that I should
+prefer rather to be happy than miserable. There is nothing
+unreasonable in that, I hope."
+
+As he paused for a reply, Mr. Loveday, somewhat mystified, said: "No,
+there is nothing unreasonable in such a desire."
+
+"That much being admitted," continued Kingsley, "I repeat my request
+that your daughter's heart should decide for you, as you would allow
+it to decide for you if you supposed me to be a poor man. And this
+sends me flying off again. My father is a rich man; I am nothing but
+what he makes me. If he were to turn me off, my entire worldly wealth
+would consist of an inconsiderable sum of six hundred pounds, the
+whole of which would be swallowed up in paying my debts. Give me
+credit for frankness, sir."
+
+"I do. Your frankness convinces me that for your own sake, as well as
+for my daughter's, it is best that you and she should not meet again."
+
+"But she expects me, sir, and in your company. I would wager that she
+has prepared breakfast for me-- There, sir, don't turn impatiently
+away; it is the fault of my temperament that I can be light and
+serious in a breath, that I can mean much and seem to mean little.
+This I promise. If you will allow me to accompany you to the caravan,
+where your daughter is waiting for us, I will abide by your decision,
+to be arrived at within five short minutes after we are together, as
+to whether I shall remain to breakfast or bid you farewell. Come, sir,
+I can't speak fairer."
+
+There was an irresistible ingenuousness in Kingsley's voice and
+manner, and Mr. Loveday led the way to the caravan. Breakfast was
+laid, and Nansie, busy within the dwelling-house on wheels, cried out
+in the cheerfullest of voices:
+
+"Is that you, father?"
+
+"Yes, Nansie," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+"And Kingsley?"
+
+"Yes, Nansie," said the young man. "Never mind the teapot. Come out at
+once; I have only five minutes' grace."
+
+Nansie immediately ran down the little flight of wooden steps, and
+looked from one to the other of the men, both so dear to her.
+
+"Nansie," said Kingsley, "I said that I would tell your father all.
+Forgive me; I have not done so."
+
+"Why, Kingsley?"
+
+"Because I left it to you."
+
+"I may speak, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+And now there were tears in Nansie's eyes, happy tears. She approached
+closer to her father and took his hand.
+
+"You said last night, father, that you thought I had a secret which I
+was keeping from you."
+
+"Yes, child."
+
+"I had; but I had given Kingsley a promise not to reveal it without
+his permission. I have his permission now, and I will tell it." Her
+bosom heaved, her lips trembled; she gazed fondly at her father.
+
+"Well, child?"
+
+"You will not be angry, father?"
+
+"I do not know, Nansie."
+
+"Father," said Nansie--her arms were round his neck, and her face half
+hidden on his breast--"Kingsley and I are married."
+
+"Married!" cried Mr. Loveday, in a tone of wondering happiness.
+
+"Yes, dear, married. Kingsley thought it best to wait until his
+father, who has been for some time abroad, returned home before we
+made it known; but I am glad that you know it earlier--glad and happy,
+my dear father. I wrote to Kingsley--I could not help it, father; I
+was afraid of losing him, we were wandering about so--and he came last
+night, when you were asleep. I was awake, listening to the
+nightingale. Kingsley being outside and I in, we could not talk
+comfortably together; that is how we met this morning at sunrise. You
+will forgive us, father, will you not?"
+
+"Forgive you, dear child!" said Mr. Loveday, holding out his hand to
+Kingsley, who took it and pressed it warmly. "What can I have to
+forgive, seeing you and Kingsley so happy, and knowing that you have a
+protector? It is I who should ask forgiveness of him."
+
+"Not at all, my dear sir, not at all," cried Kingsley, hastily. "I was
+to blame for allowing you to labor a moment under a misapprehension."
+
+"My dear Nansie! my dear, dear child!" murmured the happy father.
+Then, turning to Kingsley: "When do you expect your father home?" As
+he asked the question his face became grave. He saw the difficulties
+in their way.
+
+"He has arrived, sir. I had a letter from him yesterday, and I am
+going to him, to confess all. It was partly that, and partly because
+of Nansie's letter, but chiefly because I could not exist without
+seeing her before I went to my father, which brought me here. But,
+sir, my father is not the question."
+
+"What is, then, Kingsley?" asked Mr. Loveday, still very grave.
+
+"The question is, whether you are going to ask me to stay to breakfast
+with you."
+
+Mr. Loveday brightened; there was something contagious in the young
+man's gay spirits.
+
+"I invite you, Kingsley," he said.
+
+"Thank you, sir; I am famished, Nansie."
+
+Standing upon the wooden steps, she turned and gazed fondly at her
+father and her husband, and as her bright eyes shone upon them there
+issued from a thicket of trees a most wonderful chorus of birds. And
+Mr. Loveday, quoting from his favorite poet, said:
+
+
+               "'See, the spring
+          Is the earth enamelling,
+          And the birds on every tree
+          Greet the morn with melody.'"
+
+
+And Nansie, going slowly into the caravan, thought that life was very
+sweet and the world very beautiful.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+On the evening of the following day Kingsley arrived at his father's
+house in London. It was situated in the centre of fashion, and had
+been built by the rich contractor himself upon part of a freehold
+which he had purchased upon terms so advantageous that, as he was in
+the habit of boasting, his own mansion "stood him in next to nothing,"
+occasionally adding that he could find a purchaser for it at a day's
+notice for seventy-five thousand pounds. He was fond of dealing in
+large sums even in figures of speech, and he was to some extent
+justified in this habit by the circumstances of his career.
+
+It was a wonderful career, commencing with nothing and marching into
+millions. A poor boy, doubly orphaned and thrown upon the world before
+he could stand upright, without a friend, without a penny, without
+shoes to his feet, he had grown somehow into a sturdy manhood, and
+when he was twenty years of age he stood six feet two in his
+stockings, and could fell an ox with his fist. Therefore, even at that
+humble period in his career, he was renowned among his fellows, and
+held a distinguished position. No man could equal him in strength;
+many tried and were laid low; giants travelled from afar to try
+conclusions with Val Manners, and all met with the same fate. Had he
+cared he might have developed into the greatest prizefighter the world
+had ever known, and have worn diamonded belts and jewelled stars, and
+become as a king among men. Newspapers would have heralded his doings
+in large type; he could have travelled in state like an ambassador; he
+might have exhibited himself and earned a princely income; the
+aristocracy would have patted his broad back, and titled ladies would
+have cast admiring glances at him. For this is the age of muscle as
+well as intellect, and a bully may take rank with Homer.
+
+But Val Manners was not a bully, and his tastes were not for the
+prize-ring. He was proud of his great strength, because it gave him
+the mastery, and he used it upon needed occasions to maintain his
+position; but he did not love fighting for fighting's sake. In his
+early life he knew that he had biceps of steel and a constitution
+which defied wind and weather; but he did not know that he had a
+subtle brain and a talent for administration which were to lead him to
+eminence and enormous wealth. This knowledge dawned upon him
+afterwards, when he began to make successes, when he began to gauge
+men and understand them.
+
+He commenced life as a bricklayer, and even as a boy his strength and
+fearlessness were quoted, and he found himself in demand. He did not
+seem to know what fear was; he could climb the shakiest and tallest of
+ladders, carrying wonderful weights; he could stand upon dizzy heights
+and look smilingly down. His possession of these qualities caused him
+to be selected for dangerous tasks, and he was never known to shrink
+from one, however perilous. All this time he earned barely sufficient
+to appease his enormous appetite. He received no education, but he had
+a native gift of figures. It was not till he reached his third decade
+that he could read and write. Long before that, however, his
+arithmetical talents had laid the foundation of his fortune. It was a
+fortune made partly out of stone and metal, but chiefly out of other
+men's labor.
+
+Chance threw into his way a small contract. A retired pawnbroker
+wanted a house built in North Islington, and was not satisfied with
+the estimates he received from established firms. "It ought to be done
+for seven and a half per cent. less," said he, and he called Val
+Manners to his aid, having had occasion to observe the calm and
+skilful manner in which the young artisan went about his work. "He
+does the work of two men," said the pawnbroker, "and is probably paid
+for the work of one." He ascertained, upon inquiry, that this was the
+case; Val Manners, working so many hours a day, was paid so much a
+week. It was not that, out of boastfulness, he desired to do more work
+in a given time than comrades less strong and capable than himself, it
+was simply that he did his work honestly without regard to
+comparisons. The pawnbroker discovered in his first interview with Val
+Manners that the huge, common-looking man had a head for figures. He
+put the matter of his house before Val Manners, and asked him to
+prepare an estimate. The result was that Val Manners threw up his
+situation, and became a master builder in a small way; the result also
+was that the pawnbroker got his house built for twelve per cent, less
+than the lowest of the estimates submitted to him by old-established
+firms.
+
+In this first operation the brain power of Val Manners made itself
+manifest. He worked himself, of course, and thereby saved one man's
+labor; this went into his own pocket. Indeed, being stirred and
+excited by this higher flight into life's struggles, he worked harder
+than had been his usual habit, and may be said to have done the work
+of at least two men and a half in the building of the pawnbroker's
+house; and this extra money also went into his pocket. Then, again, in
+the selection of men but of work who applied to be taken on, he chose
+the strongest, and, being always on the spot, saw that he was not
+cheated out of a quarter of an hour by one and ten minutes by another.
+Thus, when the contract was finished, he was a great many days to the
+good, and he found that he was richer by sixty pounds than he would
+have been had he continued to be a servant. This set him thinking.
+
+The pawnbroker was so satisfied with the bargain that he proposed the
+building of a row of houses in a poor locality. Val Manners was ready
+and glad, and pursued the same tactics as before, and worked harder
+than ever. The second contract being finished to everybody's
+satisfaction, Val Manners reckoned up his gains. He was master of a
+capital of three hundred pounds.
+
+From this point his career was a succession of triumphs, until his
+capital amounted to a hundred thousand pounds. It was wonderful how
+his money accumulated; it grew while he slept, for he often had relays
+of men working for him by night as well as by day. He was a hard
+taskmaster, perfectly just in his dealings, keeping to his word and
+his engagements with unerring fidelity, but exacting from those in his
+employ an absolute faithfulness, the least infringement of which meant
+instant dismissal. It was no longer Val Manners, but Mr. Manners, the
+great Mr. Manners, who had plumped into the very richest part of a Tom
+Tiddler's ground open to every enterprising man, and picked and
+pocketed the plums growing therein. He did not allow himself to become
+bewildered by his success, but pursued his way calmly and masterfully
+as regarded his own undertakings, and with a vigilant watchfulness
+which frequently turned a probable loss into a certain profit. He
+undertook no more small contracts; all his business dealings were now
+on a vast scale, and no project was too stupendous for him to grapple
+with. It was not England alone that supplied his master mind with
+material to expend its energies upon; he sought abroad for contracts,
+and laid railways in deserts, built huge bridges touching the clouds,
+and made wonderful waterways for facilities of commerce. He became
+world-renowned, and the name of Manners, the great contractor, was a
+passport in every part of the globe.
+
+It was to his advantage that he married young, his partner being no
+other than the daughter of his first patron, the pawnbroker. She was
+not in any sense a remarkable person, but she had an ambition to shine
+in society, and it was from her that Mr. Manners received the limited
+education which enabled him, at thirty years of age, to read and
+write. His ideal as to social position also grew with his wealth; but
+he had tact enough to understand that it was not possible for him to
+occupy a foremost position as a public leader. This, however, did not
+prevent him from building a grand house in the heart of fashionable
+London, nor from mixing among the best. He was not out of place there,
+for he had the rare wisdom of being able to hold his tongue, and never
+to speak assertively except upon the business with which he was
+familiar. On those occasions he was listened to with respect and
+deference, and his words had weight; he trod upon no man's corns by
+expressing opinions upon matters of which he had not made himself
+master; he was content that his works should speak for him. Eloquent,
+indeed, was the record which, so far as he himself was concerned, he
+bore about him in silence. The railroads he had constructed in savage
+countries, the seas he had joined, were not these matters of history?
+And he, whose constructive and administrative talents had compassed
+these difficulties, became in a sense historical. Stories were related
+of his great courage, of his amazing strength, of his daring and skill
+in moments of difficulty, putting his own shoulders to the wheel and
+showing his workmen how a thing was to be done. Women love the
+personification of strength in a man; it means power, manliness,
+nobility, in their eyes; and numbers gazed in admiration upon the
+massive frame of the great contractor for whom no undertaking was too
+vast. He was a striking figure in fashionable assemblies, towering
+above all, and moving like a mountain through the packed crowd of male
+and female exquisites. He only moved when he had occasion; he had not
+within him that restless, fretful spirit which weakens the character
+of many men; as he knew the value of silence, so also did he know the
+value of repose. In all gatherings of men and women the art of
+standing still with dignity and without self-consciousness is
+invaluable. This art Mr. Manners possessed, so that, taking him for
+all in all, he was no charlatan, trading upon false pretences.
+
+The day previous to that upon which Kingsley entered his father's
+house, with the intention of making a clean breast of it with respect
+to Nansie, Mr. Manners himself had returned from Russia where he had
+been for five months superintending a railway contract for the Russian
+government, which he had brought to a successful conclusion.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V.
+
+
+Father and son greeted each other cordially, but after the
+undemonstrative manner of Englishmen.
+
+"Well, father?"
+
+"Well, Kingsley?"
+
+Then they shook hands, and smiled and nodded at each other.
+
+"Has everything gone off well, father?"
+
+"Everything. The balance on the right side will be larger than I
+expected."
+
+"That is better than being the other way."
+
+"Perhaps; but I prefer matters to come out exactly as I planned them.
+It is altogether more satisfactory. I will tell you all about it
+to-night, when we must have a long talk. I have a lot of letters to
+attend to now."
+
+Kingsley took the hint, and, after seeing his mother, went to his
+room. The first thing he did there was to take out Nansie's portrait
+and gaze fondly on it and kiss it. He had parted from her and her
+father in the morning, and had promised to write to her before he went
+to bed. As he had an hour now to spare, he thought he could not better
+employ it than in covering four sheets of paper to the girl he loved,
+so he sat down and enjoyed himself to his heart's content. His letter
+was full of the usual lover's rhapsodies, and need not here be
+transcribed. There was in it something better than rhapsodies, the
+evidence of an earnest, faithful spirit, which made it the sweetest of
+reading to Nansie when she received it on the following day. Kingsley
+mentioned that he and his father were to have a long talk together
+that night, and that, if he found a favorable opportunity, he would
+take advantage of it to make confession to his father; also if he had
+any good news to communicate, he might write again before he went to
+bed. And then, with fond and constant love and untold kisses, he was
+forever and ever her faithful lover, and so on, and so on. Very
+precious and comforting are these lovers' sweet trivialities.
+
+Dinner over, Kingsley and his father sat together in the contractor's
+study, at a table upon which were wine and cigars. Mr. Manners drank
+always in great moderation, and did not smoke. Kingsley's habits were
+after a freer fashion, and his father did not disapprove. The first
+hour was occupied in a description by Mr. Manners of the operations in
+which he had been engaged in Russia, and of the difficulties which he
+had to surmount. He made light of these, but he was proud of his last
+success.
+
+"There were mountains to cut through, Kingsley," he said, "and Russian
+prejudices to overcome; I hardly know which of the two was the more
+difficult job."
+
+"There were dangers, father, as well as difficulties," observed
+Kingsley.
+
+"Yes, there were dangers; you have heard something of them?"
+
+"I have seen accounts in the papers from time to time. You see,
+father, the railway you have laid down is a step nearer to India."
+
+"I am pleased to hear you say that, Kingsley."
+
+"Why?" asked Kingsley, rather surprised.
+
+"Because it shows you take an interest in politics."
+
+"I have done that for some time past, as you know, father."
+
+"Yes, and it pleases me. A step nearer to India. That is so, but it is
+no business of mine. It may," with a light touch of his finger on his
+son's breast, "by and by be business of yours, when you are a
+statesman. About the dangers? What did you read?"
+
+"There were pestilent morasses to be bridged over or cut through, and
+there was great loss of life."
+
+"Quite correct; the mortality was serious; fortunately I employed
+native labor."
+
+"But it was human life, father, whether Russian or English."
+
+"Quite true again, Kingsley."
+
+"Holding views as I do, father," said Kingsley, "there appears to me
+something anomalous--that is putting it very mildly--in this last
+operation of yours."
+
+Mr. Manners smiled good-humoredly, and nodded his head in pleasant
+approval.
+
+"Go on, Kingsley."
+
+"For instance, the matter of Russia's nearer approach to India being
+facilitated by an Englishman. Is not that anomalous?"
+
+"No more anomalous than selling Russia a few millions of our best
+rifles and a few hundred millions of our best bullets."
+
+"Would you do that?"
+
+"I should like to get the contract."
+
+Kingsley shifted uneasily in his chair.
+
+"It is either right or wrong," he said.
+
+"Being at peace with Russia, Kingsley, it is right. Of course, it
+would be wrong if we were at war with the country."
+
+"But we provide it with rifles and bullets and railways beforehand."
+
+"Quite so--in the way of business. I like a conversation such as this,
+Kingsley, in which there is no need for anything to be settled. As to
+the future before you, it doesn't matter to me which side you take, so
+long as you become what I hope you will be. Men like myself, sprung
+from the ranks and making such fortunes as I have made, generally
+become Conservatives. I am neither one thing nor another, and shall
+not attempt to dictate to you. But into this question of bullets and
+rifles and railways let us import a little common-sense. If that sort
+of trading is wrong in times of peace, every country would have to cut
+itself aloof from every other country, and to live as if it were shut
+up in a box. I can't express myself as well as you, but I dare say you
+understand me."
+
+"You can always make people understand you, father," said Kingsley.
+
+"Yes, I have always been able to do that. They respect you all the
+more for it." Here he laughed quite gayly. "Even in Russia, where I
+did not know one word of the language, I made myself understood. I saw
+some great people there, Kingsley, and had interviews with them. Of
+course, I had a man to interpret for me, but I think I could have
+managed even without him. Some of the great men spoke English, but not
+a laborer I employed did. It was no more necessary for them to know
+our language, than for me to know theirs. The point was that there was
+work to do, and that it must be done within the stipulated time. With
+a stern master over him the Russian is a good workman, and values his
+life less than an Englishman. Take the pestilential ground we had to
+work over. No English workman would remain there a day; the Russian
+shrugged his shoulders and took the risk. Now, Kingsley, we will
+proceed to matters more immediately concerning ourselves."
+
+"With pleasure, father."
+
+"As between father and son there should be as few secrets as possible.
+You have some knowledge of my career; it is one I have no need to be
+ashamed of, and I propose to commence with the story of my life, and
+to make you fully acquainted with the secret of my rise in the world."
+
+Upon that Mr. Manners entered unreservedly upon his relation, and
+spoke of matters in respect of his successful struggles with which the
+reader is already familiar. It was not all new to Kingsley, but he
+listened patiently and admiringly.
+
+"I think I have made it plain to you, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners,
+when he had finished the recital, "that I owe everything to myself. I
+make no boast of it, and I have no doubt there are numbers of men as
+capable and clever as I am, only they have either not had the courage
+to launch out or have missed their opportunities. Now, my lad, I am
+sensible of my own deficiencies; I do not deceive myself by saying
+that I am as good as others with whom my money places me on an
+equality; I am a contractor, nothing more, and every shoemaker to his
+last. I shall stick to mine, and make more money. If I entered
+Parliament, which I could do without difficulty, I should have to sit
+mumchance, and play a silent part, unless something in my own
+particular line started up; and that would be once in a blue moon. Now
+taking a back seat in anything in which I am engaged would not suit
+me; I am accustomed to be master, and master I intend to continue to
+be. If I were a good speaker the matter would be different; I could
+carry all before me, though I am ignorant of Greek and Latin. When I
+was a lad I did not have what you call ambition; I took a pride in
+making sensible contracts which would bring me in a profit, and I
+crept along steadily, never dreaming that I should ever reach my
+present position. But the case is altered now, and I have a real
+ambition--not directly for myself, but for you. I have no expectation
+that you will disappoint me."
+
+"I will endeavor not to do so, father."
+
+"That is a good lad. You will be one of the richest men in the
+country, but I want you to be something more; I want you to be one of
+the most influential. I want people to say as I walk along; 'There
+goes the father of the prime-minister.'"
+
+"That is looking a long way ahead," said Kingsley, considerably
+startled by this flight.
+
+"Not a bit too far; it can be worked up to, and with your gifts it
+shall be. I have already told you that it matters little to me whether
+you are a Conservative, or a Liberal, or a Radical; that is your
+affair. If you are prime-minister and a Radical it will show that
+Radicalism is popular. I stop short of Socialism, mind you."
+
+"So do I."
+
+"Good. There is nothing nowadays that a man with a good education and
+a long purse cannot accomplish. I have the long purse, but not the
+education. I can talk sensibly enough to you here in a room, and in
+fairly good English, thanks to your mother and to my perseverance, but
+put me in the House of Commons and ask me to make a long speech upon
+large matters of state, and I should make a fool of myself. Therefore
+it is impossible _I_ could ever become prime-minister."
+
+"It is not every man who would speak so plainly and disparagingly of
+himself."
+
+"Perhaps not, but I happen to know the length of my tether; I happen
+to know what I am fitted for and what I am not. I don't want you to
+suppose that I am making a sacrifice; nothing of the kind. I keep my
+place; you work up to yours; then I shall be perfectly satisfied. I
+have had this in my mind for years, and instead of making you a
+contractor I have made you a gentleman. That is what other fathers
+have done, whose beginnings have been as humble as mine. New families
+are springing up, my boy, to take the place of the old; you, Kingsley,
+shall found a family which shall become illustrious, and I shall be
+content to look on and say: 'This is my doing; this is my work.' We
+shall show these old lords what new blood can do."
+
+"Why, father," said Kingsley, laughing despite the uneasy feeling that
+was creeping over him, "you are a Radical."
+
+"Perhaps I am, but we will keep it to ourselves. Now, Kingsley, it is
+my method when I am going in for a big contract to master beforehand
+everything in connection with it. I study it again and again; I verify
+my figures and calculations a dozen times before I set my name to it.
+That is what I have done in this affair. I have mastered the whole of
+the details, and I know exactly what is necessary. The first thing to
+make sure of when a great house is to be built, a house that is to
+last through sunshine and storm, a house that is to stand for
+centuries, is the foundation. That is out of sight, but it must be
+firm, and strong, and substantial. I am the foundation of this house I
+wish to build, and I am out of sight. Good. What is fine and beautiful
+to the eye you will supply--that is, you and your connections, in
+which, for convenience, we will say your mother and I do not count."
+
+"My connections!" exclaimed Kingsley. "Apart from you and my mother!"
+
+"Quite so. There are families of the highest rank who would not shrink
+from admitting you, upon the closest terms, into their circle. Some
+are tottering, and fear the fall. Old estates are mortgaged up to
+their value, and every year makes their position worse. We, with our
+full purses, step in and set them right, and bury the ghosts which
+haunt them. There is nothing low and common about you, my boy. You
+are, in appearance, manners, and education, as good as the best of
+them, and lady mothers will only be too glad to welcome you. The first
+thing you must do is to marry."
+
+"Sir!"
+
+"And to marry well. I have authority for saying that you can marry the
+daughter of a duchess. I don't wonder that you look startled. I have
+seen the young lady; she is nineteen years of age, and very beautiful.
+Of course she knows nothing of the scheme. It is for you to win
+her--of which I have no fears. You can make settlements upon her,
+Kingsley, which would satisfy the most exacting of duchesses. The
+family has influence, great influence, socially and politically.
+Married to her, with your talents, your future is assured, if you have
+only a fair amount of industry. I have set my heart upon it,
+Kingsley."
+
+"There is the question of love, father," said Kingsley, in a low tone.
+It seemed to him that his father had cut the ground from under his
+feet.
+
+"Quite so. There is the question of love. You will win your way to her
+heart, without a doubt."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+There occurred here a pause. Kingsley did not know what to say. His
+father was waiting for him to speak.
+
+"No man should think of marrying," said Kingsley, presently, "unless
+there is love on both sides."
+
+"There is no occasion to discuss that point," said Mr. Manners. "As
+you will win your way to the young lady's heart, so will she win her
+way to yours. Wait till you see her, and meanwhile give me your
+promise that you will do your best to further my wishes. I do not
+expect a blind compliance; you shall go to her with your eyes open,
+and if you do not say she is very beautiful you must be a poor judge
+of beauty."
+
+"But," murmured Kingsley, "to have an affair like this cut and dried
+beforehand for the man who is most deeply concerned--well, father,
+there is something sordid and mercenary in it."
+
+"There might be," said Mr. Manners, calmly, "if the young lady knew
+anything of it; but she knows nothing."
+
+"Yet you said you spoke with authority."
+
+"Quite so. The young lady's mother has been indirectly sounded, and I
+spoke the truth. Listen, Kingsley," and Mr. Manners's more serious
+tone increased Kingsley's discomfort. "I said I have set my heart upon
+the projects I have unfolded concerning your future. I have set
+something more than my heart upon them--I have set all my hopes upon
+them. You are my only child, and will be my heir if everything is
+right between us. You will come into an enormous fortune, greater than
+you have any idea of, and by its means and a suitable marriage you
+will rise to power. There are few men who would not jump at the
+proposition I have made, which, plainly explained, means your coming
+into everything that can make life desirable. If I were asking you to
+marry a lady who was ugly or had some deformity I could understand
+your hesitation. Do you still refuse to give me the promise I ask?"
+
+"I cannot give it to you, father."
+
+"Why?" demanded Mr. Manners, in a stern voice; but he did not give
+Kingsley time to reply. "Listen further to me before you speak." He
+took a pocket-book from his pocket, and drew from it a paper which he
+consulted. "I can make excuses for slight faults of conduct, but will
+not pardon an opposition which threatens to destroy the most earnest
+wish of my life. You are acquainted with a person of the name of
+Loveday."
+
+"I have the honor of his acquaintance," said Kingsley, nerving himself
+for the contest which he saw impending, and considerably surprised at
+his father's acquaintance with the name.
+
+"He is a person of no character," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"He is a gentleman," interrupted Kingsley.
+
+"That is news to me," said Mr. Manners, "and is not in accordance with
+the information I have received."
+
+"Have you been playing the spy upon me?" asked Kingsley, with some
+warmth.
+
+"I should require to be in two places at once to have done that. This
+time last week I was in Russia."
+
+"Then you have been paying some one to watch me. By what right,
+father?"
+
+"You jump too hastily at conclusions. You make a statement which is
+not true, and you proceed to question me upon it."
+
+"I beg your pardon; but you must have obtained your information from
+some source."
+
+"Quite so."
+
+"Will you tell me from whom?
+
+"I may or I may not before we part to-night. You refused to give me a
+promise; I refuse to give you one. I might well take offence at the
+imputation that I have paid a spy to watch you."
+
+"I withdrew the imputation, father."
+
+"The suspicion was in itself an offence. I have allowed you to go your
+way, Kingsley, in the belief and hope that your way and mine were one,
+and that you would do nothing to disgrace me."
+
+"I have done nothing to disgrace you."
+
+"We may take different views. As a young man you have had what is
+called your 'fling.' I made you a most liberal allowance--"
+
+"For which I have always been deeply grateful, father," said Kingsley,
+hoping to turn the current of his father's wrath. It smote him with
+keen apprehension, for Nansie's sake and his own, that the anger his
+father displayed when he first mentioned the name of Loveday should be
+no longer apparent, and that Mr. Manners spoke in his usual calm and
+masterful voice.
+
+"I made you a most liberal allowance," repeated Mr. Manners, "which you
+freely spent. I did not demur to that; it pleased me that you should
+be liberal and extravagant, and prove yourself the equal in fortune,
+as you are in education and manners, of those with whom you mixed. You
+committed some follies, which I overlooked--and paid for."
+
+"It is the truth, father. I got into debt and you cleared me."
+
+"Did I reproach you?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"If I am not mistaken--and in figures I seldom am--I paid your debts
+for you on three occasions."
+
+"It is true, sir."
+
+"And always cheerfully."
+
+"Always, sir."
+
+"I am not wishful to take undue credit to myself by reminding you of
+this; it is only that I would have you bear in mind that I have
+endeavored to make your life easy and pleasurable, and to do my duty
+by you. Nor will I make any comparison between your career as a young
+man and mine at the same age. I am satisfied, and I suppose you are
+the same."
+
+"I think, father," said Kingsley, "that I should have been content to
+work as you did."
+
+"Not as I did, because we started from different standpoints. Pounds,
+shillings, and pence were of great importance to me, and I used to
+count them very jealously. I value money now perhaps as little as you
+do, but I know its value better than you, and what it can buy in a
+large way--in the way I have already explained to you. For that
+reason, and for no other, it is precious to me. There are men who have
+risen to wealth by discreditable means; that is not my case; what I
+possess has been fairly worked for and fairly earned. All through my
+life I have acted honorably and straightforwardly."
+
+"All through my life, father," said Kingsley, with spirit, "I shall do
+the same."
+
+"Well and good. I have a special reason, Kingsley, in speaking of
+myself in the way I have done."
+
+"Will you favor me with your reason, father?"
+
+"Yes. It is to put a strong emphasis upon what you will lose if you
+cut yourself away from me."
+
+"Is there any fear of that, father?" asked Kingsley, with a sinking
+heart.
+
+"It will be for you, not for me, to answer that question; and it will
+be answered, I presume, more in acts than in words. I return to the
+Mr. Loveday, who is described to me as a person of no character, and
+whom you describe as a gentleman."
+
+"He is one, father, believe me," said Kingsley, earnestly.
+
+"Do gentlemen travel about the country in caravans, sleeping in them
+by the roadsides?"
+
+Kingsley could not help smiling. "Not generally, father, but some men
+are whimsical."
+
+"Let us keep to the point, Kingsley. According to your account we are
+speaking of a gentleman."
+
+"We are," said Kingsley, somewhat nettled at this pinning down.
+
+"Then you mean that some gentlemen are whimsical?"
+
+"I mean that."
+
+"In what respect is this Mr. Loveday a gentleman? Does he come of an
+old family?"
+
+"I do not know."
+
+"Do you know anything of his family?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Is he a man of means?"
+
+"No."
+
+"A poor man, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very poor?"
+
+"Very poor."
+
+"And travels about in a broken-down caravan, and you wish me to
+believe he is a gentleman. I would prefer to take your word, Kingsley,
+against that of my informant, but in this instance I cannot do so. It
+would be stretching the limits too far."
+
+"We will not argue it out, father."
+
+"Very well. But Mr. Loveday does not travel alone in this caravan; he
+has a person he calls his daughter with him."
+
+"It is coming," thought Kingsley, and he set his teeth fast, and
+said': "His daughter, a lady, travels with him."
+
+"So far, then, my facts are indisputable. This young woman is
+described to me as an artful, designing person who has used all her
+arts to entangle you--because you have a rich father."
+
+"Who dares say that?" cried Kingsley, starting up with flashing eyes.
+
+"My informant. I understand, also, that some months since she
+contracted secretly a disreputable marriage, and that her husband--do
+not interrupt me for a moment, Kingsley--has conveniently disappeared
+in order to give her time to bleed you, through your rich father. To
+go through the ceremony again would be a light matter with her."
+
+"It is a horrible calumny," cried Kingsley, in great excitement.
+
+"Although," pursued Mr. Manners, exhibiting no agitation in his voice
+or manner, "the circumstances of my own private life have not made me
+personally familiar with the tricks of adventuresses, I have in the
+course of my experiences learned sufficient of them to make me abhor
+them. How much deeper must be my abhorrence now when such a woman
+steps in between me and my son to destroy a cherished design which can
+only be carried out in his person! I will listen to no vindication,
+Kingsley. Before you arrived home to-night I had a strong hope that
+some mistake had been made in the information which has reached me
+concerning your proceedings. I was wrong; it is unhappily too true."
+
+"You received the information from an enemy of mine."
+
+"No, Kingsley, from a friend."
+
+"Ah!" There was here, even in the utterance of the simple word, a
+singular resemblance between father and son. Kingsley's voice no
+longer betrayed excitement, and his manner became outwardly calm.
+"There is only one so-called friend who could have supplied you with
+the information--my cousin, Mark Inglefield."
+
+Mr. Manners was silent.
+
+"Was it he, sir?" asked Kingsley.
+
+Still Mr. Manners was silent.
+
+"I judge from your silence, sir, that Mark Inglefield is the man I
+have to thank."
+
+During his silence Mr. Manners had been considering.
+
+"I must say something here, Kingsley. I have no right to betray
+another man's confidence, and you no right to betray mine."
+
+"It would be the last of my wishes, father."
+
+"If I tell you who is my informant, will you hold it as a sacred
+confidence?"
+
+It was Kingsley's turn now to consider. He was convinced that Mark
+Inglefield was his enemy, and by giving his father the desired promise
+of a sacred confidence, he would be shutting himself off from all
+chance of reprisal. On the other hand, he might be mistaken; and his
+father might also refuse to continue the interview, which Kingsley
+felt could not be broken at this point; and after all, how could he
+hope to help himself or Nansie by a personal encounter with his cousin
+or by further angering his father, who, he knew only too well, was now
+in a dangerous mood?
+
+"Do you insist upon my holding it as a sacred confidence, father?"
+
+"I insist upon it," said Mr. Manners, coldly.
+
+"I will hold it so."
+
+"On your honor as a man? Not as a gentleman, for our views differ
+there."
+
+"On my honor as a man."
+
+"You were right," said Mr. Manners. "I received the information from
+your cousin, Mark Inglefield."
+
+"As I expected. I must now relate to you, father, the circumstances of
+my acquaintance with Mr. Loveday and his daughter, and the manner in
+which my cousin Mark comes into connection with it."
+
+"I will listen to you, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners. "Our conversation
+has assumed a complexion which may be productive of the most serious
+results to you and myself. I do not hold this out as a threat; I state
+a fact. I am, in my convictions, inflexible. Once I am resolved, no
+power on earth can move me. And do not lose sight of another thing.
+Mark Inglefield is your mother's nephew, and therefore your cousin.
+That I have given him the advantage of a university education, and
+that I sent you both to college at the same time, is my affair. I
+should have done the same by you had you been my nephew and he my son.
+It was always my intention to advance him in life, and it is my
+intention still. He is worthy of it. He is your equal in birth and
+attainments. Therefore speak of him with becoming respect. I shall
+know the exact value to place upon intemperate language in a case like
+this, where the passions are involved."
+
+"I will do my best to obey you, father," said Kingsley, "but a pure
+reputation is at stake, and I may fail in my endeavor. It was my
+cousin, Mark Inglefield, who first introduced me to Miss Loveday. He
+spoke to me of her, as he spoke to others, in a light tone, and I do
+not know what it was that induced me to give ear to his boastings,
+although I entertained a contempt for him and a doubt of his truth.
+One day, while we were walking together and he was indulging with
+greater freedom and boisterousness than usual--though his ordinary
+habit was bad enough--of his acquaintanceship with Miss Loveday, it
+happened that we met her. He could do no less than introduce me, and I
+had not been in her company five minutes before I suspected that his
+vaporings about her were those of a base man, of one who was dead to
+honor. A true man is respectful and modest when he makes reference to
+a lady for whom he entertains an affection, and the doubts I had
+previously entertained of my cousin when he indulged in the
+outpourings of his coarse vanity were now confirmed. I followed up the
+introduction by courting Miss Loveday's intimacy, and she grew to
+respect me, to rely upon me. The more I saw of her the more I esteemed
+her. Never had I met a lady so pure and gentle, and it was a proud
+moment in my life when she asked me to protect her from my cousin's
+insolent advances. I spoke to him, in a manner not too gentle, I own,
+for my indignation was aroused, and from that time he and I were
+enemies. I know it now; I did not know it then. He was far too subtle
+for me, and I, perhaps too much in the habit of wearing my heart upon
+my sleeve, was, as I now discover, sadly at a disadvantage with him.
+He showed no anger at my supplanting him, and this should have warned
+me; your cold-blooded man is a dangerous animal when he becomes your
+enemy; but I suppose I was too deeply in love and too happy to harbor
+suspicion against one who had no real cause for enmity against me. Nor
+did I consider the consequences--not to myself but to the lady I
+loved--of my frequent visits and meetings with her. There is no doubt
+that she was compromised by them, but she was as guileless and
+innocent as myself, and it was not till it was forced upon me that her
+reputation was in my hands that I prevailed upon her to take the step
+which gave the lie to malicious rumor."
+
+"And that step, Kingsley?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"I married her. She is my wife."
+
+"You think so?"
+
+"Think so, father! What do you mean? Am I a man with reason, gifted
+with some standard of intelligence, that I should think--which implies
+a doubt--where I am sure?"
+
+"You are a man deluded, Kingsley, as other men have been by other
+women. This woman has deceived you."
+
+"No, sir, truly as I live."
+
+"The farce would not be complete unless you protested. It is the least
+you can do. All that you have said confirms your cousin's story. He
+has not erred in one particular, except in what is excusable in him,
+and perhaps in you. Mischief is done, but it can be remedied. An
+impulsive man like yourself is no match for an artful woman."
+
+"I will not hear the lady I love and esteem so spoken of," said
+Kingsley, with warmth.
+
+To this remark Mr. Manners was about to reply with equal warmth, but
+he checked himself, and did not speak for a few moments. When he
+resumed the conversation he spoke in his usual calm tone, a tone which
+never failed in impressing upon his hearers a conviction of the
+speaker's absolute sincerity and indomitable will.
+
+"It has happened--fortunately for others--but rarely in my life,
+Kingsley, that such a crisis as this has occurred; and I regret this
+difference in our ideas all the more because its consequences may be
+fatal to you and may shatter hopes upon which I have set great store.
+When you say to me that you will not hear me speak in such or such a
+manner, because it displeases you, you behave in a manner to which I
+am not accustomed. When you place yourself in opposition to my wishes
+you treat me to a new experience which I do not welcome. Were I
+holding this interview with any other than yourself I should have put
+an end to it some time since; after that there would be nothing more
+to be said on either side. I am not used to disappointments, but I
+should be able to bear them; I am rather fond of difficulties because
+it is a pleasure to overcome them. I am inclined to regard this
+difference of opinion between us as a difficulty which may be overcome
+without much trouble, if you are reasonable."
+
+"It is not a difference of opinion, father," said Kingsley, moderating
+his tone; the interests at stake were too serious to allow him to give
+his indignation free play, "it is a difference as to facts, of which
+I, and not you, am cognizant."
+
+"I hold to what I say, Kingsley," replied Mr. Manners. "I have
+received a certain statement of particulars which I choose to accept
+as true; you have imparted to me certain information which I do not
+choose to accept in the manner you wish. Setting aside for a moment
+all question of the young woman of whose character we have formed
+different estimates, I ask you, supposing you to be legally married,
+what is the kind of respect you have shown me, a father who has never
+crossed your wishes, by contracting a lifelong obligation without
+consulting me?"
+
+"It was wrong, father," said Kingsley, with contrition. "I have only
+the excuse to make that I loved her and was eager to defend her
+reputation."
+
+"It is an excuse I cannot accept. And the deliberate committal of a
+fault so fatally grave as this, with a full knowledge of the
+consequences, cannot be condoned by the weak confession, when it is
+too late to repair the fault, that you were wrong. There is a
+repentance which comes too late, Kingsley. But even that I might have
+forgiven had I reason to approve of your choice."
+
+"You have but to see her, father," said Kingsley, eagerly. "Let me
+bring her to you! You will be as proud of her as I am; you will know
+then that I have not chosen unworthily."
+
+"No," said Mr. Manners, "if I see her at all I must see her alone."
+
+"Give me a minute or two to consider, father."
+
+"Certainly, Kingsley."
+
+The young man turned aside, and allowed his thoughts to travel to
+Nansie, and to dwell upon the beauty of her character. He knew her to
+be patient and long-suffering, and that she would not shrink from
+making a sacrifice for one she loved as she loved him; he knew also
+that these qualities were allied to a spirit of independence which,
+while it would enable her to bear up outwardly under the pressure of a
+great wrong, would rather intensify than abate the anguish which would
+wring her soul were such a wrong forced upon her. It would be a
+lifelong anguish, and would rack her till her dying day. His father,
+with his iron will, was just the man to force the sacrifice upon her,
+was just the man to so prevail upon her that she might, at his
+persuasion, remove herself forever not only from the presence but from
+the knowledge of the man she loved and had vowed to love while life
+remained. Poor, helpless, dependent, and alone in the world--for
+Kingsley had an inward conviction that her father's days were
+numbered--to what a future would he, the man who had sworn to love and
+cherish her, be condemning her if he permitted his father to have his
+way in this matter! The crime would be his, not his father's; upon his
+soul would rest the sin. And then the image of Nansie rose before him,
+not at first sad and despondent, but bright and sweet, and full of
+innocent, joyous life; and in that image he saw a sunshine of
+happiness which he and Nansie would enjoy together if he played a true
+man's part in this contention. He saw also with his mind's eye the
+other side of the picture in the figure of a heart-broken woman
+brooding over the misery and the torture of life, and praying for
+death. This sad figure vanished, and he and Nansie were sitting
+together hand in hand, their hearts beating with the sacred love which
+sweetens and makes life holy, and she was whispering to him that her
+greatest joy lay in the knowledge that he was true to her.
+
+He had shaded his eyes with his hand during this contemplation. He now
+removed it, and raised his eyes to his father's face.
+
+"I cannot consent, father," he said, in a low, firm tone, "to your
+seeing her alone."
+
+"You have come deliberately to that determination?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"I have, father."
+
+"It is irrevocable?"
+
+"It is irrevocable."
+
+"I will still not hold you to it," said Mr. Manners. "It would grieve
+me in the future to think that the matter was too hastily decided. You
+owe me some kind of obedience, some kind of duty."
+
+"I acknowledge it, father. In all that becomes me to yield you shall
+have no cause of complaint against me."
+
+"Very well. Let there be some slight pause before the final word is
+pronounced. Remain here a week, and give the matter a calmer and
+longer deliberation. Its issues are sufficiently important to make my
+request reasonable."
+
+"I will do as you wish, father," said Kingsley, after a slight
+hesitation, "on two conditions."
+
+"Name them."
+
+"First, that you do not invite my cousin, Mark Inglefield, here during
+the time."
+
+"I agree."
+
+"Second, that you do not seek my wife for the purpose of relating what
+has passed between us."
+
+"I agree to that also. I will not seek your--the young woman for that
+or for any purpose. Are you content, Kingsley?"
+
+"Yes, father, I am content."
+
+"As you admit that you owe me some small measure of duty and
+obedience, you will not object to my request that you hold no
+correspondence with her until the week is past."
+
+"It is a hard request, father, but I will obey you."
+
+"There remains, then, in this connection, but one thing in respect of
+your future which I think it necessary to impress upon you. As I have
+made my fortune by my own efforts it is mine to dispose of as I
+please. Comply with my wishes, and the bulk of it is yours. Oppose
+them, and not one shilling of it will be yours to enjoy. To this I
+pledge myself. And now, Kingsley, we will drop the conversation."
+
+Kingsley had a reason for consenting to the week's delay. He had a
+hope that within that period his father would relent. It was a faint
+hope, but it seemed to him that it would be criminal to let it slip.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+On the fourth day of his probation Kingsley received a letter from
+Nansie. No further words upon the subject of their recent conversation
+had passed between him and his father; neither of them had broken
+faith in respect of the promises given, and everything went on in the
+house as usual. Mr. Manners passed the greater portion of his time in
+looking over specifications and making calculations for fresh
+contracts of magnitude; he was accustomed to attend personally to
+these matters, and never left anything to chance, or solely in the
+hands of any other man. It was not without an object that he requested
+Kingsley to assist him in his labors during these days. He wished his
+son to become sensible of what he would lose if he persisted in his
+opposition to his father's wishes. With this end in view he made
+Kingsley familiar with all the channels in which his fortune was
+invested. Kingsley was amazed at its extent, and was also amazed at
+the wisdom of his father's investments. There were no chance risks;
+every shilling was as safe as human judgment could make it. He owned a
+great deal of property in land upon which other men had built houses,
+and the land was situated in the most thriving and most fashionable
+neighborhoods; he held a vast number of government securities, and
+those only of the most stable governments. Companies he had avoided,
+their alluring prospectuses having no temptation for him. He had
+advanced scores of thousands of pounds upon first mortgages, and not a
+doubtful one among them.
+
+"I was never a gambler," he said to Kingsley, "but I never let my
+money lie idle. I have the offer now of a great estate in the country,
+which, if all goes well, I shall buy. It is in one of the best
+counties, and the simple possession of it will give a man a standing
+in the country which would occupy all the years of a man's life to
+gain. A stroke of the pen will do it."
+
+Kingsley knew what he meant when he said "if all goes well," but each
+kept the open expression of his thoughts to himself. On the evening
+before Nansie's letter arrived, Mr. Manners told Kingsley that his
+income was not less than sixty thousand pounds a year; and he added
+that he was not spending a tenth part of it.
+
+In the solitude of his chamber Kingsley opened Nansie's letter; it had
+been written from day to day, only for her lover's and husband's eyes:
+
+
+"My Beloved Kingsley,--It is night, and I am writing in my little room
+in the caravan. Father is asleep, and everything around is still and
+peaceful. It is the best of all time to write to you and think of you,
+but indeed you are never out of my thoughts. It is a beautiful night,
+and I have made up my mind not to go to sleep till I have heard the
+nightingale, so how can I employ my time better than in the way I am
+doing? All the day long I have been thinking of you. 'Now he is in the
+train,' I said, 'now he is so much nearer London, now he is in London,
+now he is at home and talking to his father.' Of me? I could not
+decide that. Perhaps you will wait till to-morrow, but I am with you
+in spirit, Kingsley, as you are with me. Yes, I am sure of that, and
+it makes me very, very happy. Kingsley is at home, in his father's
+house. Is he really at home? My home is with you; there is no home for
+me without you. How ungrateful it sounds, with my father so close to
+me; but I cannot help it; it is the truth. And then this caravan--can
+one call it a home? Though there are people, father says, who are very
+happy in caravans--as I should be with you; or anywhere, Kingsley.
+Indeed it is so; it will not matter to me so long as we are together.
+
+"I am writing cheerfully and hopefully, am I not? And yet my father
+has been uneasy in his mind to-day. He has been speaking a great deal
+of your father, and he fears that he will not approve of our marriage.
+'For your sake, Nansie,' father said, 'I wish Kingsley's father was a
+poor man.' Kingsley dear, I wish that too; but then your father was
+once as poor as we are, and perhaps that will make a difference. I
+hope with all my heart I have not done you wrong by marrying you; but
+how could I help it, loving you as I did and do, and how could I help
+it when you persuaded me so? Oh, my dear love, I will do all that a
+woman can do to make you happy! I can do no more. To me it does not
+matter how we live, but will it matter to you if your father is angry
+and will not receive me? I cannot bear to think of it; my heart grows
+cold, and I stretch forth my hands imploring an angel to come and help
+me. But that is not needed, is it, Kingsley? and you have good reason
+to be angry with me, for what I have written is almost like a doubt,
+and to doubt you is to doubt that there is any goodness in the world.
+No, Kingsley, I will not doubt; it would be treason to love. . . .
+
+"I have not written for an hour. I have been thinking, thinking,
+thinking, and I should have gone on thinking, just as if I was in a
+waking trance, if it had not been for my father talking in his sleep.
+'Nansie, Nansie!' he called, and I went in to him, but he was fast
+asleep, and his forehead was quite damp. I wiped it softly, but it did
+not wake him, and he kept on murmuring my name and yours, and calling
+on the angels to guard us. Dear father! we have not been a great deal
+together, but he loves me truly, and I think he is reproaching himself
+for not having been with me more. I could not love him more than I do,
+but I might have known him better. He is a good man, Kingsley, and I
+think if he had been rich he would have made a name in the world.
+There! I have written 'if he had been rich.' To be happy it is not
+necessary to be rich, is it, dear? Father says not. That is when he is
+awake. What did he mean by saying in his sleep: 'Money is a blessing
+and a curse?' Well, yes, I can understand it. It depends upon how it
+is used. Oh, Kingsley, I hope your father is not very rich. By my
+father's side was his favorite book, 'William Browne.' I took it away
+to my room. Before I go to bed I will put it back, for it is like meat
+and wine to him. More precious than those, I am sure. What are you
+doing at this very moment, Kingsley?
+
+"There again. I have been in dreamland for an hour and more. And then,
+waking up, I read a little of 'William Browne', and took my pen in my
+hand to go on writing, but I did not know what to say. Kingsley, dear,
+the errand you have gone upon haunts me. So much do I fear that I
+hardly know what to think. Even my favorite saying that father does
+not consider wisdom, 'Everything will come right,' does not comfort me
+somehow. I don't know why, except it is that we are not together.
+Suspense is dreadful, is it not, dear? And just now everything seems
+in suspense. Oh, hark! The nightingale! It is an omen of joy and
+gladness. Thank God for all sweet sounds, for all that is sweet and
+good--and the world is full of sweetness and gladness. And I was
+reading of it in 'William Browne:'
+
+
+        "'But the nightingale i' th' dark
+          Singing, woke the mountain lark;
+              She records her love.
+          The sun hath not with his beams
+          Gilded yet our crystal streams,
+              Rising from the sea;
+          Mists do crown the mountain-tops,
+          And each pretty myrtle drops;
+              'Tis but newly day.'
+
+
+"There, my dear love, I have copied it exactly, apostrophes and all,
+and it seems to bring me nearer to you. How wonderful is the gift of
+poetry! ''Tis but newly day.' It is day in my heart. Yes, everything
+will come right. Good-night, dear love, with a thousand kisses. I send
+them from my window through the night, which soon will be day. Heaven
+shield you....
+
+"Another day has passed. Oh, Kingsley, what joy and delight your dear,
+dear letter brought to me! Your letters are the sweetest that ever
+were written, that ever could be written. Heaven bless your father for
+being so kind to you. How glad he must have been to see you after such
+a long absence! I am sure he must be the best of men. But Kingsley,
+dear Kingsley, how shall I tell you? My dear father is worse. I know
+he is, although he has not complained. We sat together this evening,
+watching the sunset in silence. He held my hand, and sometimes he
+gripped it hard. It was because he was in pain, but he would not have
+it so. He said it was because he loved me so dearly. When the sun went
+down he spoke, oh, so solemnly and beautifully, Kingsley, of the
+sunset of life, and said he would be perfectly happy and contented if
+he knew that I was safe. 'You mean safe with Kingsley, dear father,' I
+said. 'Yes,' he answered, 'safe with Kingsley.' Then I read your
+letter to him--every word, Kingsley; I was not ashamed--and it
+comforted him. 'He is the man I would have chosen for you, Nansie,' he
+said, and then he spoiled it all by adding: 'Only, only, if his father
+were not rich.' I reproved him gently, and said he must not doubt you,
+but must have in you the perfect faith that I have, and he said that I
+was right, and that it was only a father's fears that disturbed him.
+We must not blame him, dear; we are so poor, you know, and he does not
+know you as I do. I can write but a few lines now, I am so anxious
+about father. Shall I receive a letter from you to-morrow? If one does
+not come, I shall be sorry, of course, but only sorry, nothing more.
+For you and your father must have so much to talk about, and, as you
+told me so seriously, you must wait for a favorable opportunity before
+you spoke to him of me. Ah, poor me! What a worry I am! But I will
+make it all up to you, my dearest, in the happy days to come. Father
+is calling to me; I must go. I kiss you and kiss you, and indeed there
+are kisses on my lips for you only--and ah! for my poor, dear father.
+Through all time to come I am ever and ever your own loving Nansie....
+
+"Oh, Kingsley, my dear husband, how shall I tell you? My hand trembles
+so that I can scarcely write the words. My father, my dear, dear
+father is dead!
+
+"I look at the words I have written, and they seem to move, to live,
+though _he_ is dead. I go from the page upon which I write to the bed
+upon which he is lying, and I can scarcely believe that it is true, he
+looks so sweet, so peaceful and calm. 'Father, father!' I call, but he
+does not answer me. His spirit is with God. But surely with me, too,
+surely with me! Oh, Kingsley, I feel as if my heart were breaking!
+
+"I do not know when his spirit passed away. We sat up late last night,
+and he seemed in his usual health, but weak. He made no complaint, but
+he must have had a premonition of what was hastening to him, for he
+talked to me of the life beyond this, and dwelt upon it with hope and
+rapture. We sat in the dark; he would not have a light. Ah, me! I must
+have been blind and deaf not to have guessed that he believed his end
+to be approaching when he spoke so much of you, and desired me to give
+you his dear love and his heartfelt wishes for a bright and happy
+life. 'With me, father,' I whispered. 'Yes, my daughter, with you,' he
+answered. 'Kingsley could not be happy without you.' Ah, how glad I
+was to hear him say that! It proved that he had faith and confidence
+in you, and yet I might have been warned of what was to come by his
+solemn voice and by his addressing me as his daughter. He had never
+done so before. It was always: 'My dear,' or 'Nansie, child,' or 'My
+dear Nansie.' Ah, Kingsley, if you had heard what he said you could
+never have forgotten it. 'Life is a breath,' he said, 'a dream, and
+its end should be welcomed with joy, for it opens the door to a
+higher, holier life. Happy is the mortal who can approach that
+threshold with a consciousness that he has done no wrong to his
+fellow-creature.' And then he said that there should be no vain
+thirstings and yearnings for knowledge that was wisely hidden from us,
+but that every human being should strive to keep shining within him
+three stars, faith, duty, and love. I cannot now recall all that he
+said, but I know that his last dear conversation with me left me
+better than I had been, and that with all my heart and soul I thank
+him for his gentle teaching.
+
+"It was past midnight when he went to bed, and I intended then to
+continue my letter to you, but he called to me before I commenced, and
+asked me to sit by his side. I did so, holding his hand, until two in
+the morning, and all this time he lay quite quiet and still, sometimes
+opening his eyes and smiling upon me. At length he said, 'Kiss me, my
+dear,' and I stooped and kissed him. Then he bade me go to bed, and,
+indeed, I was glad to obey him, Kingsley, for my eyes were closing. I
+awoke at my usual hour this morning, and went to him. He had not
+stirred. Ah, how still and beautiful he was! I spoke to him and he did
+not reply. I called louder, and still he did not speak. Then, smitten
+with a dreadful fear, I placed my hand on his heart; it was pulseless,
+and I knew that my dear, dear father had passed away.
+
+"I can write no more. I have much to do, and the last duties of love
+will occupy every moment of my time. I shall have him taken to
+Godalming, where I shall be if you can come to me. If that is not
+possible, I shall go after the funeral to my uncle in London, whose
+address you have. There you will find me. Pity me, Kingsley, and do
+not leave me long alone. I have only you in the world. Believe me.
+
+          "Ever your loving wife,                 Nansie."
+
+
+Deeply shocked and grieved, Kingsley went to his father with Nansie's
+letter in his hand. "I want you to release me from my promise," he
+said.
+
+"I never release a man from a promise given," was his father's cold
+reply, "and I never ask to be released from one I have made."
+
+"You cannot refuse me," said Kingsley, whose eyes were bedewed with
+tears.
+
+"I do refuse you," said Mr. Manners, sternly.
+
+Kingsley gazed irresolutely around, but his irresolution lasted for a
+moment or two only. "I must go," he said, straightening himself.
+
+"Against my will?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"Yes, father, against your will, if you refuse."
+
+"I have refused."
+
+Kingsley was silent.
+
+"It is what I will never forgive," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"I cannot help it, father. There are duties which _must_ be performed,
+and one is before me." He held out the last page of Nansie's letter,
+but his father thrust it aside.
+
+"I do not wish to see it. I will not see it. It is from that woman."
+
+"It is from my wife."
+
+"And you are going to her?"
+
+"I am going to her."
+
+"If you leave my house now you never enter its doors again. If you
+persist in your madness I cut you out of my heart forever. I shall
+have no longer a son, and for evermore you and I are strangers."
+
+"It is cruel--it is pitiful, but I must go."
+
+"You understand the consequences of your disobedience?"
+
+"You have made them only too plain to me, father," said Kingsley,
+mournfully.
+
+"And you still persist?"
+
+"There is no other course open to me. I am a man, not a dog."
+
+"You are an ingrate. Go!--and never let me look upon your face again.
+From this moment I do not know you."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+There are extant numerous clippings from famous writers which, coming
+"trippingly off the tongue," have grown into popular favor and are
+generally accepted as the essence of wisdom, but which will not stand
+the test of cold and logical analysis. Hence it is that so many
+familiar proverbs belie themselves. Among these popular sayings may be
+classed the description of life as a fitful fever. There are few men
+and women to whom this will apply; with the great majority of human
+beings life glides from one groove into another with ease and
+naturalness, and the most startling changes are effected without
+violent strain. Poor men grow rich, rich men grow poor, the lowly
+mount, the high slip into the downward paths, and one and all accept
+the reversals of position with a certain innate philosophy which makes
+life desirable, and often sweet, however wide the gulf which separates
+the present from the past. It is something to be genuinely grateful
+for; were it otherwise, existence would become an intolerable burden,
+and every waking moment would be charged with pain.
+
+These observations are pertinent to the course of our story, in
+respect of which the incidents already narrated may be accepted as a
+kind of prologue. The scene changes to the busy East of this mighty
+city, the precise locality being a second-hand bookshop in Church
+Alley. The proprietor of this shop was Mr. Joseph Loveday, Nansie's
+uncle, and that the reflections upon the shiftings in life's
+kaleidoscope are not out of place was proved by words which fell from
+his lips as he sorted a pile of books which he had purchased at
+auction.
+
+"Change, change, change--nothing but change. Some drop out, some
+remain, and time rolls on. I live, with a likelihood of living for
+many years; he is dying, with the certainty of death in the course of
+a few days. So he says in his letter, and in serious affairs he was
+never given to light talk. Presently he will leave the world behind
+him. What matters?"
+
+The question, addressed with mingled bitterness and mournfulness to
+himself, aroused him from his reverie.
+
+"It does matter," he said. "We are not exactly lumber."
+
+He was a man of middle age, a bachelor, and he conducted his business
+alone, without assistance of any kind, taking down his shutters in the
+morning and putting them up again at night, arranging the books on his
+shelves within and on the stall without, and knowing where to lay his
+hand, almost blindfold, upon any volume which he or a customer
+required. In this lonely mode of carrying on his trade there were
+inconveniences which were beginning to tell upon him. The toilers
+round about were not as a rule blessed with libraries of any value,
+and although he was always ready to purchase any odd lots that were
+brought to him, he picked up very little stock in this way. The
+greater portion of his treasures was bought at book auctions in the
+West, and whenever he attended one of these sales he was under the
+necessity of shutting up his shop and taking the key with him. Of late
+he had thought seriously of employing an assistant, but the difficulty
+was to find one to suit both his business and his peculiarities. In
+his domestic arrangements he was compelled to call in assistance. He
+employed a charwoman twice a week, for half a day on each occasion, to
+clean his place and set it in order; his breakfasts, teas, and suppers
+he prepared himself with his own hands, and when he did not purchase
+his dinner at a convenient cook-shop, it was sent in to him by Mrs.
+Peeper, keeper of a wardrobe-shop in Church Alley. He looked older
+than he was, and had too early acquired a stoop from poring over
+books; he had blue eyes, large and shapely hands, and features
+furrowed with lines of thoughtfulness. When he was not called
+away to attend an auction or upon other business, he would be seen
+sitting at his counter, or upon the floor, sorting books and making
+lists of them, or standing at his door in slippers, wearing a loose
+dressing-gown and a plain skull-cap, and with a pair of spectacles
+resting generally above his eyebrows. His reputation extended far
+beyond the immediate East in which his shop was situated. In the
+course of his career it had been his good-fortune to light upon rare
+books in the odd lots he had picked up at auction, and book-hunters
+from afar would come to look over his stock of treasures. On the day
+of his introduction to the reader he had been much exercised. There
+was the letter from his brother, to which he had replied in terms with
+which we are familiar; it had taken his thoughts to the past, and old
+memories had troubled his mind; domestic and business worries were
+also troubling him. The charwoman he had employed for years, and who
+was now up-stairs making a noise which annoyed him, had, during the
+last few weeks, generally made her appearance in a state of
+inebriation. He had expostulated with her upon this new and evil
+departure, but his remonstrances had not effected an improvement, and
+now, as he sat musing and sorting his books, a sudden crash in the
+room above caused him to start to his feet with an angry exclamation.
+He calmed himself instantly, having a great power of self-control,
+and, going to the staircase, called out:
+
+"What is the matter, Mrs. Chizlet?"
+
+"Only the wash'and basin, sir," replied a voice from above.
+
+"Oh," he said.
+
+"And the jug, sir."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"And the soap-dish, sir."
+
+"Oh."
+
+Then there was a pause and an ominous stillness.
+
+"Have you broken anything else?" he asked.
+
+"I didn't break 'em, sir," was the reply. "It was the cat."
+
+"There's no cat in the house. Come down."
+
+"In a minute, sir, when I've recovered myself."
+
+He waited the minute, and down came the woman, with a vacant smile on
+her face, and a number of pieces of broken crockery in her hands,
+which she let fall with a crash on the floor of the shop.
+
+"The cat, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir, the cat."
+
+"Where did it come from? The sky? What is that sticking out of your
+pocket? The skeleton of the cat? No. A bottle. Empty, of course."
+
+"Yes, sir, worse luck."
+
+"Mrs. Chizlet," said Mr. Loveday, gravely, "last Friday you broke two
+dishes."
+
+"Not me, sir."
+
+"Well, the cat. This day week the cat broke all my cups and saucers.
+If I keep you in my service, in the course of another week there will
+not be a sound piece of crockery or glass in the place. Therefore I
+will not trouble you to come here again."
+
+"We're all born, and none buried," said the charwoman, with a silly
+smile.
+
+And having received her half-day's wage, she departed contentedly, and
+made her way to the nearest public-house.
+
+Mr. Joseph Loveday gazed disconsolately around; it was not the broken
+crockery that annoyed him, it was the disarrangement of domestic
+custom. Having discharged the woman who had served him so long, it was
+a settled thing that she would never be employed by him again. Where
+could he find another who would serve him more faithfully? He detested
+strangers, and a break in his usual habits was a great discomfort to
+him. He was in a mood to exaggerate the discomfort, and in a few
+minutes he had magnified it considerably. It is not from the most
+important disasters of life, but from its pins and needles, that we
+draw our acutest miseries. Everything had been going wrong with Mr.
+Loveday lately. During the past week he had missed three books from
+his stall outside, and had been unable to discover the thief. Even if
+he had been successful in catching him he would have hesitated to
+prosecute him, because of the loss of time it would entail. Then, Mrs.
+Peeper, proprietor of the wardrobe shop, who occasionally cooked his
+dinners for him, had been behaving badly, keeping him waiting an hour
+and more, and placing before him food, so villainously cooked that he
+could not eat it. Some change was decidedly necessary to restore the
+harmony of his days. As he was debating with himself in what way the
+change could be made, he raised his eyes and saw through the window a
+lad standing at the stall outside, turning over the leaves of a book.
+The age of this lad was twelve, and his name was Timothy Chance.
+
+"I might do worse," thought Mr. Loveday. The drawback was that Timothy
+was a bundle of rags.
+
+He was turning over the leaves of the book he had lifted at haphazard
+from the stall, but he was not reading it. Every now and then he
+directed a furtive glance towards the interior of the shop, in the
+hope, without obtruding himself, of attracting favorable attention.
+Hanging on his left arm was an old open-work basket, and sitting
+therein was a bedraggled hen. Mr. Loveday stepped to the shop door,
+and said:
+
+"Well, Timothy."
+
+"Yes, sir," said the lad, looking up with a cheerful smile, and
+speaking in quite respectable English, "here I am, back again, like a
+bad penny."
+
+"Come in," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+Timothy gladly obeyed the summons, and entered. Placing his basket
+with the hen in it upon the floor, he stood respectfully before the
+bookseller. In classic story a goose became historical; in this modern
+tale, wherein heroic deeds are not heralded by clang of trumpets, it
+may by and by be admitted that the fowl which Timothy Chance set down
+deserves no less a fame.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+Poor and ragged as he was, the lad's bearing was distinguished by a
+bright manliness--even thus early shown--which could scarcely fail to
+win favor. The circumstances of his young life were singular, and
+deserve, and need, brief mention.
+
+Somewhat less than twelve years before this day on which, in obedience
+to Mr. Loveday's summons, he entered the bookseller's shop, Mr.
+Loveday turned into Church Alley, after a walk he was in the habit of
+taking through the markets of the East where the humble folk make
+their purchases for the day of rest. It was therefore Saturday night,
+and the hour was a little past midnight. In front of the pawnbroker's
+shop, at the corner of Church Alley, stood the pawnbroker himself in a
+state of perturbation, taking a few steps this way and a few that in
+an uncertain, undecided fashion. His shutters were up, and the day's
+business was at an end. He pounced upon Mr. Loveday, whose position
+then, as at present, was one of authority among his neighbors, who
+tacitly and willingly acknowledged him to be a man of superior stamp.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Loveday," said the pawnbroker, laying his hand on the
+bookseller's arm, "did you see a woman running away as you came
+along?"
+
+"Not that I noticed," replied Mr. Loveday, observing that something
+unusual was agitating the pawnbroker.
+
+"Or a man?" asked the pawnbroker.
+
+"No."
+
+"It is altogether the most extraordinary thing," said the pawnbroker,
+scratching his head, "the most ex-tra-or-di-na-ry. I never heard of
+anything like it."
+
+"Like what?"
+
+"Would you mind," said the pawnbroker, "stepping inside, and giving me
+your advice?"
+
+"Certainly," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+He followed the pawnbroker into the shop, and there upon the counter,
+in one of the divisions used by persons who came to pledge their goods
+or redeem them, lay an old shawl containing, as was evidenced by a
+gentle and regular upheaving, an animate object.
+
+"What do you think of this?" exclaimed the pawnbroker, unfolding the
+shawl.
+
+"A very fine baby," said Mr. Loveday, "though I don't pretend to be a
+judge--and fast asleep."
+
+"Proving," added the pawnbroker, "that it's been well stuffed."
+
+"Stuffed!"
+
+"Had plenty to drink--got its belly full. That's the artfulness of
+it."
+
+"The baby's artfulness?" inquired Mr. Loveday, much mystified.
+
+"No--of the trick that's been played upon me. Put comfortably to
+sleep, satisfied, so that it shouldn't excite suspicion by as much as
+a whimper."
+
+"But explain," said Mr. Loveday, as much in the dark as ever. "Is it
+your baby?"
+
+"No, sir," replied the pawnbroker, energetically, "it is not."
+
+"Then how comes it here?"
+
+"That's what I'd like to know. If you'll believe me, Mr. Loveday, I'll
+tell you all about it--no, not all, as much I as know myself."
+
+"Of course I'll believe you," said Mr. Loveday, his interest growing
+fast.
+
+"Here am I," commenced the pawnbroker, excitedly, "all alone by myself
+in the shop--well, not exactly here where we stand, but in my room at
+the back there. Business over an hour ago--close at eleven, you know.
+Shutters put up, and my assistant gone home. Front door left ajar,
+because it's a hot night, and the gas has been flaring away. My wife
+and the children all asleep up-stairs; no one to disturb me. There's a
+bit of supper on the table. Mr. Loveday," he said, breaking off
+abruptly, "my wife is a most peculiar woman--a most pe-cu-li-ar
+woman."
+
+"Go on with your story," said Mr. Loveday, calmly.
+
+"Usually she stops up with me, and we have a bit of supper together,
+especially on Saturday nights, the busiest time of the week for me.
+But, as luck will have it, she doesn't feel quite the thing to-night,
+and she goes to bed early. There I am, then, eating my supper and
+making up my accounts. Everything very quiet, nothing wrong, as far as
+I can see. I'll take my oath, Mr. Loveday, that when my assistant
+wishes me good-night all the parcels are cleared away, and there's
+nothing left on the counters, not as much as a pin. Well, sir, I come
+to the end of my supper and my accounts, and feel easy in my mind.
+Three ha'pence wrong in the reckoning up, but it's on the right side.
+I put my money and books in the safe, lock it, pocket the key, fill my
+pipe, and get up to come to the door to have a whiff of tobacco and
+fresh air. I've got to pass through the shop to get to the street
+door, and as I come up to this counter here, this bundle stares me in
+the face. 'Hallo?' says I--to myself, you know--'Hallo! here's
+something been overlooked;' and I takes hold of the bundle, and starts
+back as if I was shot. I feel something moving inside. I come up to it
+again, and open it, and there's this baby staring me in the face--no,
+not staring me in the face, because it's fast asleep; but there's this
+baby. How would you have felt?"
+
+"Very much astonished."
+
+"I was flabbergasted. How did it come here? Who brought it? What's the
+meaning of it? While I was sitting in the back room I didn't hear a
+sound, but it must have been then that the street door was pushed
+softly open, and this--this _thing_ put on my counter. If I caught the
+woman who did it I'd make it warm for her."
+
+"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Loveday, "it is done for a joke."
+
+"A joke!" cried the pawnbroker. "A nice joke to play a married
+man--and at this time of the night!"
+
+"At all events you have lent nothing on it."
+
+"Find me the pawnbroker," retorted the distressed man, "who _would_
+lend money on a baby!"
+
+"Truly," observed Mr. Loveday, with grim suggestiveness, "flesh and
+blood is not at a premium in this neighborhood."
+
+"But, Mr. Loveday," implored the pawnbroker, "what am I to do with
+it?"
+
+"I can hardly advise you. You can't very well put it among your other
+pledges, and you can't very well throw it into the streets."
+
+In his heart of hearts the pawnbroker, although not in the main an
+ill-natured man, was for the moment mad with himself for having taken
+Mr. Loveday into his confidence. If he had kept the matter to himself,
+he might, failing all other ways of getting rid of the encumbrance,
+have deposited it on a doorstep in such a manner and at such a time
+that it could not fail to come under the notice of a policeman, who,
+in the exercise of his duty, could not have allowed it to remain
+there. It was a warm night, the child was strong and healthy, and was
+sleeping comfortably; it could scarcely have taken cold. But this
+proceeding was not open to him now that Mr. Loveday was in possession
+of the particulars.
+
+"They wouldn't take it in at the workhouse," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Why not? They've a better right to it than I have."
+
+"It would have to be proved that it belonged to the parish. It is such
+a queer story, you see."
+
+"Do you mean to say it wouldn't be believed?"
+
+"I can't hazard an opinion. Suppose you call your wife down, and ask
+her to take care of it till you find out something about it."
+
+"What!" cried the unhappy pawnbroker, "I should have the house pulled
+over my ears."
+
+Mr. Loveday shrugged his shoulders. Not that he was indifferent; the
+adventure was so novel that it interested him; but he could not
+exactly tell what could be done.
+
+"After all," he said, "it may be as I suggested, a joke. The person who
+left it here will probably call for it presently. Wait awhile."
+
+"I must, I suppose, but I shall go crazy if I'm left alone with it. Do
+a charity, and smoke a pipe with me."
+
+"I don't smoke, but I'll keep you company for half an hour. Before
+that time the mystery may be solved."
+
+But though they waited up till two o'clock there were no further
+developments. There they sat, for the most part in silence, and there
+lay the baby in his shawl, sleeping soundly and placidly.
+
+At length Mr. Loveday rose and said he must go. The pawnbroker began
+to implore again.
+
+"You're a single man; you've got no one to take care of but yourself;
+I've got six children of my own to look after. Take it home with you
+and give it a bed."
+
+"No, no," said Mr. Loveday, laughing, "I couldn't think of such a
+thing. If I were a woman--perhaps; or if I had a female housekeeper in
+my house. The child needs a woman's care, and your wife is at hand."
+
+The pawnbroker groaned. He heard a policeman's footsteps outside, and
+in his despair he called him in and repeated his story.
+
+The policeman listened gravely, threw the light of his dark lantern on
+the sleeping child.
+
+"I don't see what I can do," he said.
+
+"I give it into custody," cried the pawnbroker.
+
+"What's the charge?" asked the policeman.
+
+The pawnbroker wrung his hands. Finally the policeman departed,
+recommending the pawnbroker, before he left, to follow Mr. Loveday's
+advice and call down his wife. Mr. Loveday also went home, and the
+pawnbroker was left alone with his new and startling responsibility.
+
+"I'll call in the morning," said Mr. Loveday, "to see how you've got
+along with it."
+
+When he called he learned that nothing further had been discovered.
+The pawnbroker had passed a disturbed and sleepless night; the
+pawnbroker's wife was in the worst of tempers, and declared that
+either she or the baby would have to leave the house. Mr. Loveday
+calmed her down, and then entered into a sensible consideration of the
+case.
+
+"So many hours have passed," he said, "since the child was left here,
+that it seems more than likely that the person who placed it on your
+counter has no intention of redeeming the pledge. In a few days, or
+weeks, the matter may be traced; in the meantime something must be
+done. I suggest that a woman be sought who, for three or four
+shillings a week, will undertake the care of the child. I don't mind
+bearing half the expense if you will bear the other half."
+
+The benevolent offer was eagerly accepted by the pawnbroker, whose
+only anxiety now was to get the baby out of his house. Before the
+evening a poor woman was found who consented to take charge of the
+helpless bundle of humanity. Having come into the neighborhood by a
+mysterious chance, the child was called Chance, to which, when or how
+could not afterwards be recalled, the Christian name of Timothy was
+prefixed. Endeavors were made to solve the mystery of his birth, but,
+in the absence of the slightest clew, nothing was discovered. For four
+years Mr. Loveday and the pawnbroker paid the expenses of the child's
+bringing up between them; then, somehow or other, Timothy Chance began
+to take care of himself, nursing babies bigger than himself for
+mothers whose quivers were too full, and getting a bit of straw to
+sleep on and a crust of bread to keep life in him. He was full of
+health and strength, and willingness, and even in those early days he
+developed a surprising independence which served him in good stead. As
+he grew in years the task of looking after himself and obtaining
+shelter and food became less difficult; he throve where others would
+have starved; if he could not get crumb he put up with crust; if he
+could not get straw to lie upon he put up with boards, if not boards
+the earth, if not a roof the sky. From time to time he disappeared
+from the neighborhood, went hopping in the season, attaching himself
+to some family bent on the same errand, took service with a tinker and
+went about the country, and did anything and everything to keep body
+and soul together. He succeeded in a good and worthy way, and the
+partnership of his boyish frame with a cheerful, willing spirit, was a
+passport wherever he went, and would have carried him all over the
+world. He did well for others, and better for himself, as will be
+seen, although he was penniless nine days out of ten. This did not
+trouble him; he was healthy, strong, and happy, and had ideas--in the
+germ at present, and not by himself understood; but there they were,
+working in his fertile, healthy brain, to ripen and bear fruit one day
+perhaps. Such, imperfectly limned, was Timothy Chance as he stood
+before Mr. Loveday the bookseller.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER X.
+
+
+"Just come back, Timothy?"
+
+"Yes, sir, just come back."
+
+"You've been away a long time?"
+
+"Seven months, sir."
+
+"Done any good for yourself?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Ah, you've got a pocketful of money, then?"
+
+"Not a penny, sir."
+
+"Yet you say you've done well?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I've worked hard, and had plenty to eat, and I'm stronger
+than ever."
+
+"Ah, that's what you mean by doing well?"
+
+"Yes, sir, and I'm willinger--I mean, more willing than ever."
+
+At this slip of language and its correction Mr. Loveday cocked up his
+ears, and took a longer look at the lad. Timothy met his gaze
+ingenuously.
+
+"I think there's an improvement in you, Timothy."
+
+"I hope so, sir."
+
+"Where have you been?"
+
+"In a lot of places, sir, but most of the time in a school."
+
+"Oh, in a school. Doing what? Studying?"
+
+"A little, sir," said Timothy, modestly; "but I wasn't engaged for
+that."
+
+"For what, then?"
+
+"Garden work, knife-cleaning, boot-cleaning, running of errands,
+making myself generally useful."
+
+"And picking up scholarship."
+
+"As much of it as ever I could, sir."
+
+"There is certainly an improvement in you, Timothy. You speak more
+correctly than you did."
+
+Timothy was silent, but his face flushed with pleasure.
+
+"How did you get into the school?"
+
+"By a bit of good-luck, sir--though it wasn't good-luck to another boy
+who had the place."
+
+"What is one man's meat, Timothy, is another man's poison."
+
+"Is it, sir?"
+
+"So they say, and so it often happens. Go on."
+
+"I was in Essex, sir, looking for a job. It was half-past ten in the
+morning."
+
+"Carried a watch, eh?"
+
+"No, sir, I was passing a church. But I didn't pass it. I stopped.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"There was a fight going on. Two boys, pegging away at each other like
+one o'clock. The road was muddy, and they rolled over and over in it,
+then got up and went at it again. When they'd had enough they ran off
+different ways, and I lost sight of 'em. I was walking off myself when
+I noticed something in the mud. It was a letter, and I picked it up
+and looked at it. I couldn't read the address, it had been dug into
+the mud so; but in a corner, in very plain writing, I saw the name of
+Dr. Porter. I went into a baker's shop, and asked if they knew Dr.
+Porter, and they said he kept a school a little way off. I asked them
+to show me where it was, as I thought it wouldn't be a bad thing to
+take the letter to him myself and ask him for a job. They showed me,
+and I saw Dr. Porter himself; he was in the grounds in front of the
+schoolhouse, and one of the boys who had been fighting was there too.
+I gave the doctor the letter, and asked him if it was his, and he said
+it was. I found out afterwards that it was a very particular letter,
+and had some money in it. The boy was sent out to post it, and he got
+fighting and dropped it in the mud. Then the doctor said he supposed I
+wanted a reward, and I said no, that I wanted a job. Not to make too
+long a story, sir, he put a lot of questions to me, and seemed pleased
+with me, and he sent the fighting boy away and took me on in his place
+to do the rough work."
+
+"How much a week, Timothy?" inquired Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Two shillings a week and my keep."
+
+"You slept there?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And out of the two shillings a week for some months you saved
+nothing? You come back here without a penny?"
+
+"You shall hear, sir. My clothes were pretty bad, the same as I've got
+on now, and I thought I'd save as much as I could, and buy a new suit.
+I did buy a new suit the week before last, but I didn't wear 'em for
+garden work. Well, sir, while I was with the doctor I was very happy.
+Plenty of work, but plenty to eat. He hadn't many young gentlemen to
+teach, and I've found out that he wasn't well off. He had a daughter,
+a beautiful young lady, not as old as I am, and she had a bit of
+garden that I used to look after for her. I took a lot of pains with
+her flowers, and she was so pleased that she used to give me lessons.
+I can write pretty well, sir."
+
+"You can, eh? I'll try you presently. Go on with your story."
+
+"I learnt a bit of grammar, and a bit of history, and a bit of
+arithmetic. It was a great bit of luck for me, but it ended badly."
+Timothy paused and sighed, and his face became grave. "I used to stop
+up late at night to study, and I picked up a lot. Dr. Porter seemed
+always to have a peck of trouble on him, but he helped me, too, a bit,
+by lending me books, and Mrs. Porter helped me as well. I was never so
+happy before. I bought a new suit of clothes, as I've told you, sir.
+Everything was going on swimmingly till last week." Timothy paused
+again.
+
+"What happened then, Timothy?"
+
+"I went to bed very late; I'd had a good hard night of it, and I had
+to get up very early to do something I wanted to Miss Emily's bit of
+garden."
+
+"Miss Emily is the doctor's daughter?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I don't know how long I'd been asleep, but it was dark when
+I woke up all of a sudden with a singing in my ears, and a lot of
+other sounds that I can't describe. Then I heard some one sing out
+'Fire!' I'm pretty quick, sir, as a rule, and I got into my old
+clothes in less than no time, and ran out of the room. Sure enough,
+the house was on fire. Miss Emily was crying for her mother, and Dr.
+Porter was running about like a madman. I raced to Mrs. Porter's room,
+and helped to get her out, and then we stood and watched the fire
+burning up the house. There wasn't a drop of water except what
+we could get from the pump, and that came out with a dribble. A
+fire-engine came up when it was too late. By that time the house was a
+mass of flames. There wasn't one bit of furniture saved, nor a book.
+All their clothes were burnt, and everything they had, except what
+they stood upright in. My new suit of clothes went too, but I didn't
+think of that; I was too sorry for Miss Emily and her mother and
+father. We had a dreadful time, and when daylight came the whole house
+and everything in it was a heap of ashes. Some friends took Dr. Porter
+and his wife and Miss Emily away, and I hung about, almost dazed out
+of my senses. I saved one thing, though--this fowl here, and the
+basket. The next day I saw Dr. Porter. 'My lad,' he said, 'I owe you a
+week's wages; here's your florin; I'm a ruined man, and you must look
+out for another situation.' He spoke nothing but the truth, sir; he
+_was_ ruined; he wasn't insured for a penny. I wouldn't take the
+florin; I told him about this fowl that I'd saved, and I asked him to
+let me have that instead. 'Take it and welcome,' he said, 'and your
+florin too.' But I wouldn't. I wanted badly to see Miss Emily to tell
+her how sorry I was, and to wish her good-bye, but Dr. Porter had sent
+her off I don't know where, so I had to come away without seeing her.
+That's the whole story, sir."
+
+"A sad story, Timothy."
+
+"Yes, sir, you may well say that."
+
+"What are you going to do now?"
+
+"That's what's puzzling me, sir." And Timothy cast a wistful look at
+the bookseller.
+
+"Take this book in your hand. Open it anywhere. Now read."
+
+Timothy opened the book, and with great fluency read from the top of
+the page.
+
+"That will do," said Mr. Loveday. "You can write, you say. Sit down
+there; here's paper, here's a pen. Now write what I say. 'The world is
+filled with fools and bunglers, and a few clever men. A small
+proportion of these clever men grow rich, because they are that way
+inclined; the majority die poor, because they are not entirely
+sordid-minded. The fools and bunglers grow so in a small measure from
+inheritance, in a large measure from indolence and a lack of judicious
+training.' Give it to me."
+
+He examined the paper carefully.
+
+"Ah! Writing tolerably good. Not a bad style; improvement will come by
+industry. I think you have that, Timothy Chance."
+
+"I think I have, sir."
+
+"Three mistakes in spelling. Bunglers is not spelled b u n g e l.
+Inheritance is not spelled without an h and with two e's in the last
+syllable. Judicious is not spelled j e w. For the rest, all right. A
+bit of arithmetic, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Be ready with your pen and paper. I buy a parcel of twenty-eight
+books at auction for three and sixpence; three I sell for waste-paper,
+sixteen at twopence each, five at threepence each, two at fourpence,
+and one for a shilling. What's the result?"
+
+"You lay out three and sixpence, sir," said Timothy, almost
+instantaneously; he was sharp at most things, but especially sharp at
+figures; "and you get back five and sevenpence. Two and a penny
+profit."
+
+"Quite right. Anything else?"
+
+"The three books you sell for waste-paper will bring in something;
+perhaps they're big ones."
+
+"Perhaps they're little ones. We won't reckon them. Anything else?"
+
+"You bought twenty-eight books, sir; you only gave me twenty-seven to
+figure out. One short, sir."
+
+"That was stolen, Timothy."
+
+"Where from, sir?"
+
+"From the stall outside."
+
+"It couldn't have been, sir, if you had a sharp boy to attend to it
+for you."
+
+"Ah! The question is, where to find that particularly sharp boy?"
+
+"He's handy, sir, almost at your elbow." Now, although these words
+betokened a certain confidence and were spoken with a certain
+boldness, it is a fact that there was a tremor in Timothy's voice as
+he uttered them. The conversation between him and Mr. Loveday had been
+strangely in accordance with his earnest desire to be taken into Mr.
+Loveday's service. He had been upheld by this hope as he tramped from
+Essex after the schoolhouse had been burned down, and he had hurried
+back to London more swiftly than he would have done without it.
+
+Mr. Loveday ruminated; Timothy Chance waited anxiously.
+
+"I'm rather a peculiar fellow, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday, presently;
+"not at all unpleasant out of business, unless you quarrel with my
+social crotchets, and you're not old enough to do that yet, Timothy,
+but very strict in business matters, however trifling. That fowl of
+yours is beginning to crow, Timothy."
+
+"It's all right, sir," said Timothy, in a tone of wistful expectation,
+"please finish."
+
+"This strictness of mine in business matters may make me a hard
+master; I haven't tried my hand in that line much, as I've always
+attended to my shop myself, but I will not deny that I'm half inclined
+to engage a lad."
+
+"Make it a whole mind, sir, and engage me."
+
+Timothy's occasionally apt replies tickled and pleased Mr. Loveday;
+they betokened a kind of cleverness which he appreciated.
+
+"As we stand now," continued Mr. Loveday, "man and boy, not master and
+servant, we have a mutual respect for each other."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+"It would be a pity to weaken this feeling."
+
+"It might be made stronger, sir."
+
+"There are numberless things to consider. If I say, 'Up at six every
+morning,' up at six it would have to be."
+
+"And should be, sir."
+
+"If I say, 'Every day's work completely done, every day's accounts
+satisfactorily made up, before the next day commences,' it would have
+to be. That fowl of yours is crowing louder, Timothy. No shirking of
+work by the excuse that it doesn't belong to the duties I engage a lad
+for. You understand all this?"
+
+"I understand it, sir."
+
+"On the other hand, satisfaction given, the cart would run along
+smoothly. There might be a little time in the evening for study and
+reading; there might be sundry pleasant interludes which one can't
+think of right off. Eh, Timothy?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You had it in your mind?"
+
+"I did, sir."
+
+"But," said Mr. Loveday, glancing at the lad, "there is one most
+important question--the question of respectability."
+
+"There's nothing against me, sir. You may inquire of everybody I've
+worked for."
+
+"I mean the question of a respectable appearance. Now, Timothy, you
+will not have the assurance to assert that _you_ present a respectable
+appearance?"
+
+"Cluck! cluck! cluck?" went the fowl in the basket.
+
+Timothy's eyes wandered dolefully over his ragged garments.
+
+"If my new suit of clothes hadn't been burnt," he murmured--
+
+"But they are burnt. Spilled milk, you know. The long and the short of
+it is, if you can obtain a decent suit of clothes, I'll give you a
+trial, Timothy."
+
+"Cluck! cluck! cluck! Cluck! cluck! cluck!" from the basket. A
+jubilant, noisy, triumphant flourish of trumpets, to force upon the
+world the knowledge of a great event. Timothy knelt down, put his hand
+in the basket, and drew forth a new-laid egg.
+
+"The world's mine oyster, which I with knife will ope." But surely
+that knife never presented itself, as it did at the present moment, in
+the form of a new laid-egg.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+Church Alley, in which Mr. Loveday's second-hand bookshop was
+situated, was not in the most squalid part of the East, wherein may be
+found horrible patches, in comparison with which the haunts of
+heathens in savage lands are a veritable paradise. It was, indeed, in
+close contiguity to the most respectable part of it, lying to the
+eastward of the famous butchers' mart, which, in the present day, is
+shorn of its doubtful glories. The alley was a slit in the main
+thoroughfare, running parallel with it, about sixty yards in length,
+and containing thirty-four tenements, sixteen of which were private
+dwellings and eighteen places of business. In the flourishing West it
+would have been converted into an arcade, and dignified with an
+imposing name drawn from royal or martial records; in the toiling East
+it was simply what it professed to be--an alley, very narrow, very
+shabby, and generally very dark. When winter fogs lay thick upon the
+mighty city they reached perfection by the time they floated to Church
+Alley and settled there. Then was the darkness truly Egyptian, and
+there the gloom remained, as if in proud assertion of the fitness of
+things, long after surrounding thoroughfares were bright. The sun rose
+later there and set earlier, and in freezing time it was a very heaven
+of slides days after surrounding space was thawing. The explanation of
+these unusual phenomena may be found in the circumstance that when
+"weather" got into Church Alley it could not easily get out. There was
+no roadway for horses and carts; between the rows of houses ran a
+footpath ten feet in width. The enterprising builder who purchased the
+land and designed the estate had husbanded his inches with a shrewd
+eye to the greatest possible number of rents to be squeezed out of
+them, and it must be confessed that his efforts were crowned with
+complete success.
+
+"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen," and this applies to
+weeds as well as flowers. Persons not acquainted with the intricacies
+of the neighborhood would have passed Church Alley without noticing
+it, even without being aware that there was such a thoroughfare within
+hail; it seemed, as it were, to shrink from notice, and to have been
+formed with a view to the enjoyment of the pleasures of obscurity,
+notwithstanding that it had at one end a public-house and a
+pawnbroker's shop, and at the other end a pawnbroker's shop and a
+public-house. These four establishments may be said to have been the
+archways to the paradise of Church Alley, and from the commencement to
+the end of the year, in rain or shine, in winter or summer, lost and
+wretched Peris could always be seen there, lingering at the gates.
+Public-houses and pawnbroker's shops are as the very breath of life in
+the East of London, and are important and degrading elements in the
+education of the dwellers therein. Children from their earliest days
+are familiar with them, and grow into the knowledge (which fair minds
+cannot dispute) that these institutions are planted there especially
+for their behoof. Brewers and distillers grow fat upon vice, and go
+smilingly through the world, conveniently blind to the fact that the
+richer they grow the more crowded become the ranks of those wretched
+ones from whose midst our prisons are filled, and whose lives are a
+standing reproach to humanity and civilization. It is not the fair
+use, but the gross abuse, of a system which is here deplored. The axe
+should be laid to it, despite the Moloch called vested interests,
+which is set up at the least remonstrance to frighten the timid. Let
+there be beer-shops and public-houses within limits, but it is
+infamous legislation which sanctions and encourages (as is to be
+verified to-day in slices of the East) every fifth or sixth tenement
+to be either one or the other. To contend, in respect of these
+hot-beds of vice, that the law of supply follows the law of demand, is
+an unblushing falsehood; they are distinctly forced upon the people by
+the very men who fatten upon the degradation, and who are often to be
+seen upon public platforms deploring the evils of which they are the
+creators. The sermons these moralists preach--to win votes, or to
+prove themselves qualified for public office, or to air their spurious
+philanthropy--are the bitterest of mockeries.
+
+Between the particular public-houses and pawnbrokers' shops which
+flanked Church Alley were dotted other notable places of business.
+To wit, Mr. Joseph Loveday's second-hand bookshop, to which we
+have been already introduced, a sweet-stuff shop, a cook-shop, a
+wardrobe-shop, and a printer's office, in which the master worked at
+case and press as his own journeyman. To the small boys and girls in
+the vicinity of Church Alley these shops were a great attraction, and
+they patronized them generously. The wardrobe-shop, which, like the
+bookshop, dealt only in second-hand goods, was as alluring to the
+grown-up folk of the female sex as it was to the youngsters, and
+longing were the eyes cast upon the faded silks and satins displayed
+in the dingy window. A shrewd, wise woman was Mrs. Peeper, the keeper
+thereof, a woman deeply and strangely versed in the desires and
+temptations of the lowly female heart. A woman of attainments, too,
+who might have won a name as a writer of fiction had her steps been
+led in that direction. In her shop-window would be displayed a
+much-worn and frayed satin dress, with a train so long as to set
+female mouths watering, and to this dress would be attached the
+legend, "From the wardrobe of her Royal Highness the P----ss of
+W----s." The legend set afloat would go the rounds, and girls and
+women would flock to gaze at the dress which had once adorned the
+figure of a royal princess. At another time Mrs. Peeper would arrange
+in her window several pairs of shoes, boots, and silk stockings, which
+she would announce as "Direct from B----cking----m P----l----ce;" at
+another time a flounced petticoat from a duchess; at other times hats,
+feathers, gloves, trimmings, capes, and various items of vanity, which
+she would cunningly bait with tempting legends to catch her fish. Mrs.
+Peeper might be accounted somewhat of a magician, for she filled the
+minds of many females with fancies which played their parts in dreams,
+changing charwomen into duchesses, young girls into princesses, and
+garrets into palaces. Mrs. Peeper seldom failed to land her fish, and
+the royal garments would be sold at singularly moderate prices, and,
+moreover, payment taken at so much per week.
+
+Then there was the printer, Mr. Edenborough. In his window were
+displayed specimens of cheap printing, cards, billheads, handbills,
+and what not, but there were clear spaces through which the children
+could peep at the master printer at his work. His stock in trade
+consisted of one frame, containing about a dozen cases of fancy type,
+which, with three pairs of cases of small pica, comprised his
+treasures in metal; there was also a rack of large wood letter for
+display bills; also an old Albion press. The youngsters stared their
+eyes out at him as he stood before the frame, composing-stick in hand,
+picking up the types with that swaying motion of his body which the
+spectators did not know was the sign of an inferior workman, for the
+skilful and expert compositor, the one who has generally earned his
+reputation as a "whip," keeps his body still as his hands travel over
+the case; they stared the harder when they saw him lock up the chase
+in which the card or handbill was inserted; and they stared the harder
+still when he worked ink-roller and press, and pulled off the
+impressions of the job in hand. He was rather proud of his audience,
+and made no attempt to disperse them; their admiration was a tribute,
+and it sweetened his labors.
+
+Then there was the cook-shop, in which, at stated hours of the day,
+hot dishes made their appearance, smoking. A great attraction, these;
+tantalizing perhaps, but at all events the youngsters had the smell
+for nothing. Sometimes a stray ha'penny from the juvenile throng found
+its way into the cook-shop till. Thereafter would ensue, in some
+convenient nook, such a feast as Caligula never enjoyed.
+
+Then there was Mr. Sly, the proprietor of the sweet-stuff shop. Such
+mysteries of sweetness, sticky or otherwise, but generally sticky,
+were in his window, that the children, once they got there, had the
+greatest difficulty in tearing themselves away. Ha'pence and
+farthings--the latter largely predominating--burned holes in the
+pockets of small breeches, and invariably, unless the plum-duff of the
+cook-shop stopped the way, were swept into Mr. Sly's till. There was,
+besides, in this man's establishment a strange and overwhelming
+temptation which lured the children on, and filled them now with
+visions of ineffable happiness, and now with visions of dark despair.
+The exquisite feelings of Manfred were repeated again and again in
+the breasts of these small morsels of mortality. In a little room at
+the back of his shop Mr. Sly kept what was spoken of as a "dolly,"
+which may be described as a species of roulette board, the ball--a
+marble--being sent spinning down a corkscrew tower till it reached the
+numbers, and finally settled in its resting-place. The rule of this
+gambling game was the easiest imaginable, and will be understood by
+the words "double or quits," a system which, in its results, was
+painfully comprehensible to the young reprobates who patronized it. A
+case in point occurred at the precise time that Mr. Loveday and
+Timothy Chance were talking together, and what ensued may be accepted
+as an illustration of Mr. Sly's method of conducting that part of his
+business.
+
+A juvenile of the male sex had come unexpectedly into possession of a
+farthing. It had not been given to him "to be good;" he had picked it
+up in Church Alley. He looked at it first in wonder and delight at his
+good luck, then he flourished it triumphantly. Forthwith he was
+surrounded, and far and wide the news spread that "Billy Forester had
+picked up a farden." This caused the meeting to be a numerous one.
+Before proceeding to discuss how it should be spent there was a
+difficulty to smooth over.
+
+"I cried, ''Arves!'" said little Bob Bracey.
+
+"You didn't," said Billy Forester.
+
+"I did!"
+
+"You didn't!"
+
+"Look 'ere; I'll fight you for it!"
+
+"No, yer won't. It's mine, and I means to stick to it."
+
+"What are you goin' to do with it?" was asked in a chorus.
+
+"Spend it," said Billy.
+
+"In course he is. The farden's Billy's, and he's goin' to spend it.
+We'll all 'ave a lick."
+
+Then ensued a discussion upon ways and means.
+
+"I think," said Billy, "I'll spend it in burnt almonds."
+
+This caused dismay. A farthing's worth of burnt almonds among so many,
+Billy by right taking the lion's share, would go a very little way;
+the majority of Billy's comrades would not get even a "lick."
+
+"I tell yer wot to do, Billy," said a shrewd youngster. "'Ave a spin
+at old Sly's dolly, and double it."
+
+"Yes, do, Billy, and double it ag'in. Then we'll all 'ave a taste."
+
+Why they called Mr. Sly "old Sly" cannot be explained, the vender of
+sweet-stuff being comparatively a young man; but it is a way poor
+children have.
+
+Billy Forester was at heart a gambler.
+
+"I'll do it," he said.
+
+Away he marched, followed by the admiring crowd. Billy, having found a
+farthing, was a hero.
+
+"Now then," said Mr. Sly as they flocked into his shop, "not so many
+of yer. Hallo, Billy, it's you. What do you want?"
+
+Billy replied by crooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction
+of Mr. Sly's back room. That the gambling had to be carried on in
+secrecy made it all the more tempting to the juveniles. It was
+supposed by many that Mr. Sly would be beheaded if the government
+caught him at it.
+
+"All right," said Mr. Sly, "you and me, Billy. Now, clear out, every
+one of yer, or I'll shut up shop. You can wait outside for Billy."
+
+He hustled them out like a flock of sheep, and they clustered in the
+alley in pleasurable expectation, waiting for Billy. Meanwhile Mr. Sly
+conducted the hero to the little back room.
+
+"'Ow much for, Billy?" asked Mr. Sly.
+
+"A farden."
+
+"Only a farden! Well, never mind; little fish is sweet. 'And it over."
+
+Billy parted with his farthing.
+
+"Will you go fust, Billy?"
+
+"No, you," said Bill.
+
+"'Ere goes, then." Down the screw turret went the marble, spinning
+round and round, and when it landed Mr. Sly called, "Eight. Rather a
+low number that, Billy."
+
+Billy took the marble, spitting first in his hand for luck, and put it
+in the hole at the top of the tower.
+
+"Twelve," said Mr. Sly.
+
+Billy, having won, was entitled to one half-penny's worth of
+sweet-stuff for his farthing. He could choose, at liberty,
+almond-rock, acid drops, peppermint-stick, barley-sugar, hard-bake,
+toffee, treacle-rock, or any other sweet condiment he preferred. He
+was debating what to do when the voice of Mephistopheles fell upon his
+ear.
+
+"You've got a ha'porth, Billy. Make it a penn'orth. Go in and win."
+
+Billy remembered what one in the meeting had said, "and double it
+ag'in." He would.
+
+"I'll go fust this time, Mr. Sly," he said.
+
+Down went the marble, and, with a long face, Mr. Sly called out
+"Twenty-three. But it's to be beaten, Billy."
+
+He did not beat it, however, his number being fourteen.
+
+"That makes a penn'orth, Mr. Sly," said Billy, exultantly.
+
+"That makes a penn'orth," said Mr. Sly, despondently. "Make it
+tuppence or nothink. Yer sure to win."
+
+"Am I?"
+
+"Sure. You'll see."
+
+Billy, in a kind of desperation, seized the fatal marble, and sent it
+spinning down the corkscrew turret.
+
+"The same number ag'in," he cried. "Twenty-three."
+
+"A true bill," said Mr. Sly, his face darkening. "Down I go. Well, of
+all the luck! Twenty-two."
+
+"I've won," said Billy, trembling from excitement.
+
+"I told yer yer would, and yer'll win ag'in if yer not chicken
+'earted. Fourpence or nothink? What do yer say?"
+
+"I say, yes," replied Billy, in a loud tone, he was tasting for the
+first time the delirious excitement of gambling and winning largely,
+and his blood was in a ferment. "Fourpence or nothink. 'Ere goes."
+
+There did go the marble, and landed in twenty-one. Mr. Sly was not
+more fortunate than before. His number was seven. His face grew darker
+and darker.
+
+"Fourpenn'orth!" cried Billy. "Hooray!"
+
+"Try ag'in," urged Mephistopheles. "Eightpenn'orth or nothink! Why,
+yer in sech luck that yer'd break the Bank of England. There's no
+standing ag'in yer. I'm desperate, I am. I shouldn't wonder if yer was
+to break me."
+
+Flushed with victory, and dazzled with visions of armsful of
+sweet-stuff, Billy for the fifth time sent the marble down, and for
+the fifth time won. He screamed out the fact at the top of his voice.
+
+"That's Billy cryin' out," said one of the throng outside. "He's
+winnin'."
+
+"He'll 'ave the 'ole bloomin' shop," said another.
+
+"If I was Billy I'd stash it," remarked a clear-brained juvenile. "I
+know 'ow it'll end. I've been there myself."
+
+"Oh, you? you've got no pluck! Go in and win, Billy!"
+
+This exhortation was shouted out, and it reached Billy's ears.
+
+"There," said Mr. Sly, in a tone of suppressed excitement, and
+striving hard to smother his resentment at Billy's good-fortune,
+"d'yer 'ear wot they say? 'Go in and win.' Yer've got eightpenn'orth,
+make it sixteenpenn'orth or nothink. There was a boy 'ere last
+week"--and Mr. Sly gazed meditatively before him at the visionary boy
+he was referring to--"who commenced with a farden, just like you, and
+he won nine times runnin'. It's nothink much at fust---a farden, a
+ha'penny, a penny. It's _now_ that it begins to mount up. Yes, nine
+times running he won--ten shillings and eightpence, that's wot
+he got the worth of. He went out loaded. Four pound of 'ard-bake, a
+pound of burnt almonds, a pound of barley-sugar, three pound of
+peppermint-rock, same of toffee, and I don't know what else. I didn't
+mind a bit; it did me good. That's the way to make a forchen."
+
+The recital of the catalogue of treasures was too much for Billy, and
+the marble being insidiously slipped into his palm by the cunning
+tradesman--who was quite aware that if you go on doubling or nothing
+it must eventually come to nothing--Billy, with quivering nerves,
+dropped it down the corkscrew turret.
+
+"Three!" shouted Mr. Sly. "But I might git one or two. 'Ere goes.
+Seventeen! Nothink."
+
+Billy was sobered. Ruined and chapfallen he preceded Mr. Sly into the
+shop, and thence emerged into the alley, where he related his
+misfortune, while Mr. Sly, standing at the door, wiped his heated
+brows, and called out:
+
+"Never say die, Billy. Better luck next time."
+
+But Billy was not to be consoled. His companions, disgusted with his
+bad luck and disappointed in their expectations, fell off from him one
+by one, and he was left quite alone. A few minutes ago he was a
+personage, now he was nobody. He felt the fall.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+Timothy Chance went from Mr. Loveday's shop with the warm new-laid egg
+in his hand. By permission of the bookseller he left his one
+possession, the fowl rescued from the burning schoolhouse, behind him,
+Mr. Loveday saying, jocosely,
+
+"If it lays another egg to-day, Timothy, I shall claim it."
+
+"All right, sir," Timothy had replied. "It won't lay another to-day,
+but there will be one to-morrow. It's a bird that can earn its own
+living."
+
+A remark which caused Mr. Loveday to laugh, and to think: "You're a
+clever fellow, Timothy. There's stuff in you."
+
+Nearly everybody within hail of Church Alley who was familiar with
+Timothy's face was always pleased to see him, and indeed it may with
+truth be averred that he had not an enemy. This pleasant fact was the
+reward of his willing and cheerful spirit, which invariably prompted
+him to do a good turn if it was in his power. But he had one especial
+friend for whom, above all others, he had a deep regard. The name of
+this friend was Teddy Meadows, a lad about the same age as himself,
+and of about the same build. The liking for each other which existed
+between these lads might have ripened into a firm and lasting bond of
+friendship in their manhood, had circumstances been favorable. It had
+commenced with a timely service which Timothy rendered Teddy some
+years before. Teddy, although as tall as Timothy, was of a weakly
+constitution, and suffered from lameness. One day, while crossing the
+Whitechapel Road, he fell under the feet of a horse which was drawing
+a loaded hay-cart, and had it not been for Timothy rushing forward and
+dragging him away, he would probably have received fatal injuries. As
+it was, he was much shaken, and Timothy had to carry him home. The
+parents were grateful to Timothy for the rescue, and thus the bond
+between him and Teddy was commenced. Teddy's father was a carpenter,
+and not a bad one, and being a steady man and a capable, was
+successful in obtaining pretty steady work. He had a fairly
+comfortable home, and, without being able to put by much money for a
+rainy day, kept his family in comfort. Their one sorrow was Teddy's
+lameness and his weak constitution.
+
+It was to Teddy's house that Timothy wended his way when he left Mr.
+Loveday's shop, not only because of his desire to see his friend and
+to relate his adventures, but because he had a vague hope that Teddy
+might be able to advise how he was to obtain a decent suit of clothes.
+On the road he met Mr. Meadows, and he fancied that Teddy's father was
+graver than usual; there were certainly signs of trouble in Mr.
+Meadows's face. "Perhaps he's out of work," thought Timothy. He went
+up to Mr. Meadows, and accosted him.
+
+"It's a long time since we've seen you," said Mr. Meadows. He spoke
+absently, and did not seem to observe how poorly Timothy was dressed.
+
+"I've been in the country," said Timothy, "but the gentleman I worked
+for was burnt out last week."
+
+"That's unfortunate," said Mr. Meadows. "There's more trouble in the
+world than there ought to be."
+
+Timothy supposed that Mr. Meadows made this remark because he was out
+of employment, and he did not think it right to comment upon it. From
+a young lad to a grown man with a family it might savor of
+impertinence.
+
+"I have just come back to London," he said, "and I was going to see
+Teddy."
+
+"Were you?" The father's face brightened a little, then fell again.
+"He'll be glad to see you. He has often spoken of you, especially
+lately. My poor boy!" He almost broke down.
+
+Timothy's heart sank within him.
+
+"Is Teddy unwell?" he asked.
+
+"He is very ill," replied Mr. Meadows, turning his head.
+
+"Very ill?" said Timothy, with sudden terror.
+
+"Very, very ill." He turned his face again to Timothy, grateful for
+the note of sympathy in the lad's voice, and then Timothy saw that his
+eyes were filled with tears.
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry!" said Timothy, unable to restrain his
+own tears. "Not seriously, Mr. Meadows; not seriously, I hope."
+
+"Yes, seriously," said Mr. Meadows, sadly, and he laid a kind hand on
+Timothy's shoulder. "But go and see him. He will be glad." And saying
+this, and afraid to trust himself further, Mr. Meadows hurried away to
+his work.
+
+Timothy walked slowly on, greatly shocked by the sorrowful news. Mr.
+Meadows's voice and manner denoted that he feared the worst. The
+worst? Yes, perhaps death.
+
+It stirred Timothy's heart deeply; a wave of sorrow was passing over
+it, and he had never till this moment realized how much he loved the
+young friend who was lying in such peril. His own troubles were
+forgotten; he thought only of poor Teddy.
+
+He quickened his steps, and soon reached Mr. Meadows's house. He was
+about to knock at the street door, when it opened, and a gentleman
+came from the house, saying to Mrs. Meadows, who stood on the
+door-step:
+
+"Remember--a new-laid egg."
+
+Timothy started, and looked after the doctor. Then he went up to Mrs.
+Meadows.
+
+"Oh, Tim!" sobbed the woman, "my poor boy is dying!"
+
+"Is the new-laid egg for Teddy?" asked Timothy, in a shaking voice.
+
+"Yes. It is the only thing, mixed with a little wine, the doctor says,
+that will keep strength in him till his father comes back from work."
+
+"I have brought one, Mrs. Meadows," said Timothy, sadly. "You may be
+sure it is new-laid--only half an hour ago."
+
+"God bless you!" said Mrs. Meadows. "Come in, my dear. Teddy will be
+so glad to see you!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+In all his after-life Timothy never forgot that night he spent with
+Teddy. It left upon him an abiding impression for good, and if in his
+manhood he stepped out of his way to do a kindness, he would sometimes
+think that he was urged to it by the spirit of his dear friend.
+
+Teddy was more than glad to see him; he said it was the one thing he
+had been wishing for before he--, and then he stopped, and looked at
+his friend with a half-wistful, half-whimsical expression on his face.
+
+"Before you what, Teddy?" asked Timothy, a great lump rising in his
+throat.
+
+"Before I go to another place," replied Teddy.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Ah! now you ask a question, Tim." He paused awhile, and added: "But
+somewhere. You've been talking to mother, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes--and I met your father as I was coming here."
+
+"He was cut up, wasn't he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Speaking of me?"
+
+"Yes. He could hardly get his words out."
+
+"He has been a good father--I couldn't have had a better; no boy
+could. My dear, good mother, too, she will feel it. They told you I
+was dying, didn't they?"
+
+The mournful look in Timothy's eyes was an eloquent answer.
+
+"It's true, Tim; I knew it before they did, before even the doctor
+did. Long ago I knew I should never live to be a man. I don't
+know whether I'm sorry or glad. There's Shakespeare and Sir Walter
+Scott--I say, isn't 'Ivanhoe' splendid?"
+
+"I don't know, Teddy. I never read it. But what about Shakespeare and
+Sir Walter Scott?"
+
+"They're dead, aren't they?"
+
+"Of course they are."
+
+"There it is, you see. It comes to the same thing. The only difference
+is in being born earlier or later."
+
+"I say, Teddy, where did you get all this from?"
+
+"All what, Tim?"
+
+"This way of talking."
+
+"Wasn't I always so?"
+
+"Not quite so; it's new, a lot of it--at least to me."
+
+"Comes from reading, I suppose, and thinking a bit, like a parrot."
+
+His mother here entered the room, with a tumbler of wine in which
+Timothy's new-laid egg was beaten up.
+
+"Timothy brought the egg, my love," she said; "it is new-laid."
+
+"Did he, now? Lift me up, Tim, please."
+
+Timothy raised the dying lad, and supported him in his arms, and Teddy
+drank the wine and egg slowly.
+
+"It's nice," he said; "it seems to make me strong."
+
+"The doctor said it would, my dear," said his mother; "it will help
+to make you well."
+
+Teddy looked tenderly at her.
+
+"Kiss me, mother."
+
+She took him from Timothy's arms, and for a little while the mother
+and son lay in a close embrace. When she was gone Teddy said:
+
+"Did you bring the new-laid egg for me, Tim?"
+
+"I must have done," replied Timothy, more cheerfully, hailing with
+hope the delusive sign of renewed strength in his friend, "because
+you've eaten it."
+
+"But intentionally?"
+
+"No Teddy, not intentionally."
+
+"It's funny you should have had one, though, just when the doctor
+ordered it for me. Perhaps you're in the egg business now?"
+
+This caused Timothy to laugh and Teddy to smile.
+
+"I'm not in the egg business yet," said Timothy. "How I got it is part
+of a story."
+
+"Your story, I can guess. You've been away a long time.
+Tell me everything about yourself, and everything that has
+happened--everything!"
+
+"It will take so long, Teddy."
+
+"All the more reason," said Teddy, with a grave smile, "why you should
+begin soon. Fire away, Tim. It will be a pleasure for me to lie and
+listen."
+
+It is not so uncommon as may be supposed to chance upon a lad in
+Teddy's station in life able to express himself so well. Looking round
+upon the familiar faces in the gallery of art and literature, and
+recognizing in this one and that one portraits of earnest workers, the
+fruit of whose labors have imparted intellectual pleasure to hundreds
+of thousands of men and women, one cannot fail to be struck by the
+fact that it is not from the ranks of the rich and powerful that the
+majority of these bright stars have emerged. It may be that the rich
+have not that incentive to succeed--the spur of necessity forming part
+of it--which the poor have, but the fact remains. Thus it is not
+surprising to find a lad of Teddy's stamp in the squalid East, and his
+weak physical frame may be set down to his intellectual advantage.
+
+He lay and listened to Timothy's story. Timothy spoke softly and
+slowly, and when, at the expiration of fifteen or sixteen minutes, he
+saw Teddy's eyes close, and judged that he had fallen into slumber, he
+stopped till Teddy, after the lapse of another few minutes, opened his
+eyes, and said:
+
+"Yes, Tim, and then--"
+
+Then Timothy resumed his story, pausing again when Teddy closed his
+eyes again, and continuing when the dying lad was sensible once more
+of what was going on around him. Now and then the mother would enter
+the room, very softly, and, in obedience to Timothy's finger at his
+lips, would close the door behind her and step to the bedside so
+quietly and noiselessly that she might have been a pitying spirit of
+air instead of a suffering mother whose heart was filled with woe.
+Then would she bend over the bed, sometimes with a terrible fear that
+her son had passed away; but she would raise her head and look at
+Timothy with tears in her eyes, and whisper:
+
+"Thank God, he only sleeps!"
+
+Ah! in these vigils of love, kept through day and night in the homes
+of the rich and poor, drawing the sick ones together until they stand
+upon the eternal platform of equality, there is much to be thankful
+for. If the lessons they teach were more enduring the world would be
+more human than it is, and justice--not that kind of justice we seek
+in wig and gown--would be dispensed more equally.
+
+At length the story was finished, and Teddy, awake, but growing weaker
+and weaker, lay and thought over it. His voice now sometimes wandered
+away, and the sense of his words was blurred by the approaching
+change, but for the most part he held himself in control, and spoke
+intelligently, with a full consciousness of what he was saying.
+
+"It was a lucky thing you got into that school, Tim."
+
+"Yes, Teddy, it was."
+
+"I always knew you were clever, and only wanted teaching. You must
+read 'Ivanhoe.'"
+
+"I will, Teddy."
+
+"And 'The Old Curiosity Shop,' and 'The Cricket on the Hearth.' Oh,
+how I've laughed and cried over them. Is Miss Emily pretty?"
+
+"Very pretty, Ted."
+
+"That's nice. I like pretty things--faces, flowers, and pictures. I
+can shut my eyes and see them--oh, such crowds of them, disappearing
+and coming up again. I am sorry for poor Dr. Porter. Perhaps you will
+see Miss Emily again."
+
+"I hope so."
+
+"There was little Alice Goldsmid; she was my sweetheart"--he was
+wandering now--"and she died a long, long time ago. I shall see her.
+She wore a white dress and a blue necklace. Is that you, father?"
+
+"Yes, my boy," replied Mr. Meadows, who, with his wife, had just
+entered the room; "do you feel better?"
+
+"Much better; oh, so much better! Give me your hand, father." He
+took it and held it to his lips. "Did you hear about Timothy and his
+new-laid egg?"
+
+"Mother has told me about it, my boy."
+
+"Is mother here?"
+
+"Yes, my dearest."
+
+A sudden strength animated Teddy's frame. "I could almost sit up
+alone," he said; and he strove to rise.
+
+"You had better lie and rest, my boy," said his father.
+
+"But I have something to do," he said, "that mightn't be thought of
+afterwards. Though if you did think of it I am sure you would do it,
+because it would give me pleasure."
+
+"We would do anything to give you pleasure, my boy."
+
+"I know you would, father, and thank you for all your goodness to me.
+It shall never be forgotten--never. Please help me up."
+
+They humored him, and propped him up with pillows. Timothy was now
+sitting at the foot of the bed, and the dying lad's parents one on
+each side at the head. Their hands were clasped at his back, forming a
+frame for their dear one, in which he found support.
+
+"Mother and father," he said, "I am going to make my will."
+
+As he said this Timothy saw in his face the same half-wistful,
+half-whimsical expression he had observed upon his first entrance into
+the sick-room. The tears which welled into the mother's eyes at
+mention of a will--a strange fancy to enter the brain of one so
+young--almost blinded her. Mr. Meadows's eyes were tearless, but he
+suffered none the less.
+
+"First, though, I must say good-bye to Harry and Joe and Nelly."
+
+These were Teddy's brothers and sisters, all younger than he.
+"Good-bye!" murmured the mother. "Oh, my poor boy, my poor boy!"
+
+"It is right," said Teddy; "it is, isn't it, father? I shall see them
+again; but after to-night they won't see me, perhaps, for a long, long
+time. No, don't take your arm away, father; I like it where it is, and
+mother's." He turned to each of them, and received their loving kiss.
+"Tim will go and bring them up. And, Tim, don't say anything to them
+about my dying; it might frighten them, and they wouldn't understand.
+Tell them that Teddy wants to kiss them good-night. Not good-bye, Tim,
+good-night."
+
+Timothy went down-stairs and brought the youngsters up, telling them
+to be very quiet, as brother Teddy's head ached badly.
+
+"Lift them up, Tim," said Teddy. "Good-night, Harry."
+
+"Good-night, Teddy," said Harry. "Won't you get well soon, and have
+larks?"
+
+"You shall have plenty of fun, Harry. Say God bless you, Teddy."
+
+"God bless you, Teddy."
+
+"And God bless you, Harry, and mind you must be a good boy."
+
+"I will, I will," said the little fellow.
+
+And so with Joe and Nelly, who kissed and bade their brother
+good-night, and gave him God's blessing.
+
+"Would you mind, mother," whispered Teddy, "if they said their prayers
+now before going to bed?"
+
+In obedience to their mother's directions, the children knelt at the
+bedside and said their prayers aloud, Timothy, the sorrowing parents,
+and Teddy himself mutely joining in the simple supplication. Mr. and
+Mrs. Meadows's heads were bowed upon their breasts, but Timothy's eyes
+were fixed upon Teddy's face, and a great tremor ran through him as he
+noticed the dying lad's lips form the words, "Now I lay me down to
+sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep." The solemnity of the occasion
+sank deep into Timothy's heart. "He says that prayer," he thought,
+"for the last time, for the last time. Poor Teddy!"
+
+The prayers being over, the children were taken quietly from the room.
+Teddy's eyes followed their figures until the door closed upon them.
+Then his lids dropped, and no one spoke until he himself broke the
+silence. His voice was weaker now, and he often paused, as if to
+gather strength for the words he wished to utter.
+
+"Harry will be just like you, father, when he is a man. He is proud of
+it when I have told him. 'I want to be like father,' he has said many
+times."
+
+"I hope he will be a better man," said the father.
+
+"He couldn't very well be that, eh, mother? And Nelly will be like
+you, mother, but not so pretty, I think."
+
+Mrs. Meadows sighed. She was a buxom woman; but her best-looking days
+were gone. She knew that quite well, and had always wondered at
+Teddy's praises of her prettiness.
+
+"And now, father, about my will. You won't mind, will you?"
+
+"No, my boy, we will do everything you wish."
+
+"Thank you, father. But first, though, about what I've got a right to
+do."
+
+"You've the right to do anything, Teddy. Only say what it is."
+
+"Are my books mine, father?" asked Teddy. "Yes, my boy."
+
+"I know exactly how many I've got--forty-seven, some of them nicely
+bound. I should like Timothy to have five."
+
+"He shall have them, Teddy, the best there are."
+
+"He won't pick out the best, father; he knows they are only as a
+remembrance, and I want him to have something else. Father, you must
+have my desk."
+
+"I will keep it and cherish it, my boy."
+
+"There is something in it for mother--a little ivory brooch I bought
+for her birthday before I was taken ill. Your birthday comes exactly
+four weeks to-day, mother. I sha'n't be here; but think I give it to
+you _then_."
+
+Mrs. Meadows could not speak. She lowered her face to the wasted hand
+she held in hers and kissed it, and held her head down.
+
+"My other books I should like divided between Harry, Joe, and Nelly.
+That will be fourteen each. You will know which to choose for them.
+Father, are my clothes mine?"
+
+"Surely they are, my dear lad."
+
+"To do whatever I like with?"
+
+"Whatever you like, my boy."
+
+"I am glad of that, because there is something I very much wish to do.
+Timothy is just my height, father."
+
+"Yes, my boy, he is."
+
+Timothy held his breath, divining the idea bred by the thoughtful love
+of his friend.
+
+"Has he told you that he can get a good situation if he has a decent
+suit of clothes to go in?"
+
+"No, Teddy; but I am glad to hear it."
+
+"He'll tell you all about it another time--not now, because my breath
+is going. Would you believe that the only thing in the world he can
+call his own is a fowl? Such a wonderful layer! That is how it was he
+was able to bring the new-laid egg to me. I should like Timothy to
+have my best trousers, my best coat and waistcoat, my best shirt--no,
+two shirts--and my best boots."
+
+"He shall have them, Teddy."
+
+"Thank you, father. He isn't to wait for them, you know, because it is
+_now_ he wants them. It would do me a great deal of good if I could
+see Timothy in them with my own eyes."
+
+Mrs. Meadows rose, and, selecting the clothes mentioned by Teddy, told
+Timothy to go into her room and put them on. "If the dear Lord in his
+mercy should spare us this blow," she thought, "my darling boy can have
+new ones. How thankful, how grateful I shall be if this blessing is
+granted me!"
+
+Timothy was absent from the sick-room for a much longer time than was
+necessary for him to throw off his ragged garments and get into
+Teddy's clothes. It was not out of vanity, but of delicacy, he did
+this, for he did not have the heart to look at himself in his better
+raiment. His young life had been already full of adventures, and many
+of them sorrowful ones, but this was the most mournful of them all.
+Ideas with respect to Teddy's clothes were stirring in his brain as
+well as in that of the mother sitting by the bedside of her dying son.
+"If Teddy takes a turn for the better, I can easily get into my rags
+again." He consoled himself with this idea, and he did up his tattered
+garments into a tidy bundle ready for the better emergency. He prayed
+that his dear friend might live. There would be little hope then of
+his obtaining the situation which was offered to him, but shrewd and
+clever as he was he was void of that kind of selfishness the
+gratification of which entails misfortunes upon others. "If I can't
+get into Mr. Loveday's shop," he thought, "I shall get something else
+to do, I dare say. I shall manage to rub along somehow." He would
+dearly love to obtain service with Mr. Loveday, but not at the expense
+of the life of the best friend he ever had. He remained from the
+sickroom so long that Mrs. Meadows had to come and beg him to return
+to it.
+
+"Teddy is asking for you," she said. "Oh, my dear, he is sinking fast,
+I am afraid!"
+
+"I hope you don't think it wrong of me to do this," said Timothy,
+looking down upon Teddy's clothes.
+
+"Wrong, my dear? No, indeed not. It is to please our dear boy--and you
+shall keep them even if he does get well. But I fear--I fear-- Oh, my
+dear, he is the sweetest lad that ever drew breath! Never an angry
+word from his lips, never, never--and I have spoken cross to him often
+and often. He never answered me, never once. And now I am punished for
+it, now I am punished for it!"
+
+It was painful to witness her anguish.
+
+"You must not, you should not speak in that way, Mrs. Meadows," said
+Timothy, to whom came at this juncture an impressiveness of manner
+which spoke well for a true manliness of spirit in the future when he
+should have arrived at manhood's estate; "if Teddy knew it he would be
+very grieved--it would hurt him badly. You have nothing to vex
+yourself about, I know, who never had a mother to love"--and here
+Timothy's voice shook. He was aware of the strange mystery attached to
+his being thrust, a stranger, upon the care of strangers, and at this
+solemn time it forced itself upon him with a new significance.
+
+"Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Meadows, "I am sorry for you."
+
+"I know," continued Timothy, "from Teddy's own dear lips how good and
+loving you have been to him--"
+
+"Has he told you so--has my dear boy told you so?"
+
+"Over and over again; and he has said that he could never repay you
+and his father for your goodness to him."
+
+"That came out of his own kind heart, always thinking of others, never
+of himself."
+
+"It is true, Mrs. Meadows. He said once to me, 'I wish you had a home
+like mine, and a mother and father like mine.'"
+
+"The dear lad--the dear, dear lad! It makes it all the harder to lose
+him, all the harder."
+
+"It is hard--but let us go in now. He will be restless."
+
+"Yes, yes, let us go in. You are a good lad, Timothy, and we shall
+always be glad to see you here. Remember that, my dear."
+
+"I will, Mrs. Meadows, and thank you."
+
+The mother wiped the tears from her eyes, but as fast as she wiped
+them away they flowed afresh.
+
+The moment he entered the room Timothy saw the change that had come
+over Teddy. But Teddy could still speak in a faint, weak voice, and
+his eyes brightened as they rested on Timothy.
+
+"How nice you look!" he murmured. "Do they fit you?" Timothy nodded.
+"Bend down, Timothy. That's right." He kissed Timothy. "If you get
+along, as you're sure to do, you must pay me for them."
+
+"How can I do that, Teddy dear?" asked Timothy, in wonder.
+
+"By helping some poor boy, and trying to get him out of his trouble."
+
+"As you have got me out of mine. I promise, Teddy, faithfully."
+
+"I think," said Teddy, suddenly raising himself up in bed, and
+speaking in a thin, clear voice, "that everything is very beautiful.
+Good-night. I am very happy. God bless you, Tim!"
+
+"God bless you, Teddy!"
+
+"Mother, father, put your arms round me."
+
+Close, close beat the loving hearts, one growing fainter, fainter,
+until, though still it fluttered, they could neither see nor hear its
+pulsation. Teddy lay still for hours, for the most part with his eyes
+closed; but at long intervals the lids were slightly raised for a few
+moments at a time. Whether he saw anything before him they did not
+know, but they knew by an occasional slight movement of his fingers,
+which feebly strove to clasp the hands in which they were enfolded,
+that the tide of life had not quite run out. In the midst of their
+deep trouble it consoled them that he was in peace, and that it was
+mercifully ordained that he should pass away without suffering; for
+all through these memorable hours, which formed for them a sad and
+loving memory till they themselves received the summons to eternity, a
+smile rested on his lips. It was there when a linnet in a cage
+down-stairs began to chirp and twitter in the early morning. Teddy did
+not hear the sweet sounds; he had answered the call, and his soul was
+with God and the angels.
+
+
+"So you've got the clothes, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday on the
+following day.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Timothy; and he told the bookseller about Teddy.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Loveday, "so goes on forever and a day the mystery of
+life and death, never for one moment ceasing its work. Timothy, your
+fowl has laid another egg. Shall we value it at five farthings?"
+
+"Keep it, sir, and welcome," said Timothy.
+
+"No, my lad. Justice is justice, and I get it cheap. I engage you,
+Timothy, as my assistant, at eighteen pence a week and board and
+lodging. Satisfaction given, a rise of sixpence a week at the end of
+six months; satisfaction still given, and all going along comfortably,
+a rise of another sixpence at the end of twelve months. What do you
+say?"
+
+"I am very thankful to you, sir," replied Timothy.
+
+"You will want to go to the funeral, Timothy?"
+
+"If you can spare me, sir."
+
+"Of course I can spare you. Friends are not so plentiful, dead or
+alive."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+We return to Nansie and Kingsley. They were still in Godalming.
+Nansie's father was buried, a quiet funeral, with only Nansie and
+Kingsley as mourners; the horse and caravan were sold, and the loving
+couple who were now to commence the battle of life in real, right-down
+earnest, had taken humble lodgings for a week or two, pending the
+serious question as to what they should do. Until after the funeral
+Nansie had no heart to write to her uncle in London. She had thought
+of acquainting him with the death of his brother, and asking him
+whether he would wish to attend the funeral, but the knowledge of the
+estrangement of the brothers during her father's lifetime, and a
+feeling of loyalty towards her father, who, in this estrangement, had
+been, in her belief, harshly treated, caused her to postpone the
+writing of her letter till the last sad offices were fulfilled. There
+was another reason. She feared that her uncle was a man of hard
+disposition, and that his resentment against his brother might find an
+outlet over the grave of the dear father she loved so well. This fear
+also sustained her. An inharmonious note springing from an unkind
+nature, during her days of fresh sorrow, an inharmonious note which
+might have been detected even when the dear remains were consigned to
+their last resting-place, would have been too painful to her to bear,
+and would, besides, have been a desecration. Therefore it was that
+many days passed by before Nansie communicated to her uncle the news
+of his brother's death.
+
+Meanwhile Kingsley was busy thinking about the settling of his
+affairs. He had some belongings and a little money, and it was
+necessary that his debts should be paid.
+
+"We will commence quite free, Nansie," he said, "then we shall know
+where we are, and how we stand."
+
+"It will be best, Kingsley," said Nansie.
+
+"We will wipe out the past, my dear," said Kingsley, "and commence
+with a new slate. That will cost nothing, being in a sense
+metaphorical."
+
+She did not ask him if he felt regret that he had married her; she
+knew that he did not, but she would have been scarcely human had the
+thought not obtruded itself. Certainly nothing in Kingsley's manner
+denoted regret. He was cheerful, hopeful, confident, and, having
+sufficient for the present day, felt no fears for the future. That
+was probably because he had not had experience. His life hitherto
+had been pleasant and luxurious, with no troubles of money to harass
+him. A good education, a liberal allowance, having but to ask and
+receive--these easy ways were not a good education for adversity.
+
+"There is a song I have often sung, Nansie, my dear," he said,
+lightly, "and the burden of it is, 'never trouble trouble till trouble
+troubles you.' That is the plan we will follow."
+
+"Yes, Kingsley," said Nansie, with a bright look; "it does not mean
+that we should not be prepared."
+
+"Prepared!" he exclaimed, putting his arm round her waist and kissing
+her. "Of course we will be prepared. Leave everything to me; and don't
+have any fear that I shall miss anything."
+
+"Are you sure, dear?"
+
+"Am I sure? Well, upon my word! There is only one thing in the world I
+should miss, and that is you--with a thousand apologies for calling
+you a thing. So long as you are with me, with your bright eyes and
+sweet face, and that pretty bit of ribbon about your neck--I love to
+see you dressed like a lady; of course that will always be--so long as
+we are together as we are now, it isn't possible for me to miss
+anything, because my bonnie Annie Laurie is all the world to me. Then,
+you know, there is a charm in change, a positive charm in coming down
+a bit. There's pheasant now, and partridge and grouse, and _pâté de
+foie gras_--why, I've run away from them for a cut of rump steak.
+As for champagne, which I could have swam in--really, Nansie, swam
+in--why, I would rather have a bottle of Bass any day. There were some
+of the long walks I used to take with a chum or two. Well, we walk a
+dozen miles and pull up at quite a common little inn, and call for
+bitter--in the pewter, Nansie--and bread and cheese. Was there ever
+anything like it? Never. The best meal I ever sat down to was nothing
+in comparison. I would look at my chums, and my chums would look at
+me, and we would all agree that we never ate and drank anything with
+such a relish. It was true. We'll take long walks together, Nansie,
+you and I, and you will say the same. I must leave you to-morrow
+morning, you know, my dear, for a couple of days to settle up all my
+old debts. There's the stable bill--I shall have to sell my horse--and
+the jeweller's bill."
+
+"Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, interrupting him.
+
+"Yes, Nansie."
+
+"This watch and chain was bought of the jeweller, was it not?"
+
+She pointed to a pretty watch and chain she was wearing, which, with a
+locket, he had given to her on the morning they had disclosed to
+Nansie's father the secret of their marriage.
+
+"Yes, my dear," he said, gayly.
+
+"And was not paid for when you gave it to me?"
+
+"And was not paid for," he repeated, in the same gay tone, "when I
+gave it to you. But," he added, "it will be before I return."
+
+"Don't you think, Kingsley, dear, that it would be best for you to ask
+the jeweller to take it back? It will make your account lighter."
+
+"What?" he cried. "Rob you of my own gift! Not likely, Nansie. Well,
+that is an idea to get into your head! And you call yourself
+practical!"
+
+"I think it would be right, my dear, and I can do very well without
+it."
+
+"And _I_ think it would be wrong, and I am certain you could _not_ do
+very well without it. And the locket, too--why, Nansie, it has my
+portrait in it!"
+
+"I should like to keep the locket," said Nansie, opening it and gazing
+fondly at the handsome, smiling face of her lover and husband.
+
+"I should think you would, indeed. Let me look at it. Upon my word,
+Nansie, it flatters me."
+
+"It does not," said Nansie, energetically. "You are a great deal
+better-looking than the picture."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Now it is you who are flattering; and, of course, you are only joking
+when you ask me to take the watch and chain back. Don't mention it
+again, there's a good girl. It gives me an uncomfortable feeling.
+Every lady has her watch and chain, and I should feel that mean if I
+saw you without one--well, there! don't let us talk about it. I shall
+be able to pay the jeweller. You don't know half the things I've got
+in my bachelor rooms; and just look at this diamond ring he wheedled
+me into buying for myself. Down in the bill for sixty pounds. To think
+I have never given you a ring!"
+
+"Yes, you have, dear," said Nansie, kissing her wedding-ring.
+
+"Of course, that," said Kingsley, taking her hand and kissing it, and
+keeping it clasped in his; "but I mean diamonds."
+
+"I don't want diamonds, dear."
+
+"Because you are the sweetest, most unselfish little wife that a
+fellow was ever blessed with. But confess, Nansie, now, you do like
+diamonds, don't you? No subterfuges, you know. I am your husband, and
+you mustn't deceive me. You _do_ like them?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley; all women do, I think."
+
+"And lace?"
+
+"Yes, and lace."
+
+"That's where it is," he said, in a tone of vexation, running his
+fingers through his hair. "I had my eye on a lovely ring, and such a
+brooch! I asked the jeweller to put them by for me."
+
+"You will not get them now, Kingsley?" said Nansie, anxiously.
+
+"No, I can't very well, and that is what vexes me. I look upon them as
+really yours, and as if I'd behaved meanly in not buying them for you.
+It is really a loss, for, you see, if I had bought them when I took a
+fancy to them, you would have had them, and I shouldn't have cause to
+reproach myself."
+
+"Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, holding up a reproving forefinger, "you
+are, as my dear father used to say, illogical."
+
+"Your dear father may have said it to you, my unreasonable darling,
+because logic is not by any means a feminine quality; but he would
+never have said it to me, because we men see deeper into things than
+you. I could prove to you incontestably, Nansie, that it is a positive
+loss that I did not buy that ring and brooch for you; but I don't want
+to make your head ache." He kissed her eyes and forehead and lips, as
+if these marks of affection were as powerful as any logic he could
+bring to bear upon the point in dispute. "However, what is done is
+done, and what we have to consider is not yesterday, but tomorrow."
+
+"Yes, dear," said Nansie, hailing this more sensible turn, "that is
+what we have to consider."
+
+"And we will consider it, dearest, in a practical, logical manner."
+Nansie, despite her anxiety, could not help smiling at this. "I am
+sure I am thinking of it all the night long."
+
+(If this were so it must have been in his dreams, for he was an
+exceptionally sound sleeper, as Nansie well knew, by reason of her own
+mind being really disturbed by thoughts of the future.)
+
+"What will have to be decided is what I am fit for and what I can do,
+and the thing then is," and Kingsley looked pleasantly around, as
+though he were addressing an audience, "to go and do it. Yes," he
+repeated, "to go and do it. You cannot deny, Nansie, my darling, that
+that is the practical way to go about it."
+
+"Yes, Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, with fond admiration, "that is the
+practical way."
+
+"To buy another caravan," pursued Kingsley, "and a horse, and to fit
+it up comfortably with chairs and tables and beds, an easy-chair for
+you, my dear, and one for me; and a little library of books, and a
+piano--because there is nothing so pleasant on a beautiful evening in
+the woods, when the birds have settled in their nests and all nature
+is hushed and still, preparing by needful repose for the joyous life
+of to-morrow; there is nothing, I say, so pleasant as to sit by
+the side of a dear little wife while she plays the airs one loves
+best--but I am afraid there would not be room for a piano."
+
+"I am afraid not, dear," said Nansie, humoring him.
+
+"It is a pity. If it were too warm--being summer, my dear Nansie--to
+sit inside the caravan, we might move the piano into the open, where
+you could charm the birds from their nests. They could not resist the
+temptation of coming out to listen to the concert, and perhaps join
+in. Now, that would form a pretty picture. A gifted fellow could
+almost write verses on it. But it is not to be thought of, Nansie, is
+it?--I mean the piano, not the verses."
+
+"I am afraid not, Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, into whose heart was
+stealing a kind of pity--pity which had no terrors in it, but rather
+nerved her to courage, and was the germ of a new teaching in her
+gentle nature.
+
+"I think you must admit, my dear," said Kingsley, taking her hand and
+patting it softly, "that the moment I perceive an idea, however
+enticing it may be, is not practical, I send it to the right about. As
+I do the piano. Away it goes, and I take off my hat to it with
+regret."
+
+There was something so kindly and humorous in his speech, and in the
+expressions and gestures which accompanied it, that Nansie did not
+have the heart to check it or to dispute it with him.
+
+"We should have to do without the piano, then; but it is hardly
+possible to live without music. Well, we could go to a church, or,
+better still, to a cathedral. That could easily be managed, for we
+could so arrange as to halt for the night near a cathedral town, and
+if we were a little late starting off the next day, it would not so
+much matter, our time being our own. Then, it might happen--stranger
+things happen, my dear, and in discussing a matter it is only fair to
+look at it from every aspect--it might happen that we hear of a
+concert to be given in a hall a dozen or twenty miles away. Away trots
+the horse at six or seven miles an hour--that would not be overworking
+it--and we arrive in time. I run into the town or city, or perhaps we
+pass through it, and I take tickets. We dress--properly, you know,
+Nansie--I in my swallowtail and white tie, you in your prettiest
+evening-dress, and off we start arm-in-arm. A fine evening, a pleasant
+walk of a mile, a most beautiful concert which we enjoy, and then the
+walk home, with stars and moon overhead, and the clouds forming a
+panorama of exquisite colors in lace-work through the branches of the
+trees. That is what I call true enjoyment, which, however, only lovers
+can properly appreciate. Would it not be perfect, Nansie?"
+
+"Perfect," replied Nansie, for a moment carried away by his
+earnestness and eloquence; "a heaven upon earth."
+
+"You can form no idea," said Kingsley, with a happy smile, "what
+delight you give me in agreeing with me upon such subjects. Though I
+should not say that; it half implies that we might possibly disagree
+upon our views for the future. When I first saw you I knew you
+thoroughly. I saw your sweet and beautiful nature in your eyes, and
+they are the loveliest eyes, my heart, that ever shone kindly upon
+man. 'Here,' said I to myself--Oh, you have no notion how I thought of
+you when I was alone! I used to walk up and down my room, speaking to
+you and listening for your answers; there are silent voices, you know,
+Nansie--'Here,' said I to myself, 'here is the sweetest and purest
+spirit that ever was embodied in woman. Here is one whose
+companionship through life would make earth a heaven'--exactly as you
+expressed it just now, my love--'and to win whom would be the most
+precious blessing which could fall to a fellow's lot. I love her, I
+love her, I love her!'"
+
+"Oh, Kingsley!" murmured Nansie, laying her face on her husband's
+breast. His sincerity and simple earnestness--whatever the worldly
+practical value of the words he was uttering--carried her away into
+his land of dreams, and surely they were words so sweet and loving
+that no woman could listen to them unmoved.
+
+"And if it be my happiness to win her," continued Kingsley, "I will
+prove myself worthy of her."
+
+Nansie thought of the sacrifice of wealth and position he had made for
+her, a sacrifice not grudgingly but cheerfully made, and in the making
+of which he did not arrogate to himself any undue or unusual merit,
+and she murmured, as she pressed him fondly to her: "You have proved
+yourself more than worthy, my dearest dear. It is I, it is I who have
+to prove myself worthy of you!"
+
+"That is not so," he said, gravely, but still holding the thread of
+his dreams; "it is the woman who stands upon the higher level; it is
+the man who must lift himself up to it, if he is a true man. Yes, my
+darling, even when I first saw you I used to think of you in the way I
+have described. Why, my dear, your face was ever before me; every
+little trick of expression with which you are sweetly gifted was
+repeated a hundred and a hundred times when I was alone and nobody
+nigh. And let me tell you, dear wife, you exercised an influence for
+good over me which I cannot well make clear to you. 'Why, Kingsley,
+old fellow,' the chums used to say, 'we expected you to our
+supper-party last night, and you never turned up. What has come over
+you?' I wasn't going to tell them what it was that kept me away. Not
+likely. The majority of fellows there, living the life we did,
+wouldn't understand it, and it isn't a thing you can beat into a
+fellow's head--it must come to a fellow, as it came to me, I'm
+thankful to say."
+
+"Was there ever a man," thought Nansie, "who could say such sweet
+things as my Kingsley is saying to me?"
+
+"To return to the caravan," said Kingsley. "I have no doubt you are
+perfectly familiar by this time, Mrs. Manners, with one of my great
+failings in conversation--flying off at a tangent upon the smallest
+provocation; but I always pick up my threads again, that you must
+admit. So I pick up the thread of the caravan we were discussing. You
+have put the matter of the piano so forcibly before me--although you
+are not a logician, my dear, I give you the credit of not being bad in
+an argument--that it is put quite aside, not to be reintroduced. There
+is one capital thing about a caravan, there are no taxes to pay, and no
+rent either. If a fellow could only get rid of butchers' bills now! You
+see, I know something about housekeeping. Well, but that _is_ a good
+thing in caravans, isn't it, Nansie--no rent or taxes?"
+
+"Yes, it is," replied Nansie; "but you must not forget, Kingsley,
+dear, that it is not summer all the year through."
+
+"Forget it! Of course I don't forget it. There are fires,
+aren't there, Nansie? And don't you forget that I've been very
+careful in making the caravan water-tight. We should feel like
+patriarchs--young patriarchs, you know, though I've always looked upon
+them as old, every man Jack of them. When you say 'in the days of the
+patriarchs,' it sounds oldish--long white beards, and all that sort of
+thing."
+
+"May I say something, Kingsley?"
+
+"Certainly, my love."
+
+"We should have to live."
+
+"Why, of course, my dear. Do you think I have forgotten that? What do
+you take me for?"
+
+"Whether we live in a house or a caravan we must have bread and milk
+and eggs--"
+
+"And butter and bacon," interpolated Kingsley. "You see, I know."
+
+"And clothes."
+
+"And coffee--black coffee, very strong, that's how I like it."
+
+"All these things would have to be paid for, Kingsley."
+
+"I suppose so--I mean, of course, they must be."
+
+"How, Kingsley, dear?"
+
+"Ah, howl" he said, vaguely, drumming on the table with his fingers.
+
+"That," said Nansie, with pretty decision, "is what we have to
+consider."
+
+"Of course, of course. We _are_ considering it. Is it your opinion
+that the caravan idea is not practicable?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley."
+
+"Then away it goes," said Kingsley, with the air of a man from whom a
+great weight of responsibility has been suddenly lifted; "away it
+goes, with the piano, and the nice furniture, and the birds, and the
+wild flowers in the summer woods. I take off my hat to the caravan,
+though," he added, with a tendency to relapse, "I shall always regret
+it; the life would have been so beautiful and pleasant."
+
+"We will endeavor," said Nansie, tenderly, "to make our life so in
+another way."
+
+"Certainly we will, my dearest," responded Kingsley, heartily. "There
+are a thousand ways."
+
+And yet he looked about now with a slight distress in his manner, as
+though he could not see an open door. But he soon shook off the doubt,
+and the next minute was the same blithe, bright being he had always
+been.
+
+"Let us go for a walk, Nansie," he said.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+How sweet are the Surrey lanes and woods, especially round about
+Godalming! Innumerable are the pictures which artists have found there
+and fixed upon canvas to delight and instruct. In spring and summer
+peeps of fairyland reveal themselves almost at every turn. Small
+forests of straight and stately trees are there, full of solemn
+visions, lifting one's thoughts heavenward, and attuning the soul to
+more than earthly glory. The earth is carpeted with wonders, and the
+air is fragrant with subtle perfumes. The gentle declivities are
+clothed in beauty, and the wondrous variety of greens and browns are a
+marvel to behold.
+
+It was a balmy night, and the skies were full of stars. A clear pool
+reflected them, and Nansie and Kingsley stood upon the rustic bridge
+and looked down in silence and love and worship.
+
+"In the method of my education, my dear Nansie," said Kingsley, as
+they walked from the bridge into the stillness of the woods, "I
+recognize now one end."
+
+"What end, Kingsley?" asked Nansie, looking up at him in hope.
+
+"Nothing particular," said Kingsley. He spoke with his customary
+lightness, but there was a dash of seriousness in his voice, not as
+though he was troubled by the reflections which were passing through
+his mind, but with a dim consciousness that something better than he
+was able to accomplish might have been evolved. "That seems to me to
+have been the method of it--nothing particular. Shall I try to explain
+myself?"
+
+"Please, dear. But kiss me first."
+
+"Even in this kiss, my own dear wife," said Kingsley, "which, in what
+it means to me, all the gold in the world could not purchase-- Ah,
+Nansie, dear, how truly I love you!"
+
+"And I you, Kingsley, with all the strength of my heart and soul."
+
+"That is the beauty of it, and it is that which makes it
+unpurchasable. It is my love for you, and yours for me; it is my faith
+in you and yours in me, springing out of my heart and soul as it
+springs out of yours, that makes me feel how inexpressibly dear you
+are to me, and to know that my spiritual life would not have been
+complete without you. But I am flying off at a tangent again."
+
+"You were speaking of the method of your education, my darling."
+
+"Yes, ending in nothing particular. God knows whether the fault is in
+it or me, but so it strikes me just now. I have a smattering of Greek
+and Latin, but nothing really tangible, I am afraid; nothing which
+would warrant me in calling myself a scholar. Say that I _were_ one, a
+scholar and a man, I do not see (because, perhaps, after all, the
+fault or the deficiency is in my nature) how I could make a fortune
+out of it. For you, Nansie."
+
+"I know, my dear," said Nansie, "that you are thinking of me."
+
+"I confess that, if I allowed it to take possession of me, I should be
+more than perplexed; I should be seriously troubled. But, to go on. I
+seem not to be able, except in words, to express myself or do myself
+justice. For instance, I look into the stream, and see a wave of
+stars. There is a poem there, and I feel it, but I could not write it.
+Pitiful to reflect, isn't it? because, in our circumstances, it might
+be sold for--twopence; but even that we might find useful."
+
+"A great deal more, dear, if you could write it."
+
+"If I could! There's the rub. Here, as I look around me, and at every
+step I have taken, I see pictures; but I could not paint them. Now,
+how is that?"
+
+"Perhaps, my dear," said Nansie, timidly, "it is because life has
+never been so serious to you as it is now with me by your side."
+
+"Serious and sweet," said Kingsley; "remember that. We must not have
+one without the other. The fact is, I dare say, that I never thought
+of what I was to be, because I did not see the necessity of troubling
+myself about it. My father was a rich man; everybody spoke of him as a
+millionaire, and spoke the truth for once; and all my college chums
+envied me my luck. But for that it may be that I should have applied
+myself, and ripened into a poet or a painter, or something that would
+come in useful now. Nothing very superior, perhaps, in any line,
+because, my dear, you will be surprised when I confess to you that I
+do not regard myself as an out-of-the-way brilliant fellow. But
+there's no telling, is there, what may come out of a fellow if he puts
+his shoulder to the wheel?"
+
+"Something good would be sure to come out of such a head as yours,
+Kingsley," said Nansie.
+
+"You _will_ flatter me, my dear; but, after all, you may be right.
+There are no end of clever men who were dull boys at school, and
+thought to have nothing in them; though, now I think of it, I was not
+at all a dull boy--rather bright, indeed, really, Nansie--and the fact
+that dullards often prove themselves geniuses is rather against me. Do
+you know what I've been told? That there is a lot of stuff in me, but
+that I lack application; that is, the power of sticking long to one
+thing. That is true, perhaps, and it is that quality, or failing, or
+what you like, that makes me fly off at a tangent in the way I am in
+the habit of doing. I've stuck pretty close to this conversation,
+haven't I?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Notwithstanding that there are a thousand things to distract my
+attention. For instance, thoughts. Such as this: that it would be a
+happy lot if you and I could wander forever side by side through such
+lovely scenes as this, and in a night so sweet and beautiful."
+
+"But that could not be, Kingsley, dear, and I am not sure whether it
+would be a happy lot."
+
+"You surprise me, Nansie. Not a happy lot! Our being always together,
+and always without worry or trouble!"
+
+"In course of time," said Nansie, a slight contraction of her eyelids
+denoting that she was thinking of what she was saying, "we should grow
+so used to each other that we should become in each other's eyes
+little better than animated statues. The monotony of its being always
+summer, of everything around us being always beautiful, would so weigh
+upon us that we should lose all sense of the beautiful, and should not
+be grateful for the sweet air, as we are now, Kingsley. We grow
+indifferent to things to which we are regularly accustomed. Change
+produces beauty. You are making me think, you see, and I am almost
+pretending to be wise."
+
+"Go on, Nansie. I want you to finish, and when you have done I have
+something to say on an observation you have made, change produces
+beauty. Now that is a theme profound."
+
+"There is not a season in the year that is not full of sweetness, and
+that we do not enjoy. If it were always spring the charm of spring
+would be gone. If it were always summer we should lie down and sleep
+the days away, and should gradually grow indifferent to the beautiful
+shapes and colors with which nature adorns the world in the holiday
+time of the year. Is not autumn charming, with its moons and sunsets
+and changing colors? And what can be prettier and more suggestive of
+fairy fancies than winter, in its garb of snow and icicle? There are
+plenty of bad days in all the seasons, even in the brightest, and it
+is those which make us enjoy the good all the more. In the last weeks
+of my dear father's life I learned a great deal from him; it was
+almost, Kingsley, as if he created a new life within me; and he had
+the power, in a few words, of unfolding wonders and making you
+understand them."
+
+"Your dear father," said Kingsley, "was a wise and good man--a poet,
+too, and could have been almost anything in the artistic world he
+cared to aspire to. I have no doubt of that, Nansie, dear. And yet he
+was always poor, and died so."
+
+"It is true, Kingsley. I think it was because he lacked--"
+
+But Nansie paused in sudden alarm, and the word she was about to utter
+hung upon her tongue. It distressed her, also, that, in what was in
+her mind as to the reason of her father's worldly failure, the very
+words which Kingsley used towards himself should have suggested
+themselves to her.
+
+"Because he lacked"--prompted Kingsley. "Finish the sentence, Nansie."
+
+"The desire to produce, to achieve," said Nansie, in a stumbling
+fashion.
+
+"No, Nansie, that was not the way you intended to finish the sentence.
+I want it in the original, without correction or afterthought. Because
+he lacked--"
+
+"Application," said Nansie, desperately.
+
+"Exactly. My own failing." Kingsley spoke gently, and as though he was
+not in the least dismayed by the example of an aimless life which
+presented itself in the career of Nansie's father. "Your father had
+great powers, Nansie, and could have accomplished great things if he
+had been industrious. But he was a happy as well as a good man. I
+cannot recall, in any person I ever knew, one who was so thoroughly
+happy as your father. He did harm to no man. His life was a good
+life."
+
+"Yes, Kingsley." And yet Nansie was not satisfied with herself for
+being the cause of the conversation drifting into this channel.
+
+"You see, my love," said Kingsley, in his brightest manner, and
+Nansie's heart beat gratefully at his cheerful tone, "when a truth
+comes home to a man he can, at all events, learn something from it,
+unless he be a worthless fellow. When he sees an example before him he
+can profit by it, if his mind be set upon it. He lays it before him,
+he dissects it, he studies it, and he says, 'Ah, I see how it is.'
+That is what I shall do. Your father and I, in this matter of
+application and industry, somewhat resemble each other. A kind of
+innate indolence in both of us. Well, what I've got to do is to tackle
+it. Within me is an enemy, a bad influence, which I must take in hand.
+'Come,' I say to this insidious spirit, 'let us see who will get the
+best of it.' Thereupon we fall to. The right thing to do, Nansie?"
+
+"Yes," she replied, "but you must not reproach yourself, my dear."
+
+"Oh, I am not doing so," he said, quickly, before she could proceed.
+"I am applying to the discovery I have made the touchstone of
+philosophy. There is no doubt of the result, not the slightest. But I
+don't think it is anything to lament that I seem to find a resemblance
+in your father's character and mine."
+
+"It is something to be deeply grateful for, my dear."
+
+"And the discovery is made in time. After all, I am a young man, and,
+as I told you, I intend to commence with a new slate. Really, I intend
+to try my very best."
+
+"And you will succeed, Kingsley," said Nansie, earnestly. "You are
+sure to succeed."
+
+"Now that's comforting. It gives a fellow strength. With you always by
+my side, it will be very hard if I fail. But," and here he took off
+his hat and passed his fingers through his hair with the
+characteristic of vagueness in him which sometimes took a humorous and
+sometimes a pitiful turn, but always perplexed--"succeed or fail in
+what? That is the all-important question. There is no quarry in sight;
+it will never do to follow a Will-o'-the-wisp. So much valuable time
+lost. The very best thing, I take it, for a fellow in my position to
+do, is to find out his groove and fall into it. Do you consider that a
+practical idea?"
+
+"Quite practical, my love."
+
+"Yes, to find out the groove and fall into it. Could anything be done
+with tools?"
+
+His voice was wholly humorous now, and for the life of her Nansie
+could not help smiling. "And what tools?" He looked at his hands, and
+stretched out his arms. "Well, all that is in the future. I was going
+to remark on an observation you made a little while ago. Oh, I
+remember what it is. 'Change produces beauty.' Now that struck me as
+serious. How about love?"
+
+"I did not mean that, Kingsley, dear. Love stands apart from
+everything else. The sweetness and beauty of love is to be found only
+in perfection when it is constant and unchangeful. To me it is the
+same as my faith in immortality. My love for you will abide in me
+forever. Ah, Kingsley, do not misunderstand me, or misinterpret what I
+said!"
+
+"I do not," he said, folding her in his arms and embracing her; "I
+could never have loved any other woman than you, I can never love
+another. So you see, my dear, you are not quite logical. There is one
+thing in which we should find no beauty in change."
+
+They strolled through the woods, exchanging fond endearments, pausing
+often in silence to drink in the sweetness and the beauty of the time
+and scene. They listened to the notes of the nightingale, and recalled
+the remembrances of the night when Kingsley came to Nansie in the
+caravan.
+
+"I have the daisies you threw up to my little window," said Nansie.
+"We listened to the nightingale then."
+
+Some few minutes afterwards Nansie spoke to Kingsley of his mother.
+
+"When your affairs are settled," she said, "do you not think that she
+would help you to make a start in life? You seldom speak of your
+mother, Kingsley."
+
+"I think a great deal of her and of my father," said Kingsley, "and I
+have hidden something from you which I will tell you of presently. It
+is wrong to have a secret from you, but I really did it because I felt
+it would distress you. Between my mother and me, my dear, there was
+never any very close tie. We had not those home ties which I think
+must be necessary to bind parents and children together. Since I was a
+young child, I have always been away for ten months or so every year
+at school or college, and frequently in vacation I had no house in
+London or elsewhere in which to spend my holidays. My father,
+engrossed in his business, would be absent from England sometimes for
+many months, and my mother would often accompany him. Then you must
+understand that my parents are as one. What my father says is law, and
+my mother obeys his instructions implicitly. She is entirely and
+completely under his control, and has the blindest worship of him. She
+cannot believe that he could do anything that was not just and right,
+and if he says a thing is so, it is so, without question or
+contradiction from her. That tells fatally against me in this
+difference between my father and me. In her judgment--although she
+does not exercise it, but submits unmurmuringly to his--he is
+absolutely right in the course he has taken, and I am absolutely
+wrong. During the last week I spent at home my mother said many times
+to me, 'Kingsley, be guided by your father. For your own sake and ours
+do not thwart him.' I tried to reason, to argue with her, but she
+shook her head and would not listen, saying continually, 'I know all;
+your father has told me everything.' I half believe if she had only
+listened to me, and consented to see you, as I begged of her, that
+there would be some hope; but she would not. Well, my dear, since your
+dear father's funeral I have written to my mother."
+
+"Yes, Kingsley," said Nansie, looking anxiously at him.
+
+"No answer. I wrote to my father, too."
+
+"Did he not reply, Kingsley?"
+
+"He replied in a very effective manner. You know I received a letter
+yesterday, which I led you to believe was from a lawyer?"
+
+"Yes, my dear."
+
+"It was not, my dear. It was the letter I wrote to my father, returned
+to me unopened."
+
+"Oh, Kingsley!"
+
+"It was a blow, though I should have been prepared for it. My father
+is a man of iron will, Nansie; there is no moving him, once he has
+resolved upon a course. I dare say this inflexibility has helped him
+to grow rich, but it is a hard thing for us. And now, my dear, let us
+talk no more of this at present; it troubles me."
+
+They diverged into other subjects, and Kingsley soon regained his
+lightness of spirits. They passed into an open glade with trees all
+around.
+
+"A beautiful spot," said Kingsley; "and so suitable!"
+
+"For what, dear?"
+
+"For the caravan; one could be happy here for a long time. But that
+castle is in the air, is it not, my love?"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+When Mr. Loveday, the bookseller in Church Alley, heard of his
+brother's death in a letter which Nansie wrote to him, he fell to
+reproaching himself for the small grief he experienced at the news.
+The intelligence did not, indeed, create within him any profound
+impression. He and his brother had been separated for a great many
+years, and the bond of love which had united them in their childhood
+had become weaker and weaker till it scarcely held together. It is
+true that death strengthened it somewhat, but it could never again be
+what it once was. The humanly selfish cares of life are so engrossing
+that love which is not in evidence dies gradually away. That "absence
+makes the heart grow fonder" is as false as are nine out of ten of
+other sentimental proverbs.
+
+"Timothy," said Mr. Loveday to his new assistant, who was proving
+himself a perfect treasure, "when little Teddy died you were very
+sorry."
+
+"I was more than sorry, sir," said Timothy, becoming instantly grave;
+"I was almost heart-broken."
+
+"Have you got over it?" asked Mr. Loveday.
+
+"I shall never get over it," replied Timothy.
+
+"Do you think that will be true all your life long?"
+
+"I am certain it will be, sir."
+
+"And yet you were not related to him."
+
+"No, sir; but I could not have loved a brother more."
+
+Mr. Loveday winced.
+
+"You regard that as a very strong tie, Timothy."
+
+"A brother's love, sir?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I can hardly imagine a stronger. If I had a brother I should so love
+him that I think I should be ready to die for him."
+
+"Ah!" mused Mr. Loveday, "perhaps if my brother had died when we were
+boys together, I should not be reproaching myself now for not feeling
+his death more keenly."
+
+As a penance, he inflicted a punishment upon himself. Since he had
+taken Timothy into his service his life had been easier and more
+agreeable than it had been for a considerable time past. He was no
+longer tormented by small worries, which, after a long recurrence of
+them, become, in certain stages of mental irritation, veritable
+mountains of evil. Timothy had more than one rare gift, and not one
+more precious and beneficial in its effect upon others than the gift
+of thoughtfulness. This, extending to the most trivial matter where
+his own interests were not involved, was invariably displayed by
+Timothy when opportunity offered, and it was natural, therefore, that
+in his new and important position in Mr. Loveday's business and
+household, it should come into play with greater force. The result was
+that not a day passed without Mr. Loveday being made aware that he had
+enlisted in his service a lad who seemed bent upon making everything
+go on smoothly around him. Heaven only knows where Timothy picked up
+all he knew; it was likely the outcome of a willing, cheerful,
+practical spirit, and of one who knew how to profit by observation;
+but Timothy, who had never learned how to cook, could cook a chop and
+a steak and a potato to perfection, and before long could prepare more
+ambitious dishes in a manner to satisfy his master's not very
+fastidious taste; and Timothy, who had never passed an apprenticeship
+in domestic service, could and did apply himself with skilful
+efficiency to the thousand and one drudgeries of domestic affairs.
+Moreover, he did his work neatly and unobtrusively. There were no
+sudden noises now in Mr. Loveday's establishment; no unreasonable
+breakages of crockery; and, what Mr. Loveday thoroughly appreciated,
+no waste. It could not be but that Mr. Loveday noted with gratefulness
+this improvement in his surroundings, and therefore, being at ease and
+in rare peace of mind, the punishment he inflicted upon himself for
+not taking the news of his brother's death more closely to heart was
+really no light one. It was to write to Nansie and remind her, if she
+needed reminding, that he had promised her father to give her the
+shelter of his home.
+
+"My dear niece," he wrote, "the intelligence you have conveyed to me
+of your dear father's death has deeply affected me--"
+
+He broke off here and sat, pen in hand, ruminating, with his eyes
+fixed upon the words he had written. "I suppose," he thought, "that
+life could not be carried on without duplicity. Here am I, for the
+purpose of self-defence, where I am not openly accused, and of proving
+that I am not quite a monster, calmly presenting myself in a false
+light to a young person whom I saw only once in my life and do not in
+the least remember. But what kind of a world would this be, I wonder,
+if the exact truth were always told?"
+
+He continued his letter:
+
+"I knew that he was ill, but had no idea he was in a dangerous state,
+or I should not have neglected coming to see him. However, there is no
+recalling the past, and regrets, though poignant, are idle in a case
+like this, where the blow that has fallen is irremediable. I do not
+intend to reproach you for your neglect of a duty, which very likely,
+because of our being comparative strangers, did not present itself to
+you in such a light, but I feel strongly the loss of the opportunity
+of attending my dear brother's funeral. Had you written to me when he
+died I certainly should have come down to you, and have done whatever
+lay in my power to soften your affliction."
+
+He broke off again and mused. "'Words, words, words,' as Hamlet says.
+And yet I could almost deceive myself by believing that they are true.
+I _should_ have gone down, and perhaps with something of the full
+heart which I am endeavoring to express to my niece Nansie. It is a
+curious way of spelling the name, but I like it better than Nancy. It
+is more poetical; but there was always a vein of poetry in my
+brother's nature." The tenderness in him was growing stronger, and he
+found comfort in it as he plied his pen again.
+
+"I will not ask you why you were silent. You doubtless had your
+reasons, one of which, perhaps, was that you were doubtful of me, and
+that you regarded me as little better than a stranger. In this you are
+not to blame, but if such a feeling exists I desire to remove it. Some
+little while ago your father wrote to me of his circumstances, and of
+his anxiety respecting you in the event of anything happening to him.
+In my reply, I told him that you could always find a home with me.
+From imperfect knowledge I gather that my dear brother left but little
+worldly wealth behind him; and my principal object in writing to you
+now is to convey to you the offer of my home which I made to him.
+Whether we should suit each other remains to be seen, but I would
+endeavor honestly to be kind to you, and if you inherit any of your
+father's amiable qualities, I have no doubt that we should get along
+comfortably together. I have no ties of women and children about me;
+my home is a poor one, but such as it is, it is yours if you choose to
+accept it."
+
+This was the gist of Mr. Loveday's letter to Nansie, who read it with
+satisfaction. When it arrived Kingsley was absent, winding up his
+affairs, and the first thing Nansie did upon his return was to give it
+to him to read.
+
+"Did you tell him you were married?" asked Kingsley.
+
+"No," replied Nansie. "To tell you the truth, Kingsley, I scarcely
+knew in what light to regard him."
+
+"He says something to that effect in his letter," remarked Kingsley,
+"but it seems to be honestly and sincerely written."
+
+"I think so, too," said Nansie.
+
+"But you see," said Kingsley, "in his offer of a home--which is very
+kind; I do not underrate it--he evidently looks upon you as a single
+young lady."
+
+"I shall write, telling him that I am married."
+
+"It will be best; and write soon, else he might think there was
+something wrong--of which, my dear," added Kingsley, rubbing his
+forehead, "I am not quite sure myself."
+
+"What makes you say that, Kingsley?" asked Nansie, anxiously.
+
+"Well, my darling," replied Kingsley, "it is altogether the best to
+look things straight in the face, isn't it?"
+
+"Quite the best, dear."
+
+"We have decided on that before, Nansie."
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"It isn't the first time I have made the remark, but that does not
+lessen its force and truth. Well, then, my affairs are settled."
+
+"Is everything paid, Kingsley?"
+
+"Everything. We do not owe one penny in the world. What do you think I
+discovered, Nansie?"
+
+"I cannot imagine, dear."
+
+"That I had a great deal more property than I supposed."
+
+"That is delightful news, dear."
+
+"Yes, isn't it?" said Kingsley, with a light, puzzled laugh. "When I
+say property, I don't mean land. Wish I _could_ mean it, because it
+would represent something tangible in the way of an income, perhaps;
+and that is what we want, Nansie, don't we? An income."
+
+"It would be very pleasant, dear," said Nansie, with a fond look of
+pity at him.
+
+"Yes, very pleasant; it would rub away the crosses of life."
+
+She recalled him to his theme.
+
+"You were saying that you discovered you had more property than you
+supposed?"
+
+"Yes, that is what I was saying. And not land, as I should have liked;
+but wine. Really a little stock, and of the best. Of course it would
+be the best. And books, some of them valuable; and _bric-à-brac_. I
+was astonished when we came to look through them. And pictures, too. I
+was surprised how ever I came to buy them; but money always burned in
+my pockets, Nansie. When it was there it had to be spent. Do you know
+a greater pleasure, my dear, than spending money?"
+
+"It is a pleasant occupation, Kingsley, when one has it to spare."
+
+"Of course, that."
+
+"Do me a great favor, dear."
+
+"I will. Just say what it is."
+
+"Tell me everything you did while you were away, without--without--"
+
+Kingsley laughed gayly and took up her words.
+
+"Without flying off into side paths, eh? Keep to the main road. Is
+that the great favor?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Very good. I will try. But just consider, Nansie--only for a moment;
+I will not detain you longer than a moment. Here we are, you and
+I--the best company in the world, my darling--walking along the main
+road. Very grand, very stately, very wide. Everything according to
+regulation. It is a very long road--it generally is, Nansie--and there
+is an overpowering sameness about it. My feeling is that it is
+becoming tiresome, when all at once I see, on the left or the right, a
+little narrow lane with a hedge on each side; at the end of the hedge,
+some cottages, dotted here and there, with flowers in the windows; at
+the end of the cottages some tall trees, meeting and forming an arch.
+What do we do? Without thinking, we turn from the grand main road into
+the little narrow lane, and the moment we do so we breathe more freely
+and begin to enjoy. That is an illustration of my manner, dear. Do you
+recognize it?"
+
+"Yes, dear Kingsley."
+
+"It isn't unpleasant, is it? Confess, now."
+
+"Nothing that you do, dear, can be unpleasant. But remember what you
+said a few days ago. We must be practical."
+
+Nansie did not utter these words in a serious tone. On the contrary,
+her voice was almost as light as Kingsley's, and as she spoke she laid
+her hand upon his shoulder, and smiled with bright affection. He
+kissed her, and replied with animation and decision:
+
+"Exactly. That is what we are going to be. So now for the great favor.
+Well, I commenced by going through my property and being surprised.
+Then I went to the tradesmen to whom I owed money, and said: 'Make out
+your bills and send them in.' One or two inquired whether I was going
+to pay. I said, 'Of course--what else?' When they heard that--I refer
+to those who, to my astonishment, appeared a little uneasy about the
+money I owed them--they said, 'Oh, but there's no hurry, Mr. Manners.
+We will send in the account at the end of the year.' But I said, 'No;
+at once, if you please.' When they came in I did not examine them; I
+laid them carefully aside in their envelopes. Then I went to an
+auctioneer, and gave him instructions to sell all my property. I
+wished him to do it immediately--that very day, but he would not; he
+said it would involve too great a sacrifice; but that was my affair,
+not his. It is unaccountable that people will not do the thing you
+want done in your way, but in their own. However, I hurried my friend
+the auctioneer as much as I could, and the result of it all was, that
+I found myself two hundred pounds richer than I had supposed."
+
+"How pleased I am, Kingsley!"
+
+"So was I. It seemed to me as if I had discovered a gold mine. Then I
+sat down with a clean sheet of ruled foolscap before me, and opened
+the tradesmen's accounts, and put down the figures, and totted them
+up. The result was that I found I owed four hundred pounds more than I
+had supposed."
+
+"Oh, Kingsley!"
+
+"It was vexing, but there it was, and there was no help for it. I went
+about my affairs in the practical way, did I not?"
+
+"Yes, my dear; it was the only way to arrive at the truth."
+
+"And to look it straight in the face. I kept to the main road, but if
+a view of a narrow lane had presented itself, I believe I should have
+been tempted to wander a little. My dear, I paid all the accounts, and
+I was left with--how much do you think?"
+
+"I am afraid to guess, Kingsley."
+
+"Something under ten pounds. Was I dashed? Did I despair? Not at all.
+Said I to myself, said I--by the way, Nansie, I once came across an
+old novel with just that title; an odd one, isn't it?--said I to
+myself, said I, to work, to work! Something must be done, for my dear
+Nansie's sake."
+
+"How proud I am of you, Kingsley!"
+
+"Thank you, dear. So what did I do? I can sketch a little in colors,
+you know."
+
+"You can paint very well, Kingsley. When you said, the other night,
+that you saw pictures but could not paint them, I knew you were wrong,
+though I did not contradict you."
+
+"Thank you again, dear. Nothing would please me better than to be a
+poor artist, with you, rich and influential, for my patron."
+
+"I should give you every shilling I possessed, Kingsley."
+
+"And you call yourself practical. Nonsense, nonsense! It is I who am
+the practical one. I proved it. I bought watercolors, drawing-paper,
+pencils, brushes, a nice little outfit for thirty-eight shillings,
+and, Nansie, I set to work. Upon my honor, I painted a picture which I
+considered not bad."
+
+"What did you do with it? You have brought it with you?"
+
+"No, my dear little wife, I sold it."
+
+"Why, Kingsley," said Nansie, in a delighted tone, "you have actually
+already made a start."
+
+"I have," said Kingsley, laughing heartily. "The picture painted, I
+took it out to the shops. My dear, they rather pooh-poohed it at
+first."
+
+"They ought to have been ashamed of themselves," exclaimed Nansie,
+indignantly.
+
+"They weren't. But I met with a patron at last. He was a stationer,
+and said the picture was of no use to him. 'But it's worth something,'
+I said. To be honest with you, Nansie, I was getting rather disgusted
+with the whole affair. 'It's worth something,' I said. 'Two-pence,'
+said the shop-keeper. 'Done,' said I, and I threw the picture on the
+counter, and held out my hand. He stared at me, but I gave him to
+understand that he had offered me two-pence for my picture, and that I
+accepted it. He stared harder than ever and handed me the two-pence.
+It is the first money I ever earned in my life, and I have brought it
+home to you. The experiment was a capital one, Nansie; it taught me
+something--that I am not cut out for a painter. Next to discovering
+what you can do, the best thing is to discover what you can't do.
+Having discovered it, turn the key on it."
+
+Nansie gazed at him sadly. He was speaking with animation, and there
+was an excited flush in his face. His eyes were bright, and his manner
+was indicative of anything but disappointment.
+
+"I thought then," continued Kingsley, "that I would try my friends, but
+when I came to consider, I arrived at the conclusion that there was
+only one to whom I could disclose my position. I went to him and made
+full confession. He is an older fellow than I, and wiser. What I like
+about him is that he doesn't say: 'You shouldn't have done this,' or
+'You shouldn't have done that.' He hits the nail on the head. 'There
+is no hope of your father relenting?' said he. 'None,' said I. 'Time
+may soften him,' he said. 'Even if it does,' said I, 'there is a
+problem to solve while the grass is growing.' 'You must live,' said
+he, 'of course.' 'Of course,' said I. 'And you must work to live,'
+said he. I assented. 'Then,' said he, 'let us see what you are fit
+for.' My own thought, Nansie, put almost in my own words. But although
+we considered and talked we arrived at nothing tangible. He seemed
+really more troubled than I was, and at the end of a long conversation
+he said: 'Kingsley, old fellow, I can lend you a tenner.' It was noble
+of him, because he must have known that there was little chance of my
+being able to repay him. I thanked him, and said I wouldn't borrow in
+such circumstances as mine. Then he invited me to dine with him, and I
+accepted. And that, my dear Nansie, is all I have to tell you."
+
+He gazed round at Nansie with the air of a man who had just finished a
+pleasant tale, and said:
+
+"Now we will talk of something else."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+Nansie wrote to her uncle before she went to bed, informing him that
+she was married, and thanking him for the kind letter he had sent her.
+She said nothing as to the offer of a home, because she did not
+consider that it held good. Nansie single and Nansie married could not
+bear the same relation in her uncle's eyes. Single, she needed a
+protector; married, she possessed one. The responsibility of affairs
+lay with her husband; all that it was in her power to do was to wait
+and see what steps he took towards providing for their home. She could
+encourage and strengthen him, but for the present that was all. To
+attempt so early to assume the direction of affairs would have been an
+affront to her husband's manhood, and as, out of loyalty to Kingsley,
+she purposely avoided the contemplation of this contingency, she had
+no idea what steps it would be advisable for her to take in the event
+of Kingsley's failure.
+
+On the following morning she told Kingsley that she had written to her
+uncle, and asked him if he would like to read the letter before it was
+posted. Kingsley replied that as she must have written about him he
+would prefer not to see it.
+
+"I have written everything that is good about you," she said.
+
+"That is the reason," said Kingsley. "My dear, I trust you implicitly,
+and I am satisfied that you have said exactly what is right--with one
+exception. You have spoken too highly of your husband. Don't shake
+your head, I know it. You have an exaggerated opinion of me, or, to
+phrase it better, you have formed an ideal which will not bear the
+test of sober truth. But that, dear little wife, is the fate of most
+ideals."
+
+"What you say," observed Nansie, "will apply with equal truth to your
+opinion of me."
+
+"Not at all," said Kingsley, with fond seriousness, "you stand away
+and apart from me--higher, nobler, more capable. I will not listen to
+any contradiction, my dear, when I am discussing _you_. The fact is, I
+have already applied the test."
+
+"In what way, Kingsley?" asked Nansie.
+
+She was learning that it was best to humor him in certain moods, which
+it seemed impossible for him to avoid.
+
+"In this. Of course, when I first saw you I formed my ideal of you.
+What it was, I think you know to some small extent, for the love I
+feel and express for you is no idle sentiment. Whatever else I may be,
+I am at least as true as steel to you. It is one virtue I may fairly
+claim, for nothing which is inspired by you can be anything else.
+Well, knowing you but slightly, my ideal was formed, and familiar
+association would either destroy or establish it. My dear, I have
+questioned myself, I have asked: 'Does Nansie come up to your ideal?
+Is she the true woman you supposed her to be? Does she represent what
+you believed--the sweetness, the purity, the nobility, the tenderness
+which have sanctified the very name of woman?' The answer is: 'She is
+all, and more than all, you believed her to be. There is nothing in
+her that is not sweet, and true, and good. The ideal you set up falls
+short of the reality.' Then, on the other hand, is the question of Me.
+I do not wish to disturb you, my dear, but I fear a terrible
+disappointment awaits you when you have found me out. No, I will not
+allow you to answer me. You may stand up in my defence when I am not
+present, but my imperfections are too apparent--now that I am brought
+face to face with them--to encourage any attempt to smooth them away.
+However, we are bound to each other for better or worse, and you must
+make the best of me. Now address your letter to your uncle, and I will
+post it for you."
+
+"Shall I give him your love, Kingsley?" asked Nansie, adding
+hurriedly, "you are very unjust to yourself."
+
+"Yes, dear, give him my love, and say that I hope to make his
+acquaintance one day. As to being unjust to myself, I know I am the
+best judge of that."
+
+He went from the room, and in a few minutes presented himself again,
+gloved and polished, a faithful presentment of a young English
+gentleman.
+
+"You must wish me luck, Nansie," he said. "I am going to see what can
+be done in the way of obtaining a situation. Perhaps something
+fortunate will turn up."
+
+She kissed him and watched him from the street door walking along the
+street, looking brightly this way and that for something to turn up.
+He returned at six o'clock in the evening, in time for dinner. There
+was a jaded expression on his face, which vanished the moment his eyes
+rested on Nansie.
+
+"Home, sweet home," he said, passing his arm round her waist, and
+drinking in her beauty with a grateful spirit.
+
+She knew that he had not been successful in his quest, but
+nevertheless she asked what fortune he had met with.
+
+"None at all," he replied; "but Rome wasn't built in a day. We must
+have patience. I will tell you after dinner what I have done."
+
+They had the pleasantest of meals, enlivened by his gayety; and when
+the things were cleared away and he had lit his cigar, he said:
+
+"What can a man wish for more? A good dinner, the sweetest of company,
+a fine cigar--it was right, was it not, Nansie, for me to keep back
+three hundred of my choicest?"
+
+"Quite right," replied Nansie, "and very thoughtful of you. I love the
+smell of a good cigar."
+
+"When I put them aside," said Kingsley, holding up a reproving
+forefinger, "I thought only of myself. I reflected that it might be
+some time before I could afford to buy more of the same kind."
+
+"Kingsley," said Nansie, pleadingly.
+
+"Yes, dear," he responded.
+
+"I want you to understand something."
+
+"Anything you wish, Nansie. Let me know what it is."
+
+"Only that your disparagement of yourself hurts me, dear. Knowing that
+there is nothing in the world you would not do for my sake, it is
+painful to me to think that you may grow into the habit of believing
+that everything you do is done with a selfish motive. It is not
+so--indeed, it is not so!"
+
+"How seriously you speak, Nansie!" said Kingsley, drawing her close to
+him. "Do you really mean to say that I am not selfish?"
+
+"If there is in the world a man who has proved himself otherwise, it
+is you, my dear," said Nansie, laying her head upon his shoulder. "Be
+just to yourself, in justification of me."
+
+"That requires elucidation, my dearest," said Kingsley, with great
+tenderness.
+
+"Think of the sacrifice you have made for me, a poor girl, but for
+whom you would be now at peace with your parents, and in the enjoyment
+of much, if not of all, that makes life worth living. How low should I
+fall in your estimation if I were insensible to that sacrifice, if I
+were to undervalue it, if I were to say: 'It is what any other man in
+Kingsley's place would have done!'"
+
+"Is it not?" he asked, passing his hand fondly over her hair.
+
+"No, indeed and indeed it is not. I do not pretend to assert that I
+know the world as you know it"--there was something whimsical in the
+expression of unconsciously affected wisdom which stole into
+Kingsley's face as she uttered these words--"but I know it
+sufficiently well to be certain that there are few men capable of a
+sacrifice such as you have made for me. What had I to give in return?"
+
+"Love," he answered.
+
+"It is yours," she said, and tears, in which there was no unhappiness,
+stole into her eyes, "love as perfect as woman ever gave to man. Not
+love for to-day, my dearest, but love forever; love which nothing can
+weaken; love which will triumph over every adversity; love which will
+be proof against any trial. But that is little."
+
+"It is everything," said Kingsley, "to me and to every man worthy of
+the name. The sacrifice I have made--you choose to call it so, and I
+will not contradict you, dear--is to be measured. Not so with love. It
+is illimitable, unmeasurable. It illumines every surrounding object;
+it makes the commonest things precious. How beautiful the present is
+to you and to me! Could it be more beautiful if we were passing it in
+a palace? That picture on the wall--a common print? No. A lovely
+possession. The handsomest painting that ever was painted hanging
+there--would it make the present moments sweeter, would it invest the
+spiritual bond which unites us with a binding link which now is
+missing? This book on the table which cost a shilling--if it were a
+first edition worth thousands of pounds, would it increase our
+happiness, would it make your love for me and mine for you more
+perfect and complete? There is an immeasurable distance between what I
+have gained and what I have lost. So let us have no more talk of
+sacrifices, Nansie, dear."
+
+She could not find arguments with which to answer him, and it would
+have been strange if she had needed them.
+
+"In return," he continued, "I will make the strongest endeavor not to
+underrate myself, nor to prove that I am more than ordinarily selfish.
+There--my cigar is out."
+
+She lit a match and held it while he puffed away at his weed.
+
+"You promised to tell me what you have done to-day," she said.
+
+"There is very little to tell. I did what I could, which consisted
+simply of walking about, and looking in shop-windows. I went out
+without any distinct idea in my mind; I thought that something might
+happen, and I was disappointed. Everything and everybody seemed to be
+going along nicely, and not to be in want of me. It occurred to me to
+consider what I was fit for. I looked into the windows of a boot-shop.
+What do I know of boots and shoes, except how to put them on my feet?
+Literally nothing. The same with haberdashers, the same with grocers,
+the same with jewellers, the same with every kind of shop. Then,
+trades; I don't know one. Printers, engravers, carpenters,
+watchmakers, and that kind of thing--you have to serve an
+apprenticeship before you can hope to earn money by them. I felt like
+a fish out of water. There seemed to be no groove for me, nothing that
+I could take hold of. I am really puzzled, Nansie."
+
+"My poor Kingsley!" murmured Nansie.
+
+"But, there," he said, snapping his fingers, "it will not mend matters
+to worry about them. _Nil desperandum_, and a fig for the world and
+its cares! If only to-morrow would not come!"
+
+He certainly had the gift of giving dull care the go-by; and in
+another minute he was the same light-hearted, pleasant-humored,
+irresponsible being he had ever been, and was doing his best with his
+whimsical talk to make Nansie forget the serious position in which
+they were placed.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+Some indication has been given of the success of Timothy Chance's
+service with Mr. Loveday. There are men, like Kingsley Manners, who,
+being suddenly thrust upon the world to shift for themselves, find
+themselves plunged into a sea of difficulties, extrication from which
+is impossible except by some unexpected windfall of fortune. There are
+others who are so well armed for difficulties that the encountering of
+them serves as an incentive and a spur. What depresses one elevates
+the other; what makes one despondent makes the other cheerful. It is
+chiefly a matter of early education, in which adversity is frequently
+a factor for good. Partly, also, it is a matter of adaptability.
+
+It may be taken for granted that wherever Timothy Chance fell he would
+fall upon his feet, and that he would be among the first to take
+advantage of an opportunity. A hard-working, faithful servant, but
+with an eye to his own interests. It is running far ahead of events to
+state that when he was a middle-aged man, with a house of his own,
+there stood upon a bracket in his private room the image of a hen
+fashioned in gold--a valuable ornament; for the gold was of the
+purest, and the bird was of life-size; and that the sense of
+possession imparted a satisfaction to Timothy Chance far beyond its
+value. He amused himself by the fancy that the fowl of gold was an
+exact reproduction of the living fowl which he had rescued from the
+fire in the schoolhouse, and which had laid an egg in Mr. Loveday's
+shop on the day of Timothy's return to London. The goose of the fable
+that laid golden eggs was an insignificant bird in comparison with
+Timothy Chance's first fowl. There was at first a difficulty
+respecting its habitation. Mr. Loveday's shop had no backyard, and for
+the sake of cleanliness it could not be kept in the house. There were,
+however, plenty of backyards in the immediate vicinity of Church
+Alley, and to the proprietor of one of these Timothy betook himself,
+arranging to pay rent in kind, that is to say (for we are approaching
+legal ground), one new-laid egg per week, or, in default, its full
+retail value, seven farthings. For it was not long before Timothy
+discovered that he could dispose of a limited number of new-laid
+eggs--the day of laying being guaranteed--to private persons at that
+rate per egg. Timothy's hen was certainly a wonderful layer; during
+the first thirty-one days of its tenancy of the Whitechapel backyard
+it laid no fewer than twenty-six eggs, which, deducting five for
+rental, left twenty-one to the good. A retired butterman, who should
+undoubtedly have been a good judge, engaged to take them all at the
+price above mentioned, and at the end of the month the account stood
+thus:
+
+
+                                                       _s_. _d_.
+     21 rent-paid eggs at 1 ¾_d_.                       3    0¾
+     Less food for fowl, at the rate of ½_d_. per day   1    3½
+                                                        _______
+          Leaving a net profit of                       1    9¼
+
+
+This is a precise copy of the account made out by Timothy Chance,
+on the termination of the month; and with the figures, clear and
+well-shaped, before him, Timothy devoted himself to thought. His
+service with the seller of second-hand books had served him in good
+stead. He had rummaged out from among the stock at least a score of
+books treating of fowls and their produce, and he had studied them
+attentively. Some were old, one or two were of late years, and they
+all pointed to one fact--that money was to be made out of eggs. Most
+of the writers deplored the fact that the English people were so blind
+to their own interests as to systematically neglect a subject so
+fruitful. One of the treatises dealt in large figures--to wit, the
+population of Great Britain, and the number of eggs by them consumed
+annually; further, the number of eggs laid in the kingdom, and the
+number we were compelled to import to satisfy the demand, amounting
+not to scores but to hundreds of millions. Timothy's eyes dilated. One
+daring enthusiast went so far as to print pages of statistics to prove
+that if government took the affair in hand it could, in a certain
+number of years (number forgotten by the present chronicler), pay off
+the national debt. This, perhaps, was too extravagant, but the fact
+remained, and appeared incontrovertible, that money was to be made out
+of eggs. Here was plain proof--one shilling and ninepence farthing
+made out of one hen in a single month.
+
+"Let me see," mused Timothy, "how this turns out for a year."
+
+Down went the figures.
+
+
+                                                       _s_. _d_.
+     Cost of good, 365 days at ½_d_ per day. . . . .   15    2½
+     Cost of fowl, say . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    3    0
+                                                       ________
+          Total. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   18    2½
+
+For a moment he forgot the rent, but he remembered it before he went
+into the credit side, and he reckoned it at a penny a week, which made
+the total expenses £1 2_s_. 6½_d_.
+
+Timothy was aware that he could not reckon upon an egg a day all
+through the year, but his reading-up on the subject, and the
+calculations he had made, convinced him that a fair-laying hen might
+be depended upon for two hundred and forty eggs during the three
+hundred and sixty-five days.
+
+"At three-halfpence each," he mused, and set down the figures, "that
+will bring in thirty shillings. Say it brings in only twenty-eight
+shillings, and make the total charges one pound four, and there
+remains a clear profit of four shillings for the year. Then the fowl
+itself, supposing I sell it at the end of the year, is worth at least
+a shilling. A profit of five shillings on one hen. On twenty, a profit
+of five pounds; on a hundred, a profit of twenty-five pounds; on a
+thousand, a profit of two hundred and fifty pounds."
+
+The figures almost took his breath away. Let it be understood that
+Timothy's reflections and calculations are here pretty accurately
+reported. He continued. So large a number of eggs would have to be
+sold wholesale, and three-halfpence each could not be reckoned upon,
+but then the rent would be much less, and the cost of food much less;
+and there were other ideas floating in his mind which he could not
+formulate, and about which there was no cause for his troubling
+himself just at present.
+
+"Mr. Loveday," said he to his employer, "if a speculation is entered
+into in a small way and leaves a small profit, would it not leave a
+larger profit if entered into in a large way?"
+
+"That," replied Mr. Loveday, "stands to reason. What is your head
+running on, Timothy?"
+
+"Eggs, sir," said Timothy.
+
+Mr. Loveday stared at him for a few moments without speaking.
+
+"That is what you have been studying books on poultry for?" he said,
+presently.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well," said Mr. Loveday, after another pause, "there's something in
+eggs, I dare say. Some of the peasantry in France make quite an income
+out of them; our own poor country-folk are not so far-seeing."
+
+"What can be done in France," said Timothy, patriotically and
+sententiously, "can be done in England."
+
+"Don't be too certain of that," said Mr. Loveday. "They grow grapes in
+France and make wine. We don't."
+
+"That is a matter of climate," remarked Timothy. "Fowls lay eggs in
+every country in the world, and once laid, there they are."
+
+"To be sure," said Mr. Loveday, staring at his assistant, "there they
+are."
+
+"Anyhow," said Timothy, "nothing can alter that what will pay in a
+small way ought to pay in a large; can it, sir?"
+
+"The conclusion appears sensible and reasonable. I suppose you have
+made something out of your fowl?"
+
+"Nearly two shillings in the month, sir."
+
+"Not at all bad," said Mr. Loveday, "not at all bad. You must take the
+breed into account."
+
+"Black Hamburgs, sir, that's the breed for eggs."
+
+"Dorkings, I should say," suggested Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Black Hamburgs will beat them, sir," said Timothy, confidently; and
+Mr. Loveday, feeling that he was on unsafe ground, wisely held his
+tongue.
+
+Timothy had saved between five and six shillings out of his wages, and
+he expended the whole of his savings in putting up a rough fowl-house,
+and in the addition of a black Hamburg to his live-stock. He began to
+feel like a proprietor.
+
+"Slow and sure, you know, Timothy," advised Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Yes, sir, and thank you," said Timothy. "I will endeavor not to make
+mistakes."
+
+"We shall have you chancellor of the exchequer in course of time,"
+said Mr. Loveday, in a tone by no means unkindly.
+
+"I shall be content to earn a living, sir," said Timothy, modestly;
+and rejoiced largely when he showed his employer two new-laid eggs in
+one day.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+Three months after this conversation Mr. Loveday and Timothy were
+standing in front of the book-shop, discussing some proposed
+alterations in the stall outside upon which the more promiscuous books
+were offered for sale. The weather was fine, and a bright sun was
+striving to make its presence known in Church Alley; a bird in a cage
+hung above Mr. Sly's shop-window was piping a song of gratitude and
+welcome, and a cat, caught by a sunbeam, stood stock-still enjoying
+the warmth. A young woman, neatly and plainly dressed, entered Church
+Alley, and with timid, hesitating steps, gazed at the shops and houses
+as she passed them, halting within a yard of the stall before which
+Mr. Loveday and Timothy were talking. Timothy was explaining his
+views. The new stall could be made with flaps, hanging down, which,
+when rain threatened, could be swiftly raised to enclose the books.
+This would do away with the old and cumbersome method of covering the
+outside stock with canvas.
+
+"And besides, sir, it could be made to fit like a box, with a good
+padlock outside, so that there would be no need to take the books out
+and in morning and night. The expense would not be great, only the
+timber. I can borrow tools, and make it as well as a carpenter. I
+don't mind saying that a thorough good workman couldn't beat my
+fowl-house."
+
+"There's nothing much you can't do, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+"These things are not difficult, sir, if one only puts one's mind to
+them. A good saw and plane, a chisel, a few nails, and hinges, and it
+is done."
+
+"You shall try your hand, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday, and turned to go
+into his shop.
+
+As he did so, his eyes rested upon the figure of the young woman who
+had halted within a few steps of him.
+
+He was transfixed. Twenty-and-odd years of his life were suddenly
+engulfed in a memory of the past.
+
+There stood the woman he had loved and lost--the woman whom his dead
+brother had loved and married.
+
+He stood like a man in a dream, or under a spell of enchantment. All
+consciousness of the present time had vanished. The past came back
+again, the love which had slept so long that he had deemed it dead
+awoke within him and stirred his heart. Was it joy, was it pain he
+felt as he stretched forth a trembling hand.
+
+As if in response to that movement on his part, the woman moved
+towards him, and held out her two hands with an affectionate look in
+her eyes, in which there dwelt also some touch of entreaty.
+
+"Who are you?" he asked, faintly, recovering his voice.
+
+"I am Nansie," was the reply. "I recognized you, uncle, by your
+likeness to my dear father."
+
+"And I recognized you," he said, "by your likeness to your dear
+mother. How like you are to her--how like, how like!"
+
+"I am glad," said Nansie. "My dear father always said I was growing to
+resemble her more and more. Uncle, am I welcome?"
+
+"Quite welcome. Come in."
+
+He was himself once more; and he took her hands in his, and conducted
+her into his shop.
+
+Timothy gazed at Nansie with worshipping eyes as she passed from the
+open, and stood gazing--for how long he knew not--until he was aroused
+by Mr. Loveday suddenly appearing from the shop, and calling out to
+him, in an agitated tone, to run for a doctor.
+
+"No, no," cried Nansie's voice from within, "I do not need a doctor. I
+only fainted a moment, I was so tired. You don't know the ways of
+women, uncle."
+
+"How should I," he said, rejoining her, "having so small an
+acquaintance with them?"
+
+"But you said I was welcome, uncle?" she said, in a solicitous tone.
+
+"And you are."
+
+"You are glad to see me?"
+
+"Yes. Why have I not seen you before? Why have I not heard from you?"
+
+"I wrote to you, uncle."
+
+"Telling me you were married. Yes, I forgot."
+
+"You did not reply."
+
+"I saw no occasion. I thought if you wanted me you would write again,
+or come."
+
+"Here I am, as you see, uncle."
+
+"I see. Wanting me?"
+
+"I--I think so, uncle. You shall judge."
+
+"You speak in a voice of doubt. Listen to me, Nansie. I may call you
+so?"
+
+"Surely, surely. It gives me pleasure."
+
+"Listen, then. If there is anything in my voice or manner to cause you
+uneasiness, account for it by the fact that I know little of women,
+as you yourself said. It is sometimes my way--not always, and seldom
+unless I am somewhat shaken. If you had informed me that you were
+coming I should have been prepared. I should not then have thought,
+when my eyes fell upon you, that it was your mother I was gazing upon,
+and not her daughter."
+
+"I am sorry," murmured Nansie.
+
+"There is nothing to be sorry for. These reminders do a
+man--especially a recluse like myself--no harm. You are turning white.
+Are you going to faint again?"
+
+"No; I will not allow myself."
+
+"I have some brandy in the house. Shall I give you a little? It is a
+medicine."
+
+"No, thank you, uncle; I never touch it."
+
+"What is it, then, that makes you so white? Stay. A cup of tea?"
+
+"If you please, uncle."
+
+"I am a dunderhead. Timothy!"
+
+No _genii_ in Eastern tales ever appeared more promptly at a summons.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Make some tea; the best--quick!"
+
+Timothy glanced at Nansie, nodded, and vanished.
+
+"That is my assistant," said Mr. Loveday; "a treasure. A man, a boy, a
+girl, a woman, rolled into one. He can sew on buttons."
+
+Nansie laughed, and Mr. Loveday gasped.
+
+"Don't mind me," he said, in explanation. "Your laugh is so like your
+mother's. You see, Nansie, until I grow more accustomed to you, I
+shall find myself driven into the past."
+
+There was a deep tenderness in his voice, and she took his hand in
+hers.
+
+"Uncle, will you not kiss me?"
+
+He kissed her, and the tears came into his eyes.
+
+"There," he muttered, "you see how it is. That is the first time my
+lips have touched a woman's face since I was a youngster. Don't think
+the better of me for it. What is the time? Four o'clock. Have you had
+dinner?"
+
+"No, uncle."
+
+"Lunch?"
+
+"No, uncle."
+
+"Breakfast?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"At what hour?"
+
+"Eight o'clock."
+
+"And nothing since?"
+
+"Nothing. I was so anxious to get to you, and I have been so long
+finding you."
+
+"No wonder you are white and faint. Ah, there is Timothy, in my little
+room where we eat--and talk, I was about to say; but we talk
+everywhere. Come along."
+
+There was not only tea on the table, there was a chop, beautifully
+cooked, and bread-and-butter, on a clean white cloth.
+
+"What did I tell you of him?" said Mr. Loveday, when Timothy, after
+looking at the table to see that nothing was wanting, had departed.
+"He knew what I did not. I never met another like him. Now, eat. Ah,
+the color is coming back into your face. Have you come from the
+country?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"What station did you stop at?"
+
+"Waterloo."
+
+"At what time?"
+
+"One o'clock."
+
+"And you have been three hours getting here. Why did you not ride? I
+beg your pardon. No money, perhaps?"
+
+"Oh, yes." She produced her purse, which, before she could prevent
+him, her uncle took from her hand.
+
+"Two shillings and eightpence. Is it all you have?"
+
+Her lips quivered.
+
+"Of course you could not ride. There is no return ticket to--to the
+place you came from."
+
+"I was not sure of returning there, uncle."
+
+"Ah! I have something to hear. Or perhaps you did not have money
+enough to pay for a double fare. Why, Nansie, I might have been dead,
+for all you knew! You trusted to a slender chance. What would have
+happened if you had not found me? Two shillings and eightpence would
+have kept you till to-morrow, and then-- You have something of my
+brother's thoughtless spirit in you."
+
+"Say, rather, of your dear brother's hope and trust."
+
+"I will say it if you like, but it will not alter the fact that you
+have acted rashly. But I must learn how the land lies. You have a
+story to tell?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"If I allow you to tell it in your own way you will stumble and break
+down; will cry, and faint again, perhaps. I put you, therefore, in the
+witness-box, where you are to speak the truth, the whole truth, and
+nothing but the truth. Are you ready?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"No evasions, no gloss; plain and unvarnished. Deceive me once, and
+you will find me a tough customer. First, let me say that I am
+agreeably surprised in you. Brought up in the country I know not how,
+I might have expected my niece to be a raw country wench with rough
+manners and small education. I find, on the contrary, a lady who can
+read and write."
+
+"Yes, uncle," said Nansie, with a smile, "I can do that."
+
+"And can cipher, perhaps."
+
+"I am not very good at figures, uncle."
+
+"Of course not--you are a woman. But languages now. French, perhaps?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"And German?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"Ah, a Crichton in petticoats. Any others?"
+
+"Those are all the languages I can speak, uncle."
+
+"And enough, too, Nansie."
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"I must do your father the justice to say that he has furnished you
+well. But I suppose you can't make a pudding?"
+
+"Yes, I can, uncle."
+
+"Better and better. I thought I was about to learn something. And,
+now, when your father died he did not leave a fortune behind him?"
+
+"He died poor."
+
+"But you were not alone and unprotected. You had a husband by your
+side. It occurs to me as strange that so soon before my brother's
+death he should have written to me in anxiety about you, and should
+have asked me to give you a home here in London; and you with a
+husband all the time!"
+
+"My father did not know I was married."
+
+"But you were?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you mean to tell me that you were secretly married?"
+
+"It is so, uncle."
+
+"I never heard of a secret marriage the motive for which did not
+spring from the man. It was your husband's wish that your marriage
+should be kept secret?"
+
+"For a time only, uncle; until his father's return from abroad."
+
+"Of course--family reasons."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The usual story. What difference would it have made if you had been
+married with your father's consent and knowledge? There would have
+been less duplicity in the affair."
+
+"Uncle, it is difficult sometimes to see how things come about. It
+happened as I have told you. It might not if we had consulted my dear
+father beforehand."
+
+"Would he have refused his consent?"
+
+"It is most likely."
+
+"Ah! However careless and unmindful my brother might have been in
+worldly matters, he was a gentleman and a man of fine instincts. You
+married a man beneath you?"
+
+"You are wrong, uncle. I married a gentleman far above me."
+
+"And yet you tell me your father would have refused his consent."
+
+"You forget, uncle. My dear father was truly what you have described
+him--a man of fine instincts."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"We were poor; my husband's family are very wealthy."
+
+"I am corrected. The fact would have caused my brother to act as you
+say, unless, indeed, the consent of your husband's parents had been
+previously obtained."
+
+"It was not, uncle."
+
+"What rash folly! I anticipate your answer. You were in love."
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"I am beginning to get puzzled. There is a kind of tangle here. In the
+first letter you wrote to me you signed yourself Nansie. Nothing more.
+When I replied to you I addressed you in your father's name. In your
+second letter, acquainting me that you were married, you signed
+yourself Nansie Manners."
+
+"That is my name."
+
+"You tell me that you have married into a wealthy family, and you come
+to me faint and hungry, with two-and-eightpence in your purse. And I
+will hazard the guess that you travelled third-class."
+
+"I did, uncle."
+
+"Explain the anomaly."
+
+"When my husband told his father of our marriage he discarded him and
+turned him from the house."
+
+"That explains it; but it is bad, very bad. See what comes of secret
+marriages. Hopes shattered, old ties broken, hearts embittered,
+parents and children parted in anger. Had you known all this
+beforehand would you have married?"
+
+"No, uncle," replied Nansie, firmly. It was the first time the
+question had been put to her, and she could not but answer frankly. "I
+would not have done Kingsley such injustice."
+
+"Then there has been injustice--injustice all round. Kingsley, I
+infer, is your husband." Nansie nodded. "Have you come into
+association with his family?"
+
+"I have never seen one of them, uncle."
+
+"Where do they live?"
+
+"Here, in London. You have heard of them, I dare say, uncle.
+Kingsley's father is the great contractor, Mr. Manners."
+
+Mr. Loveday started. "Manners, the great contractor! Why, Nansie, the
+man is a millionaire, and famous all the world over! You have flown
+high, my girl."
+
+"I knew nothing of this. Before Kingsley and I met I had never heard
+of Mr. Manners; and even up to the day of our marriage I had no idea
+that he was so wealthy and famous. Kingsley spoke of him as being
+rich, but nothing more; and, uncle, I was not very worldly-wise, and
+should have thought a man with a thousand pounds rich. I should think
+so now."
+
+"You have made no effort to see your husband's father?"
+
+"No; it would be useless. Kingsley tells me he is a man of iron will,
+and never swerves from a resolution he has made. There is no hope of
+turning him. Was it not noble conduct, uncle, on Kingsley's part to
+marry me, a poor girl without a penny in the world?"
+
+"I am not at all sure, Nansie." He opened her purse and took out the
+few poor coins it contained. "See what it has brought you to. Better
+for you if your husband had a hundred a year than a father with
+millions which he buttons his pockets upon. It was a rash and
+thoughtless act you young people have done. There is no hope of
+turning Mr. Manners, you say. Yet you are a lady, well mannered, well
+spoken, well educated; and he sprang from nothing. It is well known.
+But it is idle to talk in this fashion. There is a stubbornness on the
+part of the ignorant which is worse than the pride of those who can
+boast of high descent. The self-made man is often the most difficult
+animal to deal with. Your husband could not have contemplated the cost
+of what he was about to do."
+
+"He thought only of one thing, uncle--that he loved me."
+
+"And that is to serve as a set-off against all the ills of life. I
+hope it may prove so. The commencement does not hold out any great
+promise, that's plain. And now, Nansie, tell me the rest in your own
+way. I have got the nut of the story, and a precious hard one it is to
+crack."
+
+"When my dear father died," said Nansie, "Kingsley was in London. Mr.
+Manners had just returned from Russia, and it was the first
+opportunity Kingsley had of making him acquainted with our marriage. I
+think that Kingsley, out of consideration for me, has not told me
+everything that passed between him and his father, but I know that Mr.
+Manners extracted a promise from him to remain at home for a week
+before he decided."
+
+"Decided upon what?" asked Mr. Loveday, abruptly.
+
+"I do not know, uncle; Kingsley has been so worried and troubled that
+it would have been unkind for me to press him upon points which really
+matter very little. For, after all, Kingsley came back to me when I
+called him, and is true and faithful."
+
+"His father perhaps pressed him to desert you and break your heart.
+Rich as the self-made man is, he could not divorce you. And your
+husband consented to remain a week in his father's house to consider
+it! That looks ugly."
+
+"Kingsley did nothing wrong. He hoped by remaining near his father
+that a favorable moment might come when he could successfully appeal
+to him to deal more tenderly towards us. There was also the chance of
+his mother's mediation."
+
+"Ah, there is a mother. I was going to ask about her."
+
+"Mr. Manners is master of everything and everybody. His lightest word
+is law. Before the week was ended Kingsley received my letter with
+news of my dear father's death. Where was Kingsley's place then,
+uncle?"
+
+"By your side."
+
+"He came at once without a single hour's delay. He asked his father to
+release him from his promise, and as Mr. Manners would not do so, he
+broke it--out of love for me. This, I think, embittered Mr. Manners
+more strongly against us, and he turned Kingsley from the house. I
+hope you are beginning to do Kingsley justice, uncle."
+
+"He seems to have acted well. But go on."
+
+"After my father was buried, Kingsley and I were naturally very
+anxious as to how we should live. Kingsley had a little property, but
+he owed money to tradesmen, which had to be paid. The settlement of
+these accounts swallowed up nearly every sovereign he possessed, and
+we had a hard fight before us, harder, indeed, than we imagined. I
+must tell you that Kingsley wrote to his parents without success. His
+father returned his letter without one word of acknowledgment. If I
+had thought I could do any good I would have gone to his mother, but I
+felt that it would only make matters worse, if they could be worse.
+What could I have expected from her but reproaches for separating her
+from her son? For I am the cause of that. If Kingsley had never seen
+me he would have been at peace with his parents, carrying out his
+father's desire that he should become a member of Parliament, and take
+a part in public affairs. Kingsley is fitted for it, indeed he is. He
+talks most beautifully. And I have spoiled it all, and have ruined a
+great career. I would not dare to say so to Kingsley; he would never
+forgive me for it. He tried hard to get some sort of work to do; he
+went out day after day, and used to return home so sad and wearied
+that it almost broke my heart to see him."
+
+"With but a little store of money," said Mr. Loveday, "such a state of
+affairs must soon come to an end."
+
+"We held out as long as we could; longer, indeed, than I thought
+possible. We parted with many little treasures--"
+
+"And all this time you never wrote to me!" exclaimed Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Remember, uncle, that I _had_ written to you and that you had not
+sent a line of congratulation upon our marriage."
+
+"A nice thing to congratulate you upon! But I was to blame, I admit
+it."
+
+"It was a delicate matter to Kingsley. 'Your uncle doesn't care to
+know me,' he said; and so it seemed. At length, uncle, we came to a
+great block, and we truly despaired. But there was a break in the
+clouds, uncle."
+
+"Good."
+
+"I am speaking of yesterday. A letter arrived for Kingsley from a
+friend to whom he had written, saying that a gentleman who intended to
+remain abroad for three or four months required a kind of secretary
+and companion, and that Kingsley could secure the situation if he
+cared for it. The gentleman was in Paris, and the letter contained a
+pass to Paris, dated yesterday. We had come to our last shilling,
+uncle, and this separation--I hope and trust not for long--was forced
+upon us. Kingsley managed to raise a little money, a very little,
+uncle, just enough to defray his expenses to Paris and to leave me a
+few shillings. So last evening, when we parted, it was agreed that I
+should come to London to-day, and appeal to you to give me shelter
+till Kingsley's return. That is all, uncle. Will you?"
+
+"Yes, Nansie," said Mr. Loveday, "I will keep the promise I made to my
+dead brother."
+
+Nansie took his hand and kissed it, and then burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+From that day a new life commenced for Mr. Loveday. It was not that
+there was any great improvement in the ordinary domestic arrangements
+of his modest establishment, because the reign of Timothy had
+introduced beneficial changes in this respect before Nansie was made
+queen. It was more in its spiritual than its material aspect that the
+new life was made manifest. To have a lady moving quietly about the
+house, to be greeted by a smile and a kind glance whenever he turned
+towards her, to hear her gentle voice addressing him without
+invitation on his part--all this was not only new, but wonderful and
+delightful. Mr. Loveday very soon discovered that Nansie was indeed a
+lady, and far above the worldly station to which her circumstances
+relegated her; it was an agreeable discovery, and he appreciated it
+keenly. He found himself listening with pleasure to her soft footfall
+on the stairs or in the rooms above, and he would even grow nervous if
+any length of time elapsed without evidence of her presence in the
+house. Perhaps Nansie's crowning virtue was her unobtrusiveness.
+Everything she did was done quietly, without the least fuss or noise;
+no slamming of doors to jar the nerves, nothing to disturb or worry.
+
+"Where did you learn it all, Nansie?" asked Mr. Loveday.
+
+"It is what all women do," she replied.
+
+He did not dispute with her, although his experience was not favorable
+to her view. Inwardly he said: "What all women could _not_ do, if they
+tried ever so hard, but then Nansie had perfection for a mother." His
+thoughts travelled frequently now to the early days when he loved the
+woman who was not to become his wife, and it may be that he accepted
+Nansie's companionship and presence as in some sense a recompense for
+his youthful disappointment, a meting out of poetical justice, as it
+were.
+
+Of all the hours of day and night the evening hours were the most
+delightful, not only to him, but to Timothy, between whom and Nansie
+there swiftly grew a bond of sympathy and friendship. Before Nansie's
+appearance Mr. Loveday's house was a comfortable one to live and work
+in; but from the day she first set foot in it, it became a home.
+Neither Timothy nor Mr. Loveday could have given an intelligible
+explanation of the nature of the change; but they accepted it in
+wonder and gratitude. Everything was the same and yet not the same.
+There was no addition to the furniture; but it appeared to be
+altogether different furniture from that to which they had been
+accustomed. It was brighter, cleaner, and in its new and improved
+arrangement acquired a new value. There were now white curtains to the
+windows, and the windows themselves were not coated with dust. The
+fireplaces were always trim and well brushed up, the fires bright and
+twinkling, the candlesticks and all the metalwork smartly polished,
+the table-linen white and clean, clothes with never a button missing,
+socks and stockings with never a hole in them. Nansie could have
+accomplished all these things unaided; but Timothy was so anxious to
+be employed that she would not pain him by refusing his assistance.
+She had another reason--a reason which she did not disclose, and which
+Mr. Loveday and Timothy were too inexperienced to suspect--for
+accepting the lad's willing service. She knew that a time was
+approaching when it would be invaluable, and when she would be unable
+to devote herself to these domestic duties.
+
+The evenings were the most delightful, as has been stated. Then, the
+day's labor over and everything being in order, they would sit
+together in the little room at the back of the shop and chat, or
+read, or pursue some study or innocent amusement. Mr. Loveday fished
+out an old draught-board, with draughts and a set of chessmen, and
+was surprised to find that Nansie was by no means an indifferent
+draught-player, and that she knew the moves of chess, in which her
+skill was not so great. At one time of his life he had been fond of
+backgammon, and he taught Nansie the game, Timothy looking on and
+learning more quickly than the fair pupil whose presence brightened
+the home. Timothy also made himself proficient in the intricacies of
+chess, and within a few months justified himself master, and gave
+odds. An evening seldom passed without a reading from a favorite
+author, Nansie's sweet, sympathetic voice imparting a charm to
+passages from which something valuable might have been missed had they
+not been read aloud. From this brief description it will be gathered
+that Nansie's influence was all for good.
+
+Thus time sped on, and Kingsley was still absent. He wrote to Nansie
+regularly, and she as regularly replied to his letters, never missing
+a post. She wrote in her bedroom always, and generally at night when
+the others were abed. In silence and solitude she was better able to
+open her heart to her husband. To say that she was entirely happy
+apart from Kingsley would not be true, but she had a spirit of rare
+hope and contentment, and her gratitude for the shelter and comfort of
+her new home was a counterbalance to the unhappiness she would
+otherwise have experienced.
+
+"A letter for you, Nansie," Mr. Loveday would say.
+
+Taking it eagerly, she would speed to her room and read it again and
+again, drawing hopeful auguries from words in which none really lay.
+For although Kingsley's letters were cheerfully and lovingly written,
+there was nothing substantial in them in their prospects of the
+future. They were all of the present, of his doings, of his
+adventures, of his travels, of what he had seen and done, forming a
+kind of diary faithfully kept, but with a strange blindness in respect
+of years to come. At one time he was in France, at another in Italy,
+at another in Germany, at another in Russia.
+
+"Mr. Seymour," he wrote, "has an insatiable thirst for travel, and
+will start off at an hour's notice from one country to another, moved
+seemingly by sudden impulses in which there appears to be an utter
+lack of system. It is inconvenient, but of course I am bound to
+accompany him; and there is, after all, in these unexpected
+transitions a charm to me, who could never be accused of being
+methodical. The serious drawback is that I am parted from you. What
+pleasure it would give me to have you by my side! And you would be no
+less happy than I."
+
+Then would follow a description of the places they passed through and
+stopped at, of people they met, and of small adventures which afforded
+him entertainment, ending always with protestations of love, the
+sincerity of which could not be doubted. But Mr. Loveday was never
+anything than grave when Nansie read aloud to him extracts from her
+husband's letters.
+
+"Who is Mr. Seymour?" he asked.
+
+"A gentleman," replied Nansie.
+
+"What is he, I mean?" was Mr. Loveday's next question.
+
+Nansie shook her head. "I have no idea."
+
+"Has your husband any idea?"
+
+"I suppose he has."
+
+"You only suppose, Nansie."
+
+"Yes, uncle, I can do nothing else, because Kingsley has never said
+anything about it."
+
+"Surely, if he really knew," persisted Mr. Loveday, "he would not be so
+silent on the subject."
+
+"Perhaps you are right, uncle; perhaps Kingsley does not really know."
+
+"If Mr. Seymour were travelling with any specific object in view,
+there would be no need for secrecy. Say that he were an enthusiast,
+that he had a craze, no matter in what shape, he would not disguise
+it."
+
+"Certainly not, uncle. Mr. Seymour must be travelling simply for
+pleasure."
+
+"Which is not a simple matter, Nansie," observed Mr. Loveday, "when a
+man runs after it. I can imagine few things more laborious and less
+likely of a satisfactory result. Now, Nansie, what are your husband's
+duties in his employment?"
+
+"He does not say, uncle."
+
+"Do you think he has any?"
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"More supposings, Nansie."
+
+"What else can I say, uncle?"
+
+"Nothing, my dear, and I am to blame for worrying you. We will drop
+the subject."
+
+"No," said Nansie, earnestly, "please do not drop it."
+
+"Why should we continue it, Nansie?"
+
+"Because," replied Nansie, with a slight flush on her face, "I am
+afraid you are doing Kingsley an injustice."
+
+"I should be sorry to do that," said Mr. Loveday, very seriously.
+
+"I know you would," responded Nansie, in a tone of affection, "and that
+is why I want to set you right. You think that Kingsley is concealing
+something from me. He is not; he loves me too well. You think that I
+need some one to defend me. I do not. It is only when a person is
+wronged or oppressed that he needs a defender. No one has ever wronged
+or oppressed me. On the contrary, every one in the world is kind to
+me--that is," she added hastily in correction, for she thought of her
+husband's parents, "every one who knows me. Now you, uncle," she said,
+wistfully and tenderly, "before I came here I dare say you had no
+great regard for me."
+
+"I had not, Nansie."
+
+"It was only because you made a promise to my dear father out of your
+kind heart, and because you are an honorable man who would not break
+his word, that you welcomed me at first. And perhaps, too," her voice
+faltered a little here, "because I resemble my mother, for whom you
+had an affection."
+
+She paused, uncertain whether she had gone too far; but he inclined
+his head kindly towards her, and said,
+
+"You are speaking justly, Nansie. Go on, if you have anything more to
+say."
+
+"Yes, uncle, I have something more to say. That was your feeling for
+me at first; but since then--I say it humbly and gratefully--I have
+been happy in the belief that I have learned something for myself."
+
+"You have," said Mr. Loveday. "I love you, Nansie."
+
+"It is so sweet to me to know it, dear uncle," said Nansie, with tears
+in her eyes, "that I am enabled to bear Kingsley's absence--I hope and
+pray it will not be for long--with courage and resignation. And
+because of that, because of the love which unites us, you must think
+well of Kingsley--you must think always well of him. Uncle, he is the
+soul of honor, truth, and unselfishness. When he told me he loved me,
+and asked me to marry him, he did not weigh the consequences, as
+nearly every other man in his position would have done."
+
+"He was rash," observed Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Would you censure him for it? Did he not behave as an honorable,
+noble-hearted man?"
+
+"Undoubtedly. He has a worthy champion in his wife."
+
+"Ah, but it would distress me immeasurably to feel that you believe he
+needs a champion, or I a defender. You do not know him, uncle; when
+you do you will not fail to love him. I do not say that he is worldly
+wise, or quite fitted yet to battle with the future, but that it is
+his earnest desire to fit himself for what I feel will be a great
+struggle, and to perform his duty in a manly way. No man can do more,
+and, whatever may be our future, I shall love and honor him to the
+last."
+
+"My dear Nansie," said Mr. Loveday, "say that you are partly right in
+your views of my feelings for your husband; be content now to know
+that you have won me over to his side."
+
+"I am indeed content to know it, uncle."
+
+"But should that deprive a man of his right to judge actions and
+circumstances? We sometimes condemn those whom we love best."
+
+"It should not deprive him of the right," replied Nansie, adding, with
+what her husband would have told her was feminine logic, "but you must
+not condemn Kingsley."
+
+"I will not. I will apply ordinary tests. When he took the situation
+with Mr. Seymour, did he know anything of his employer?"
+
+"Nothing; but we were in great stress, and Kingsley was compelled to
+take advantage of his opportunity."
+
+"Admitting that. But a man must face his responsibilities, and
+discharge them to the best of his ability."
+
+"Yes, uncle, to the best of his ability."
+
+"My dear, had you been a man, you would have made a very good special
+pleader. To continue. What is your husband's salary?"
+
+A look of distress was in Nansie's eyes, and she did not reply. "I
+infer," said Mr. Loveday, replying for her, "that you do not know."
+
+"I fear I do," said Nansie, in a low tone.
+
+"Tell me, then."
+
+"I fear, uncle, that there is no salary attached to the situation."
+
+"But there should be?"
+
+"Yes, there should be."
+
+"Mr. Seymour, wishing to engage a gentleman as part companion and part
+secretary, must have been prepared to enter into some kind of monetary
+arrangement. Whose fault is it that the arrangement was not made? I
+will reply for you again. It must have been Kingsley's fault. Not very
+practical, Nansie."
+
+"I am afraid, uncle," said Nansie, speaking slowly, and as though she
+were about to commit an act of treason, "that Kingsley is not very
+practical."
+
+"But how is a man to get along in the world," said Mr. Loveday, with a
+curious mixture of decision and helplessness, "who thus neglects his
+opportunities? I am speaking entirely in a spirit of kindness,
+Nansie."
+
+"Yes, uncle, there's no occasion for you to remind me of that. But how
+can you blame Kingsley? He meets Mr. Seymour as one gentleman meets
+another. He is too delicate-minded to broach the subject of salary,
+and perhaps Mr. Seymour forgets it."
+
+"No, child, Mr. Seymour does not forget it. He takes advantage of your
+husband, and the consequence is that he is using a man's services
+without paying for them. And the consequence, further, is that
+valuable time is being wasted and misspent. Two or three weeks ago you
+commenced to read to me something in one of your husband's letters,
+and you suddenly stopped and did not continue. It was about money. Am
+I wrong in supposing that what you were about to read was in reply to
+something you had written in a letter to your husband?"
+
+"You are not wrong, uncle."
+
+"Plainly, you asked him whether he could not send you a little money?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And that was his reply. I can judge what it was."
+
+"Uncle, he had none to send. He is entirely dependent upon Mr.
+Seymour."
+
+"Who is not liberal?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"Who is not only not liberal, but unjust?"
+
+"But that is not Kingsley's fault," pleaded Nansie.
+
+"I am not so sure. Child, child, you and your husband are like the
+children in the wood, and you know their fate."
+
+"I should be content," said Nansie, mournfully, for a moment
+overwhelmed--only for a moment; her mood changed instantly, and with
+indescribable tenderness she said: "But I want to live--to live!"
+
+There was a new note in her voice, and in her eyes a dreamy look of
+exquisite happiness which caused Mr. Loveday to wonder as he gazed
+upon her. Never had she been so beautiful as she was at that moment.
+In the expression on her face was something sacred and holy, and Mr.
+Loveday saw that she was deeply stirred by emotions beyond his ken.
+
+"Nansie!"
+
+"Yes, uncle," said Nansie, awaking from her dream.
+
+"You heard what I said?"
+
+"Yes, uncle--but you must not blame Kingsley; you must not blame my
+dear husband."
+
+"I will not--strongly. Only I should like you to consider what would
+have been your position if you had not found me in the London
+wilderness, or, having found me, if I had proved to be hard-hearted
+instead of a loving uncle."
+
+"What is the use of my considering it," she asked, in a tone of tender
+playfulness, "when I did find you, and when you proved yourself to be
+the best of men? It would be waste of time, would it not? Confess
+now."
+
+"Upon my word," said Mr. Loveday, "I should almost be justified in
+being cross with you if I did not suspect that any unreasonableness in
+our conversation must spring from me, in consequence of my not being
+familiar with the ways of women. But you shall not drive me completely
+from my point. For your sake, Nansie, I regret that I am poor. I never
+wished so much to be rich as I do at the present time. You are
+attending to me, Nansie?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"Has your husband sent you any money at all since he has been away?"
+
+"None, uncle. He has not had it to send."
+
+"Yet you are in need of a little?"
+
+She looked at him, and her lips trembled slightly; and then again, a
+moment afterwards, the same expression of dreamy happiness stole into
+her face which he had observed before.
+
+"Yes, uncle, a little, a very little. But I shall manage; I have
+already earned a trifle."
+
+"In what way?" inquired Mr. Loveday, much mystified.
+
+"I got some needlework to do, and am being paid for it."
+
+"But in the name of all that's reasonable," exclaimed Mr. Loveday,
+"where and when do you do your work?"
+
+"In my room of a night, uncle," replied Nansie, blushing.
+
+"When we are all asleep," said Mr. Loveday, with the nearest approach
+to a grumble she had heard from his lips. "This must not continue,
+Nansie. You will do your work here of an evening and during the day,
+if it is necessary."
+
+"Yes, uncle, I will obey you. But--" her form swayed slightly, and she
+was compelled to make an effort to keep herself from swooning--"you
+must not be angry with me. I am not very strong just now."
+
+She brought her work down, and went on with it before his eyes, and
+there was perfect harmony between them. But still, in the stillness of
+her room, when her uncle supposed her to be abed, her fingers were
+busy in their labor of tenderest love.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+The event which occurred in Mr. Loveday's house in Church Alley, and
+which caused him perhaps the greatest excitement in his life, will be
+explained by the following letter which Nansie wrote to her husband
+two months after the conversation between her and her uncle narrated
+in the last chapter:
+
+
+"My Own Dear Kingsley,--
+At length I am strong enough to write to you, and it is a great joy to
+me to sit down once more to speak to the beloved wanderer of whom I
+think night and day. I am sure that you must be with me, in spirit,
+even in my dreamless sleep. You will not be sorry to know that you are
+not the only one now the thought of whom makes my heart a garden of
+flowers. I have a sweet treasure--surely the sweetest that ever
+blessed a happy woman--lying at my feet, and you will not begrudge me.
+Oh, my dear Kingsley, if you were with me at this moment, and we were
+looking down together on the lovely, innocent face of our darling, you
+would think as I do, that heaven itself was shining in the little room
+in which I am writing! Everything is so strangely beautiful that I can
+scarcely believe I am living the same life I lived till I became a
+happy, happy mother. It is not the same--it is sweeter, purer, more
+precious; I seem to hear angelic music even in the silence which
+surrounds me. I know what produces it. I put my face close to my
+darling's mouth, and I can just hear her soft breathing.
+
+"You will forgive me, will you not, for not having written to you for
+so long a time? I could not help it, you see. I know from your last
+letter that you received the one my uncle wrote to you, and that you
+would have flown to my side if you had had the means. It seems so
+cruel that you should be in such straits for money. Why do you not ask
+Mr. Seymour straightforwardly to pay you what he must owe you? It must
+be a good sum by this time. But perhaps it is wrong of me to say to
+you, why do you not do this or that?--for surely you must know what is
+best to be done, and the right time to do it. It is easy to judge for
+others, is it not, my dearest? I have the fullest faith and confidence
+in you; and, my dear, you must not worry about me. My uncle is the
+dearest friend I could have met with. He is kindness itself, and I
+feel that he loves me as if I were his daughter. And I have money--not
+much, Kingsley, dear, but enough--to go on with. Before baby came I
+earned some, and presently, when she can crawl, and walk, and
+speak--oh, Kingsley, the wonder of it!--I shall earn more. Uncle is so
+good to me that I need very little; but still some things are
+necessary which uncle does not understand about, and he has not more
+than he knows what to do with. Then, of course, I am an expense to
+him; but he never makes the least mention of that--he is too
+considerate, and I know he is glad to have me with him--and to have
+baby, too, although I fancy he does not quite know yet what to make of
+the darling. Indeed, I half think he is frightened of her. I see him
+sometimes looking at her when she is asleep with such a funny look in
+his eyes that I can hardly keep from laughing. The idea of a great big
+man being frightened of a little baby! But, Kingsley, dear (I would
+not confess it to anybody but you), I, too, am frightened of baby a
+little sometimes, when she lies in my lap, staring at me solemnly with
+her beautiful eyes--the color of yours, dearest--wide, wide open,
+without even so much as a blink in them. She seems to be reading me
+through and through. 'What are you thinking of, darling?' I whisper to
+her; and though of course she cannot answer me, I am sure that she
+understands, and that I should be very much astonished if I knew what
+was passing through her mind. She is going to be a very wise little
+body--I can see that--and very sweet and beautiful, and a great
+blessing to us. But she is that already, the greatest, the most
+precious that has ever fallen to my lot. You see, my dear husband, I
+look upon baby and you as almost one person; I cannot think of one
+without the other, it is impossible to separate you; so that when I
+say that baby is the greatest blessing that was ever given to me, I
+mean you as well as our darling....
+
+"I have been obliged to stop; baby woke up, and we had a happy hour
+together. Now she is asleep again. She is so good, not at all fretful,
+as some babies are, and when she cries (which is really not often) it
+is a good healthy cry, which makes uncle say that her lungs are in
+fine condition....
+
+"I have been reading over what I have written, and I stopped at the
+part where I speak of baby presently being able to walk and talk. Long
+before that, my dear Kingsley, I hope that you will be with us, and
+that we may be all living together. Do not think I am desirous of
+urging you to any other course than that which you consider right, but
+the happiness of our being together again would be so great! Is there
+any chance of Mr. Seymour coming to England and settling down here,
+and keeping you as his secretary at a fair salary? Then we could have
+a little home of our own, and you could go to Mr. Seymour in the
+morning and come home in the evening, and we should have one day in
+the week to ourselves. It is not a very great deal to ask for, but if
+some kind fairy would only grant it I should be supremely happy.
+Surely, surely, the future must have something good in store for us!
+
+"I have told you in my letters all about Timothy Chance, and how good
+and helpful he has been. Well, my dear Kingsley, until baby came I
+looked upon Timothy as my knight, my own special cavalier whom I could
+depend upon for service at any hour I chose to call upon him; but I
+think now that he has divided his allegiance, at least half of it
+going to baby. Timothy is an extraordinary lad, and uncle has a great
+opinion of him. Putting his duties in uncle's business out of the
+question, and putting baby and me out of the question, Timothy seems
+to have only one idea--eggs and fowls. He is now the proud owner of
+four fine hens, and his spare minutes (not too many) are devoted to
+them. He reads up every book he can lay hands upon that treats of
+fowls, and is really very clever in his proceedings. He made me laugh
+by saying: 'If fowls won't lay they must be made to lay;' and he
+studies up food to coax them. It is very amusing; but Timothy is so
+earnest that you cannot help respecting him, and respecting him more
+because he is successful. He shows me his figures, and is really
+making a profit every month. He is now drawing out plans for
+constructing a movable fowl-house, in compartments, each compartment
+accommodating eight fowls, and capable of being taken down and put up
+again in a wonderfully short time. Uncle says the plans are as nearly
+perfect as possible, and that he should not wonder if Timothy made a
+fortune one of these fine days. Timothy has insisted upon my accepting
+two new-laid eggs a week. Uncle and he had some words about them at
+first, uncle wanting to pay for them and Timothy refusing to accept
+any money; but the good lad was so hurt and took it so much to heart
+that I persuaded uncle to let him have his way.
+
+"Why do I write all this to you, dear Kingsley? To show you that I am
+in the midst of kindness, and that although you have not as yet been
+very fortunate, there is much to be grateful for. Remember our
+conversation, my darling, and never, never lose heart. Courage!
+courage! as you have said many times; and it will help you to feel
+assured that there are loving hearts beating here for you, and friends
+holding out willing hands. Why, if a poor, imperfectly educated lad
+like Timothy looks forward to making a fortune out of such simple
+things as eggs, what may you not do, with your advantages and
+education? All will be well, and there is a happy future before us.
+
+"I am tired, and have a dozen things to do, or I would keep on talking
+to you for hours. But I must really finish now. Baby sends you her
+dearest, dearest love. Indeed she does. I asked her, and upon my word,
+Kingsley, dear, she crowed and laughed. She is the most wonderful
+thing in the world, there is no doubt of that. I kiss her a hundred
+times for her dear papa, and I blow her kisses to you, and kiss them
+into the words I am writing. Our hearts are with you; our dearest love
+is yours. Oh, my darling! to close this letter is like bidding you
+good-bye again. Take all our love, which is forever blossoming for
+you. I close my eyes, and think that you are by my side; and I press
+you to my heart, which beats only for you and our darling child. What
+name shall I give her?
+
+"Good-bye, and God bless and guard you, my own dear love.
+
+              "Your faithful, loving wife,             Nansie."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+History repeats itself. The fortunes of Timothy Chance were turned by
+a fire--whether for good or evil, so far as regards himself, had yet
+to be proved. He was to go through another experience of a similar
+kind, in which, as on the first occasion, those who befriended him
+were the greatest sufferers.
+
+Nansie had to wait for more than a month before she received an answer
+to her last letter from Kingsley. He and his employer, it appears, had
+been continually on the move, and the letter which Mr. Loveday had
+written to him could not have reached him. It was by a lucky chance
+that Nansie's letter with the news that he was a father fell into his
+hands after a long delay; and she gathered from his reply that some of
+his own communications to her must have miscarried. This last letter
+which she received was far from encouraging. It was in parts wild and
+incoherent; the cheerfulness which had pervaded his previous missives
+was missing; the writer seemed to be losing hope.
+
+"I am learning some hard lessons," Kingsley wrote, "and am beginning
+to doubt whether there is any truth or justice left in the world."
+
+This was distressingly vague, for no explanation of Kingsley's moody
+reflection was forthcoming. It did not even appear that he was drawing
+consolation, as he had often done during his absence, from the thought
+that Nansie was ever ready with open arms to comfort him.
+
+"Instead of advancing myself," Kingsley wrote, "by the step I have
+taken, I have thrown myself back. It is a miserable confession to
+make, but there it is, and wherever I go I see, not the shadow, but
+the actual presentments of misery and injustice. Can any man inform me
+under what conditions of life happiness is to be found?"
+
+As was to be expected, the letter was not wanting in affectionate
+endearments and in expressions of joy at the birth of their child. "He
+is miserable," thought Nansie, because we are not together. "When we
+are once more united, will it be wise to consent to another
+separation?" She felt that he had need for the companionship of a
+stronger nature than his own, and she prayed for the time to come
+quickly when she would be with him to keep his courage from fainting
+within him.
+
+The very next day she was comforted by the receipt of another letter
+from Kingsley, in which was displayed his more cheerful, and perhaps
+more careless characteristics.
+
+"What could I have been thinking of," he said, "when I wrote you such
+a strange, stupid letter as I did yesterday? I must have lost my wits,
+and I hasten to atone for it by sending you another in a better and
+more natural vein. Burn the first, my dear Nansie, so that it may not
+be in existence to reproach me. A nice piece of inconsistency you have
+married, my dear! I do not remember ever to have been so cast down as
+I have been for two or three days past; but I should keep that to
+myself, and not burden you with a share of my despondency. It has been
+my habit always to look with a light spirit upon circumstances,
+whether they were in my favor or against me; and if I am to replace
+that by becoming savage and morose, I shall be laying up for myself a
+fine stock of unhappiness. So I determine, for your sake and mine, and
+for the sake of your dear little bairn, to whistle dull care away, and
+to make the best of things instead of the worst. Here am I, then, my
+usual self again, loving you with all my heart and soul, longing to be
+with you, longing to hold our dear bairn in my arms, longing to work
+to some good end. The question is, how to set about it, and what kind
+of end I am to work for. There is the difficulty--to fall into one's
+groove, as we have decided when we have talked about things, and then
+to go sailing smoothly along. Yes, that is it, and we must set
+ourselves to work to find out the way. I may confess to you, my dear
+wife, that up to this point success has not crowned my efforts; in
+point of fact, to put it plainly, I am thus far a failure. However, I
+cannot see how I am to blame. If I had had the gift of prophecy I
+should never have joined Mr. Seymour, but how was one to tell what
+would occur? Now, my dear, you urge me to make some approaches to Mr.
+Seymour with respect to money matters. Well, awkward as the position
+is, I have endeavored to do so, but have never got far enough, I am
+afraid, to make myself understood. My fault, I dare say, but just
+consider. There is nothing of the dependent in my relations with Mr.
+Seymour; he received me as an equal and we have associated as equals;
+when we first met there was no question raised as to a salary, and
+there has been none since. How, then, am I to go to him and say: 'You
+are indebted to me in such or such a sum'? It would be so coarse, and
+I do not see justification for it. If I have made a mistake I must
+suffer for it, and must not call upon another person to do so for me.
+That would not be consistent, or honorable, or gentlemanly. After all,
+my dearest, the standard of conduct is not arbitrary. What it would be
+right for Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith to do would not be right for me, and
+the reverse. What is to be done, then? Having made a mistake, I am too
+proud--perhaps not quite broken in yet--to get out of it in the most
+honorable way I can. It is in my power to say to Mr. Seymour: 'A
+thousand thanks for the pleasure you have afforded me and for the
+courtesies you have extended towards me, but my time is precious, and
+I must not keep away from my wife any longer.' That would be all
+right, but to follow it up with a request for a loan to enable me to
+get back to England would be so mean and coarse that I could never
+bring my tongue to utter the words. Can you understand my position, my
+darling? It is a humiliation to me to ask the question, but I am in a
+cleft stick, and am positively powerless to help myself. What a pity,
+what a pity that my original idea of living in a travelling caravan
+could not be carried out! Do you remember that delicious evening,
+dear? I should like to pass such another, and I dare say I should
+commit myself again to the foolish wish that it would last forever.
+
+"Now, my dearest, I am quite cheerful and light-hearted, but there is
+something I must tell you. I must warn you first, though, that this is
+a secret between ourselves; on no account must it be disclosed to your
+uncle or to any other person. Much may hang upon it--I do not know
+what; I prefer not to think; but at all events I must do nothing base
+or treacherous. If confidence has been reposed in me I must not betray
+it. But mark what I say, dear; it is only lately that I have come to a
+knowledge or a suspicion of certain things, and no hint must escape me
+of that knowledge or suspicion (it is a mixture of both) to any except
+yourself.
+
+"In speaking of Mr. Seymour you would naturally suppose that you were
+speaking of an Englishman, the name being unmistakably English. But
+Mr. Seymour is not an Englishman, and therefore the name must be
+assumed. As to this I have no definite information, but it is so
+certainly. It did not occur to me to mention to you that Mr. Seymour
+was probably a foreigner, the matter seeming to be of such small
+importance. He speaks English fluently, with the slightest accent;
+speaks also French, German, Italian, and Russian, as to the precisely
+correct accent of any one of which I am not a competent judge. I am
+not given to curiosity, and have a habit of believing what I am told;
+that is, I do not look much below the surface of things. Now, this may
+lead a man into a scrape.
+
+"Were I alone, without wife and child, I should, I dare say, allow
+myself to drift according to circumstances, but I am bound to consider
+you. Well, then, Mr. Seymour, with whose right name I am not
+acquainted, has ideas with which I am not sure whether I agree; he has
+a mission with which I am not sure whether I sympathize. There are
+large movements in public affairs which require deep investigation
+before one finally and firmly makes up one's mind. Take, for example,
+the revolutionary movement--the idea that all people should be upon an
+equality, the mission to bring this about. I had better not write to
+greater length upon this theme. If you do not quite understand my
+meaning I will explain it more fully when we are together again. In
+saying that I am deeply anxious to get back to England soon, and that
+I must by some means manage it, I am thinking more of you than of
+myself. Shortly before writing the letter which I sent to you
+yesterday, I allowed myself to be led away by certain disclosures
+which were made to me for the purpose of binding me to a certain
+course--Mr. Seymour and the friends he meets and makes thinking me
+ripe for it, perhaps, and giving me credit for being cleverer than I
+am; and it was an amateur enthusiasm which drove me to conclusions to
+which I would prefer not to commit myself--again, more for you and our
+dear little one's sake than for my own. There! The confession is made;
+perhaps you can thread your way through my mysterious allusions. And
+now, my darling--"
+
+Then the letter went on, and was concluded with expressions of love
+and tenderness, and occasional drifting into whimsical by-paths, in
+which the nature of the old Kingsley Nansie loved so well was
+faithfully depicted.
+
+On that evening Nansie nerved her courage to speak to her uncle about
+Kingsley's desire to return to England, and her own that he should do
+so without delay.
+
+"He is wasting his time," she said, "and cannot but feel it deeply
+that I am living upon your kindness."
+
+"To which you are heartily welcome, Nansie," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+"I know that, dear uncle; but is it as it should be?"
+
+Without answering the question Mr. Loveday said: "Certainly it would
+be better that your husband should be at some profitable work. It is a
+pity, Nansie, that you did not marry a man who was accustomed to
+work."
+
+"It is not a pity, uncle. There is no better man in the world than
+Kingsley."
+
+"It was only a reflection of mine, my dear," said Mr. Loveday. "There
+is no reason why Kingsley should not do well. But the getting back--"
+
+"There is the difficulty, uncle," said Nansie, looking at him
+anxiously; "the getting back to London, and the commencement of a
+career."
+
+"Well, my dear, we must do what we can. You would like to send him
+sufficient to bring him from foreign lands into our happy family
+circle. Understand, Nansie, that we are to live together. You have
+made me so accustomed to you that if you were to leave my house you
+would leave desolation behind you. I shall insist upon fair play.
+Unfortunately, funds are rather low just now, but I will manage it.
+Will ten pounds be enough?"
+
+"I think it will, uncle. It must be as a loan, though we shall never
+be able to repay you for what you have done."
+
+"There is nothing to repay, Nansie; you have given me more than value.
+Now we will shut up shop."
+
+"So early?"
+
+"Yes, if you want your husband back so quickly." He called Timothy,
+and gave him instructions to close. "I know where I can sell a parcel
+of books, and I must go and strike the bargain. I will take Timothy
+with me. While we are gone, write to your husband, and tell him that
+you will send him a draft for ten pounds to-morrow. Say, if you like,
+that you have borrowed it from me; it will make him feel more
+independent, and will show that he has a sincere friend in your old
+uncle. There, my dear! there is nothing to make a fuss over. A nice
+world this would be if we did not lend a helping hand to each other!"
+
+While he was gone Nansie wrote her letter, and, baby being asleep,
+ran out to post it. It was long since she had felt so happy and
+light-hearted. Kingsley was coming back; her beloved husband would
+soon be with them. Grave troubles had already entered into her life,
+but they seemed to vanish as she dropped her letter into the
+post-office box. All was bright again; Kingsley was coming back.
+
+Returning, she related the good news to baby, and told her she must
+put on her best looks to welcome her papa. "And how happy we shall be,
+baby," she said, kissing the child again and again, "now and for
+evermore! You see, baby, papa is never going away again; never!
+never!"
+
+The room in which she sat was the first floor front, looking out upon
+Church Alley, and she saw a little ragged girl lingering outside.
+The girl looked hungry, and Nansie, with her baby in her arms, ran
+down-stairs, and from the house, and gave the poor girl two-pence,
+which was all the money she had in her purse. The girl scudded away to
+the cook-shop, and Nansie went back to her room.
+
+"There are so many," she said, addressing the baby again, "so many
+hundreds--ah! I am afraid, baby, so many thousands--worse off than we
+are; ever so much worse off, my darling pet. For they haven't got
+papa, have they? and they haven't got you! But the idea of my thinking
+that we are anything but well off, when we are going to be as happy as
+the days are long! I ought to be ashamed of myself, oughtn't I? You
+mustn't tell papa that I ever had a thought of repining, or it would
+grieve him. You must know, baby--I hope you are listening properly,
+sweet, with your great beautiful eyes so wide open, and looking so
+wise as you do--you must know, baby, that you have the very best and
+noblest papa that a baby ever had or ever could have. And he is coming
+home, and you must be very, very good, or you will frighten him away!"
+
+Then she sang the child asleep, and sat in the dusk musing happily
+with her baby in her lap.
+
+Suddenly she started to her feet with a look of alarm. She smelled
+fire. Snatching up her baby she ran into the rooms in which fires had
+been burning, but all was safe there, and she saw no cause for alarm.
+She was standing in the sitting-room looking about in her endeavor to
+account for the smell when a cry of "Fire!" from the adjoining house
+lent wings to her feet, and the next moment she was in the court, with
+a number of people about her in a state of great excitement. As to the
+cause of her alarm there was no doubt now. Tongues of flame darted
+from the windows, and instantaneously, as it seemed, slid into Mr.
+Loveday's, shop. Hustled this way and that, and pressing her baby
+close to her breast, Nansie was so distracted that she could not
+afterwards give an intelligible account of what she saw; except that
+there appeared to be thousands of people thronging into Church Alley
+and being thrust back by the police, that the air was filled with
+flame and smoke and wild cries, that women were wringing their hands
+and screaming that they were ruined, that fire-engines were dashing up
+the narrow path, and firemen were climbing on to the roofs of the
+houses, and that, turning faint and reeling to the ground, she was
+caught by some humane person and borne to a safe house, where she and
+her baby received attention. She was unconscious of this kindness for
+some little while, and when she came to her senses Mr. Loveday and
+Timothy were bending over her. Timothy's face was quite white, and he
+was in a state of great agitation, but Mr. Loveday was composed and
+grave. The people in the room were saying it was a shame that the
+police would not allow him to go to his burning shop, but he, in
+answer, said that they were right in preventing him.
+
+"What good could I do?" he said. "I should only be a hinderance. My
+great anxiety was for you, Nansie, and your baby, and when I heard you
+were here I came on at once. You must have received a terrible fright,
+my dear. You were not hurt, I hope?"
+
+"No," she answered, she was not hurt, and she marvelled at his
+composure. Some other person in the throng was commenting audibly upon
+his calmness, and received for answer the reply from a neighbor that
+Mr. Loveday must be well insured.
+
+"No," he said, turning to the speakers, "I am not insured for a penny."
+
+They were surprised to hear this bad news, and poured condolence upon
+him.
+
+"Uncle," whispered Nansie, pulling his head down to hers, "will it
+hurt you very much?"
+
+"That has to be seen, my dear," he replied, with a cheerful smile.
+
+"Not in spirits," she continued, gazing at him in pity and admiration;
+"I know now what real courage is. But in your business."
+
+"If what I've heard is true," said Mr. Loveday, "I am being burned out
+stock and block, and shall have no business left. In which case,
+Timothy, you will lose a situation."
+
+"Don't think of me, sir," said Timothy, ruefully. "Think of yourself."
+
+"I shall have plenty of time to do that, my lad."
+
+"This is the second time," said Timothy, "that I've been burned out of
+a situation. I had better not take another. I do nothing but bring
+misfortune upon my masters."
+
+"Nonsense, Timothy, nonsense. It is the fortune of war, and we must
+fight through these defeats as best we can."
+
+He asked for the mistress of the house they were in, and inquired
+whether she had a furnished room to let. There happened to be one
+fortunately on the second floor, and Mr. Loveday at once engaged it,
+and assisted Nansie up-stairs. They had hardly been in the room a
+moment when the landlady appeared with a cradle for baby.
+
+"It ain't mine," she observed; "Mrs. Smithson, next door, run and got
+it for you. She's a good creature is Mrs. Smithson, and has had seven
+of her own. She expects her next in about three weeks."
+
+Nansie sent her thanks to Mrs. Smithson, and thanked the landlady
+also.
+
+"Oh, that's all right," said the landlady. "Mothers are mothers, you
+know, and Mrs. Smithson is that fond of babies that it's my belief she
+could live on 'em." In which description of Mrs. Smithson's fondness
+for babies the landlady did not seem to consider that there was
+anything at all alarming. "And look here, my dear," she continued,
+"don't you take on. That's my advice--don't take on. The misfortune's
+bad enough, but there's worse, a thousand times. I'll see that you're
+nice and comfortable--and I say, Mr. Loveday, you can stop here a
+fortnight for nothing, you not being insured, and being always so kind
+and obliging to everybody. There's nobody better thought of than you,
+and it's a pity we ain't all of us rich."
+
+"A great pity," said Mr. Loveday, shaking the landlady's hand, "and I
+am grateful to you for your offer; but I have no doubt we shall be
+able to scrape up the rent. If you could make my niece a cup of tea
+now."
+
+"Ay, that I will," said the good woman, "and fresh, too, not the
+leavings; and she'll take it from me as a compliment, won't you, my
+dear?"
+
+Nansie nodded with a cheerful smile, and the landlady, having leaned
+over the baby and kissed it softly, and declared that it was the
+sweetest, prettiest picture that ever was, departed to make the tea.
+
+"That is the best of misfortunes like this," observed Mr. Loveday; "it
+brings out the bright side of human nature. Sudden prosperity often
+has the opposite effect."
+
+"But is it true, uncle," said Nansie, "that you will lose
+everything--everything?"
+
+"There will in all probability be salvage," said Mr. Loveday,
+thoughtfully, "worth a pound or two, perhaps; maybe less. I shall
+prepare myself for the worst. Who is there?"
+
+This was in response to a knock at the door, and Timothy presented
+himself with four new-laid eggs.
+
+"We will accept them, my lad," said Mr. Loveday. "How is the fire
+getting on?"
+
+"They've got tight hold of it now, sir," replied Timothy, "and it's
+going down."
+
+"And the shop, Timothy?" Timothy made no reply in words, but his face
+told the rueful tale. "Eh, well, it can't be helped. I'll be out
+presently and have a look round for myself. Yes," he continued, when
+Timothy was gone, "I shall be prepared for the worst. Then all will be
+profit that falls short of my anticipations. I might worry myself by
+lamenting that I did not get insured, but it would do no good. Let me
+get it over by declaring that it was a piece of inconceivable folly to
+neglect so necessary a safeguard. The mischief is that I seldom if
+ever kept a balance in cash. As fast as it came in I spent it in fresh
+stock; it was a mania of mine, and I have paid for it. I shall have to
+commence the world over again, that is all. Nansie, my dear, I regret
+what has occurred for your sake; it will, I fear, prevent my doing
+what I wished. We will not have anything hang over; it will be wisest
+to speak of what is in our minds. Did you write to your husband?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"Is your letter posted?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, it cannot be recalled. If you will give me his address I will
+write to him before I go to bed, and make him acquainted with the
+calamity which has overtaken us. I think, Nansie, that I have learned
+something of your character since you came to me, and I give you
+credit for possessing courage."
+
+"I am not easily daunted, uncle. We are all of us learning lessons as
+we pass through life."
+
+"They come in different shapes to different persons, and those are
+wise who can profit by experience. Some persons are overwhelmed by
+visitations of trouble; to some they impart new strength and vigor.
+Let this be the case with us; let us resolve not to be cast down, but
+to be up and doing with the best courage we can summon to our aid. It
+is a matter for thankfulness that bodily we are uninjured, and that
+baby is safe and well."
+
+"You are a true comforter, dear uncle," said Nansie, pressing his
+hand.
+
+"We might continue talking for hours, and could add little more to
+what we have already said and resolved. Here is our good friend, the
+landlady, with the tea. I will leave you together, and go and see how
+things are getting on."
+
+"There are three houses gutted, they say," said the landlady, "yours
+and the one on each side of it. It is a mercy the whole alley isn't
+down."
+
+"It is, and I am glad for those who have escaped."
+
+"Don't go without a cup of tea, Mr. Loveday," said the landlady; "I've
+brought up one for you. I thought you would prefer it in your own
+room, my dear," she said, addressing Nansie, "there's such a lot of
+gossiping going on down-stairs. Ah, that's sensible of you"--as Mr.
+Loveday took the cup of tea she poured out for him--"there's nothing
+like keeping up your strength. _You_ must think of that, my dear,
+because of your baby. Half the neighborhood wanted to come up and see
+you, but I wouldn't let 'em. If I put my foot down upon one thing more
+than another, it's gossiping. They've found out how the fire occurred,
+Mr. Loveday."
+
+"How was it?"
+
+"It was that new lodger the Johnsons took in last week. He takes the
+room and keeps to it, and isn't known to do a stroke of work; he does
+nothing but drink. There was a lamp alight on the table, and some
+papers about. What does he do but upset the lamp, and then run away.
+He's drinking now at the 'Royal George.'"
+
+"He was not hurt, then?"
+
+"Not him! He had sense enough to run. Not that he could have done much
+good by stopping! But what I say is, he ought to be punished for it."
+
+"So ought all confirmed drunkards. Fires are not the only mischief
+they cause. They break hearts and ruin useful lives. I will not be
+long, Nansie."
+
+"What a man he is!" exclaimed the landlady, gazing after him
+admiringly. "There ain't another like him in all Whitechapel. Don't
+cry, my dear, don't cry; it won't be good for baby. With such a friend
+as your uncle, everything's sure to come right!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+Mr. Manners, the great contractor, sitting in his study at a table
+spread with legal documents and papers relating to his vast
+transactions, was informed by a man-servant that a stranger wished to
+see him.
+
+"Who is he?" inquired Mr. Manners.
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+"Did he not give you his name?"
+
+"I asked him for it, sir, and he said you did not know him, but that
+he came on very particular business, and must see you."
+
+"Must!"
+
+"That is what he said, sir."
+
+Mr. Manners considered a moment. He had finished the writing upon
+which he had been engaged, and had a few minutes' leisure.
+
+"What kind of man?"
+
+"Neither one kind nor another, sir."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"That he might be a gentleman, sir, and mightn't. It's hard to say."
+
+"It generally is nowadays. Show him in."
+
+The servant retired, and, ushering in Mr. Loveday, left the room.
+
+"Well, sir?" said Mr. Manners. The contractor did not speak uncivilly,
+for the appearance of Mr. Loveday, who was fairly well attired, was in
+his favor; he might be a smaller contractor, or an inventor, or
+anything that was respectable.
+
+"I have ventured to visit you, sir," said Mr. Loveday, without first
+seeking an introduction, "upon a matter of importance."
+
+"My servant said upon particular business."
+
+"He was scarcely correct, sir. I can hardly call my errand business,
+but it is no less important than the most important business."
+
+"It is usual to send in a card, or a name."
+
+"My name you will probably recognize, and I did not give it to the
+servant from fear that you might have refused to see me."
+
+"This sounds like an intrusion. What may be your name?"
+
+"Loveday, sir."
+
+Mr. Manners did not start or betray agitation, but he looked keenly at
+his visitor. He was a man of method, and had on all occasions complete
+control over his passions. He recognized the name, the moment it was
+uttered, as that of the girl for whom his son had deserted him.
+Therefore, the name of an enemy; undoubtedly the name of an intruder.
+
+"It is a name with which you suppose me to be familiar?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I ask the question simply because there are coincidences, and I make
+it a rule to avoid mistakes. If you come from my son--"
+
+"I do not, sir."
+
+"But you are in association with him? You know him?"
+
+"Only indirectly, sir. I have never seen your son."
+
+"I refuse to take part in mysteries. You are related to the young
+woman for whom my son threw over his duty to me."
+
+"I am the young lady's uncle."
+
+"And your visit is in furtherance of an appeal from her or on her
+behalf?"
+
+"On her behalf, but not from her. I did not inform her that I was
+coming."
+
+"The information is of no interest to me. The appeal you speak of is
+of the usual kind. It is superfluous to ask if you are rich."
+
+"I am not, sir."
+
+"Poor?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Very poor?"
+
+"Very poor."
+
+His frankness, his bearing, his aspect compelled a certain amount of
+respect, and it did not soften Mr. Manners to be made to feel this.
+
+"Had you any hand in this marriage?" demanded Mr. Manners.
+
+"None, sir. Had my advice been solicited, I should have been strongly
+against it. I am not going too far to say that I should not have
+sanctioned it, and should have thrown in what small amount of
+authority I possessed to prevent it, if your consent had not been
+first asked and obtained."
+
+This view of the matter appeared to strike Mr. Manners, and he
+regarded his visitor with closer attention; but presently he frowned;
+it was as though the honor of the alliance was on Nansie's side
+instead of Kingsley's.
+
+"I will not inquire into your reasons," he said, "except in so far as
+to ask whether your brother, the young woman's father, who, I
+understand, is dead--"
+
+"Yes, sir, he is dead."
+
+"Whether he made any effort to prevent the marriage? I speak of it as
+a marriage, although I have my reasons for doubting whether it could
+have been legally entered into."
+
+"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Loveday, much astonished.
+
+"I decline discussion," said Mr. Manners. "I am not an idle speaker,
+and I know what I mean. We will call it a marriage. It does not affect
+the conduct of my son towards me. You heard my question. If you have
+an objection to answer it I shall not complain."
+
+"I have no objection, sir. My brother knew nothing whatever of it
+until it was too late to interfere. The young people acted for
+themselves, without consulting a single person. It was a secret
+marriage."
+
+Mr. Manners smiled. "Exactly. But my question is still not answered."
+
+"My brother would have felt as I feel, sir. Without your sanction he
+would have withheld his consent, and would doubtless have succeeded in
+preventing the union."
+
+"It would have been well if it had not taken place."
+
+"I agree with you, sir."
+
+Mr. Manners frowned again. His visitor was taking high ground.
+
+"Come to the precise object of your visit," he said.
+
+"The lamentable severance of the affectionate relations which existed
+between you and your son has been productive of much suffering. The
+young people have been driven hard--so hard that in the endeavor made
+by your son to obtain some sort of position which would hold out the
+hope of his being able to support her, they were compelled to
+separate. Your son went abroad and left his wife here in England,
+doubly orphaned, friendless, penniless, and unprotected. She appealed
+to me for shelter and temporary support, and I received her willingly,
+gladly. I will not indulge in sentiment, for I know you by repute to
+be a practical man, and it may be not only distasteful to you, but it
+may place me in a false light--as making a lame effort to influence
+you by means of which you may be suspicious; but it is due to my niece
+that I should declare in your presence that a sweeter, purer, more
+lovable woman does not breathe the breath of life. She is a lady,
+well-educated, gentle, and refined; and whatever value you may place
+upon my statement--which I solemnly avow to be true--you must agree
+that it is to the credit of your son that if he chose for his mate a
+lady who was poor, he at least chose one who, if fortune placed her in
+a high position, would be fitted to occupy it. Of this it is in your
+power to assure yourself, and you would then be able to judge whether
+I speak falsely or truly. Your son has been absent from England now
+for many months, and from his letters to his wife it may be gathered
+that he has been disappointed in his hopes and expectations, and it is
+certain that he has not benefited pecuniarily by the effort he made."
+
+"He is reaping the fruits of his disobedience," said Mr. Manners.
+
+Mr. Loveday made no comment on the interruption, but proceeded. "The
+consequence is that he has been unable to send his wife the smallest
+remittance. Until to-day this has been of no importance, as I was in a
+position to discharge the obligation I took upon myself when I
+received her into my home. Your son's affairs abroad became so
+desperate (and, in one vague sense, possibly compromising) that it was
+decided yesterday between my niece and myself to send him money to
+bring him home, in order that he might make another effort here to
+obtain a livelihood. I am speaking quite plainly, sir, and without
+ornament of any kind, and you will see to what straits your son is
+reduced."
+
+"He is justly served," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"It was but a small sum of money that was required," continued Mr.
+Loveday, "but I did not possess it. I had, however, books which I could
+sell--I am a bookseller by trade, sir--and last evening I left my
+house and place of business to negotiate the sale. Meanwhile my niece
+wrote to your son that I would supply her with the means for his
+return home, and that she would send him the money to-day. Upon my
+return, two or three hours later, I found my house in flames. The
+account of the fire, with my name, is in this morning's papers, and
+you may verify my statement. I was not insured, and nothing was saved.
+I am a beggar."
+
+"It is, after all, then," said Mr. Manners, with a certain air of
+triumph, "on your own behalf that you are making this appeal to me."
+
+"No, sir," replied Mr. Loveday, "I want nothing for myself; I shall rub
+along somehow, and hope to lift my head once more above adverse
+circumstance. My appeal is on behalf of your son's wife. I am unable
+to fulfil the promise I made to furnish her with the small sum
+required to bring your son home. I ask you respectfully and humbly to
+give it to me or to send it to her direct to this address." He laid a
+piece of paper, with writing on it, on the table. "If you would prefer
+to hand it to her personally she will call upon you for the purpose."
+
+"You have spoken temperately," said Mr. Manners, with cold malice in
+his tones. "What is the amount you require?"
+
+"Ten pounds, sir," replied Mr. Loveday, animated by a sudden and
+unexpected hope.
+
+Mr. Manners touched a bell on his table. A servant appeared.
+
+"Show this person to the door," he said.
+
+"Is that your answer, sir?" asked Mr. Loveday, sadly.
+
+"Show this person to the door," repeated Mr. Manners to the servant.
+
+"I implore you," said Mr. Loveday, strongly agitated. "When I tell you
+that you have a grandchild but a few weeks old; that the poor lady,
+your son's wife, is in a delicate state of health--"
+
+"Did you hear what I ordered?" said Mr. Manners to the servant, and
+repeated again: "Show this person to the door."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+From that day commenced for Nansie and her uncle the hard and bitter
+battle of life. All that had gone before was light in comparison.
+Without money, without friends in a position to give them practical
+assistance, they had to depend upon themselves for the barest
+necessities. Confident and hopeful as he was, Mr. Loveday found it
+impossible to raise a new business out of the ashes of the fire which
+had ruined him.
+
+"I must begin again," he said.
+
+Had any employment offered he would have accepted it, however
+uncongenial it might have been; but nothing came his way. Golden
+apples only fall to those who have already won fortune's favors. To
+those most in need of them they are but visions.
+
+He was not the kind of man to waste his time; besides, he knew how
+precious it was. An idle day now would be inviting even harder
+punishment in the future. As the mountain would not come to Mahomet,
+Mahomet went to the mountain--that is, to a newspaper office, where he
+laid out a shilling or two in fourth and fifth editions, and bravely
+hawked his wares in the most likely thoroughfares. The day's labor
+over, he found himself the richer by nineteen pence.
+
+"Come now," he said to Nansie, gayly, "that is not so bad. In a little
+while we shall grow rich."
+
+His thought was, not that nineteen pence a day would make them rich,
+but would keep the wolf from the door. Strange that in this the most
+civilized of countries we should snatch a phrase pregnant with terror
+from savage times and savage lands.
+
+"The great difficulty," he said, "is my voice. Young rascals beat me
+with their lungs. They ring out the news; I can but quaver out the
+tempting morsels of murders and suicides. How I envy the youngsters!
+Still I shall manage, I shall manage."
+
+Both he and Nansie had secret thoughts which they kept from each
+other.
+
+"Three mouths to feed," thought Nansie. "It would be easier for him
+had he but his own."
+
+"She must not think she is a burden to me," thought Mr. Loveday, "or I
+shall lose her."
+
+He would have suffered anything to prevent a separation. Strong human
+links grew out of her helplessness; he was Nansie's protector, and it
+made him glad. In those early days of the new struggle she could do
+nothing to help the home, which consisted of two very small rooms at
+the top of a working-man's house. The fright of the fire had weakened
+her, and weeks passed before she was strong enough to put her shoulder
+to the wheel. Her uncle did not tell her of his visit to Kingsley's
+father; silence was the truest mercy. And it happened that within a
+very short time doubts of Kingsley's faithfulness and honesty rose in
+his mind. The cause of this lay in the fact that from the day of the
+fire no letter from Kingsley reached them. It made him indignant to
+note Nansie's sufferings as day after day passed without news.
+
+"Do you think the letters have miscarried?" she asked.
+
+"Letters don't miscarry," replied Mr. Loveday.
+
+She looked at him apprehensively; his voice, if not his words,
+conveyed an accusation against the absent one.
+
+"You believe he has not written," she said.
+
+"I am sure he has not written," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Then something must have happened to him," she cried. "He is ill and
+penniless, and I cannot help him!"
+
+"If I had but a magic ring," thought Mr. Loveday, but he said no word
+aloud.
+
+He reasoned the matter out with himself. On one side an innocent,
+unworldly, trustful woman of the people; on the other, the son of a
+man of fabulous wealth awakened from his dream. For this summer-lover,
+here was a life of poverty and struggle; there, a life of luxury and
+ease. To judge by human laws, or, rather, by the laws which governed
+the class to which Kingsley Manners belonged, which path would the
+young man choose? "It is more than likely," thought Mr. Loveday, "that
+the scoundrel has made his peace with his father, and has resolved to
+cast her off. But he is her husband"-- His contemplations were
+suddenly arrested. Words uttered by Kingsley's father recurred to him.
+"I speak of it as a marriage, although I have my reasons for doubting
+whether it could have been legally entered into." What if there was
+some foundation for these words? What if they were true? He did not
+dare to speak to Nansie of this. She would have regarded it as base
+and disloyal, and the almost certain result would have been to part
+them forever. So he held his peace out of fear for himself, out of
+pity for her.
+
+Thus three months passed. Nansie had regained her physical strength,
+but her heart was charged with woe.
+
+"I cannot bear this suspense any longer," she said to her uncle. "I
+will go to Kingsley's father, and ask him if he has received any news
+of my husband."
+
+Mr. Loveday did not attempt to dissuade her; he thought that good
+might come of the visit, if only in the opening of Nansie's eyes to
+Kingsley's perfidy, of which by this time he was fully convinced. He
+did not offer to accompany her, knowing that it would lessen the
+chances of Mr. Manners's seeing her.
+
+She went early in the morning, and sent up her name to the great
+contractor, and received his reply that he would not receive her.
+She lingered a moment or two, and cast an imploring glance at the
+man-servant as though it were in his power to reverse the fiat, but
+the man looked impassively first at her, then at the door, and she
+left the house.
+
+What a grand, stately house it was! It almost made her giddy to look
+to the top. She stood on the other side of the road, watching the door
+through which she had just passed; her mind was made up to wait, and
+at all risks to accost Mr. Manners when he came out. She had never
+seen him, but she was sure she would know him when he appeared.
+Kingsley had shown her the portrait of his father, and the likeness
+between them would render mistake impossible. She wondered whether it
+would have assisted her to bring her baby girl, and wondered, too, how
+a man so rich and powerful as Mr. Manners could have the heart to
+behave so harshly to his only child. She had gone no farther than the
+entrance hall of the stately mansion, but the evidences of wealth
+which met her eyes had impressed her more deeply than ever with the
+sacrifice Kingsley had made for her sake. A sense of wrong-doing came
+to her. She should not have accepted the sacrifice. She should have
+thought of the future, and should not have allowed herself to be led
+away by the impetuous passion of her lover. Even the duty she owed to
+her dear father had been neglected, and she had taken the most solemn
+step in life without consulting him. It was too late to turn back now,
+but could she not atone for the wrong she had done? If she said to
+Kingsley: "Dear husband, let us part; return to your father's home, to
+your father's heart, and I will never trouble you more;" would he
+accept the atonement? Would he, would he? A chill fell upon her heart,
+like the touch of an icy hand, but the sweet remembrances of the past,
+of the vows they had exchanged, of the undying love they had pledged
+to each other, brought gleams of sunshine to her. Kingsley had thrown
+in his lot with her for weal and woe. She would work, she would slave
+for him, and he should never hear one word of complaining from her
+lips. If only they were together again! They could be happy on a very
+little; she would make him happy; she would be bright and cheerful
+always, and he would draw gladness from her. Their baby was at home,
+waiting for a father's kisses, for a father's love. If he needed a
+stronger incentive to be true and faithful, he would find it in his
+child. Upon the mere suggestion of this possibility she stood up in
+defence of him. No stronger incentive was needed than the ties which
+already bound them together. But where was he? What was the reason of
+his long and heart-breaking silence?
+
+She walked slowly up and down for an hour and more, never losing sight
+of the door of the rich man's house. She was determined not to go away
+without seeing him, if she had to remain the whole of the day. It was
+a weary, anxious time, and it was fortunate for her that she had not
+much longer to wait. The door opened, and Mr. Manners came forth.
+
+How like he was to Kingsley!--only that his face was harder, and that
+all that was gentle and tender in Kingsley's face was depicted in his
+father's in hard, stern lines. But the likeness was unmistakable. He
+stopped as she glided swiftly to his side and timidly touched his
+sleeve.
+
+"Well?"
+
+His voice was as hard and stern as his face, and if she had not nerved
+herself to her task the opportunity would have been lost.
+
+"You would not see me when I called at your house, sir, and I took the
+liberty of waiting for you here."
+
+He did not ask who she was, and he showed no sign that he was touched
+by her gentle, pleading manner.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"I came, sir, to ask if you had any news of"--she stopped short at the
+name of Kingsley; he might have resented it as a familiarity--"of your
+son."
+
+"Why come to me?"
+
+"I do not know, sir," said Nansie, humbly, "whether I dreaded or hoped
+that you might relieve me of the trouble which is oppressing me; but
+you may have heard from him lately."
+
+"I have not heard from him."
+
+"Do you know nothing of him, sir?"
+
+"Nothing; nor do I wish to know. When he left my house he was aware
+that the step he took put an end to all relations between us. I am not
+a man to be turned from my purpose. He chose his course deliberately,
+and set me at defiance."
+
+"No, sir, no!" cried Nansie. "He had no thought of that."
+
+"Words do not alter facts. He owed me a plain duty, and he ignored it
+for a stranger. The lures you used to entangle and ruin him have
+proved effectual. You led him on to his destruction, and you are
+reaping what you have sown. Finish your errand."
+
+"It is finished, sir," said Nansie, turning mournfully away. "I cannot
+doubt that you have spoken truly, and that you have not heard from my
+husband. The last time he wrote to me he was in sore distress, without
+means to return home. I was in hopes that I should be able to send him
+a little money, but my hope was destroyed by a calamity which beggared
+the only friend I have."
+
+"I have heard something in the same strain. You sent this only friend
+to me."
+
+"No, sir, I did not. Do you mean my uncle?"
+
+"I mean him. He came to me, as you know, and asked me for a sum of
+money to send abroad to my son."
+
+"Indeed, indeed, sir, I did not know it."
+
+"Which, doubtless," continued Mr. Manners, ignoring the contradiction,
+"he would have pocketed, with the satisfactory thought that he had got
+something out of me."
+
+"You do my uncle great injustice, sir. He is noble and generous, and I
+honor him with my whole heart."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Manners, and there was a deeper sternness in his
+voice, "it is among the class to which you and he belong, and into
+which you have dragged my son, that honor and nobility are to be
+found. I have had experience of it. Once more, finish your errand."
+
+"I have nothing more to say, sir. I fear to anger you."
+
+"Your real purpose in seeking me was to beg for money."
+
+"Indeed not, sir. I had no such purpose."
+
+"And would not accept it if I offered it?"
+
+"I cannot with truth say that, sir. We are so poor that the pride I
+once had is broken. Pardon me if I say that I think you have no
+intention of offering it."
+
+"I have none."
+
+She bowed, and crossed to the opposite side of the road; but before
+she had gone a dozen yards she heard his voice accosting her.
+
+"It is in my mind to say something to you."
+
+She turned to him with a sudden hope. Had he relented? Had her
+distress softened his heart towards her? A glance at his face
+dispelled the hope. There was in it no sign of pity.
+
+"Accompany me to my house," he said.
+
+Bewildered and surprised she walked by his side in silence, and they
+entered the mansion together.
+
+"You would probably like," said Mr. Manners, "to have some better
+knowledge than you at present possess of the position which, by his
+disobedience and unfilial conduct, my son has forfeited."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+He conducted her through some of the principal apartments, which had
+been furnished and decorated in a princely style. The pictures, the
+sculptures, the _bric-à-brac_ were of the choicest character. Her feet
+sank in the thick, soft carpets, and her heart fainted within her as
+she followed Mr. Manners through the sumptuously appointed rooms. He
+paused before one, and, throwing open the door,
+
+"You may enter; it was my son's bedroom."
+
+"She obeyed him, a rush of tears almost blinding her; Mr. Manners
+remained outside. She saw, not a bedroom, but a suite of rooms
+luxuriously furnished; a library of costly books; rare old engravings
+on the walls; a bath-room fitted up with all the newest appliances;
+everything that money could purchase to make a man's life pleasant and
+devoid of care. She remained there but a short time; the contrast
+between these rooms and the miserable attics which she and her uncle
+occupied, and to which she hoped to welcome Kingsley, appalled her.
+When she rejoined Mr. Manners in the passage he led her down-stairs
+and ushered her into his study.
+
+"You may sit down," he said.
+
+She was tired, wretched, and dispirited, and she accepted the
+ungracious invitation.
+
+"I am not in the habit of boasting of my wealth," he said; "what you
+have seen affords proof of it. And all that you have seen, with means
+sufficient to keep it up ten times over, would have been my son's had
+you not marred his career. I will not do you an injustice; you have
+surprised me; I thought that my son had taken up with a common, vulgar
+woman; I find myself mistaken."
+
+Again animated by hope, she looked up; again her hope was destroyed by
+the stern face she gazed upon.
+
+"It is because I see that you are superior to what I anticipated that
+I am speaking to you now. Doubtless my son has informed you that, by
+my own unaided exertions, I have raised myself to what I am." She
+bowed her head. "The pleasure of success was great, and was precious
+to me, not so much for wealth itself, but for a future I had mapped
+out, in which my son was to play the principal part. With him absent,
+with him parted from me, this future vanishes, and I am left with the
+dead fruits of a life of successful labor. Who is to blame for this?"
+
+She held up her hands appealingly, but he took no notice of the
+action.
+
+"You are therefore my enemy, and not only my enemy, but my son's. With
+my assistance, with my wealth and position to help him, he would have
+risen to be a power in the land. You have destroyed a great future;
+you have deprived him of fame and distinction; but there is a remedy,
+and it is to propose this remedy to you that I invited you into my
+house. Your speech is that of an educated person, and you must be well
+able to judge between right and wrong. What your real character is I
+may learn before we part to-day. I will assume, for instance, that you
+are nothing but an adventuress, a schemer--do not interrupt me; the
+illustration is necessary to what I have to say. You may be nothing of
+the kind, but I assume the possibility to give force to a statement I
+shall make without any chance of a misunderstanding. It is this.
+Assuming that you played upon my son's feelings because of my being a
+rich man, in the expectation that, if not at once, in a little while I
+should open my purse to you, it will be well for you to know that
+there is not the remotest possibility of such an expectation being
+realized. Do you understand?"
+
+She did not reply in words; the fear that she might further anger him
+kept her silent; she made a motion which he interpreted into assent,
+and accepting it so, continued:
+
+"Assuming, on the other hand, that you did not weigh the consequences
+of your conduct, and that you had some sort of a liking for my son--"
+
+"I truly loved him, sir," she could not refrain from saying.
+
+"It shall be put to the proof. If you love him truly you will be
+willing to make a sacrifice for him."
+
+"To make him happy," she said, in a low tone, "to bring about a
+reconciliation between you, I would sacrifice my life."
+
+"But it is not yours to sacrifice. Something less will do. On one
+condition, and on one condition only, will I receive and forgive my
+son."
+
+And then he paused; it was not that the anguish expressed in her face
+turned him from his purpose, but that he wished her to be quite calm
+to consider his proposition.
+
+"I am listening, sir."
+
+"The condition is that you shall take a step which shall separate you
+from my son forever."
+
+"What step, sir?"
+
+"There are other lands, far away, in which, under another name, you
+can live with your uncle. You shall have ample means; you shall have
+wealth secured to you as long as you observe the conditions; you shall
+not be interfered with in any way; you will be able to live a life of
+ease and comfort--"
+
+He did not proceed. There was that in her face which arrested his flow
+of language.
+
+"Is Kingsley to be consulted in this, sir?"
+
+"To be consulted? Certainly not. He is not to know it."
+
+"Shall I be at liberty to write and tell him that it is for his good I
+am leaving him?"
+
+"You will not be at liberty to communicate with him in any way,
+directly or indirectly."
+
+"He is, then, to suppose that I have deserted him?"
+
+"He is to suppose what he pleases. That will not be your affair."
+
+Indignation gave Nansie courage. "Is it to be yours, sir?"
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Manners, frowning.
+
+"That you will have the power to invent some story to my discredit,
+and that your son shall be made to believe I am not worthy of him.
+That is my meaning, sir."
+
+"Do you think you are serving him or yourself by the tone you are
+adopting?" asked Mr. Manners, rising from his chair.
+
+It was an indication to Nansie, and she obeyed it, and stood before
+him.
+
+"I have not thought of that, sir; I am thinking only of what is right.
+Forgive me for having intruded myself upon you, and allow me to leave
+you. If your son is living--sometimes, in my despair, I fear the
+worst, he has been so long absent--and returns home, perhaps you will
+inform him of the proposition you have made to me, and of the manner
+in which I received it."
+
+"That is a threat that you will do so."
+
+"No, sir, it is not; he will hear nothing from me. Heaven forbid that
+by any future act of mine I should help to widen the breach between
+you? Good-morning, sir."
+
+She did not make her uncle acquainted with what had passed between Mr.
+Manners and herself; she simply said that Mr. Manners had refused to
+see her, that she had waited for him in the street, and that she had
+learned from him that he had not heard from Kingsley.
+
+"Did he speak kindly to you?" asked Mr. Loveday.
+
+"No; he is bitterly incensed against me, and looks upon me with
+aversion. If I had ever a hope that he would relent towards us it is
+gone now forever. Uncle, is it my fancy that you are looking strangely
+at me?"
+
+"Your fancy, my dear," replied Mr. Loveday, with a smile which he
+endeavored to make cheerful. "Why should I look strangely at you? Your
+interview with Mr. Manners has unnerved you."
+
+"Yes," said Nansie, "it must be so. When Kingsley returns he must not
+know of my visit to his father. It will make him angry and
+uncomfortable."
+
+"I shall not tell him, my dear," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+When Kingsley returns! Nansie suppressed a sigh as she uttered the
+words; but the unspoken thought was in her mind: "Would he ever
+return?" She flew to her baby as to a refuge and a sanctuary, but her
+heart was very heavy.
+
+It was not her fancy that her uncle had looked strangely at her, and
+he had not behaved ingenuously in his reply to her question. He had
+deep cause for uneasiness, and his duty seemed to lie, for the
+present, in the effort to keep her in ignorance of ominous news which
+had come to his knowledge during her visit to Kingsley's father.
+
+On the previous day, in the last edition of the papers he sold in the
+streets, he noticed a paragraph to which he had paid no particular
+attention. It was simply the record of an accident on a German
+railway, in which ten persons had been killed and considerably more
+than that number seriously hurt. No particulars were given, and no
+names were mentioned. In the first edition of this day's evening
+papers Mr. Loveday read the following:
+
+"Further particulars have reached us of the railway accident in
+Germany, but its precise cause still remains unexplained. It appears
+that the train was conveying nearly two hundred travellers, of whom
+ten met their death, as was stated yesterday, and twenty-three were
+seriously injured. Among the dead was a gentleman of the name of
+Seymour, who was accompanied by Mr. Manners, who is supposed to have
+been travelling with Mr. Seymour as a kind of companion or secretary.
+These two are the only English names in the list given of killed and
+wounded. Mr. Manners is one of those who were seriously injured; he
+lies now in a precarious state, which precludes the possibility of any
+information being obtained from him which would enable the authorities
+to communicate with his relatives or the relatives of Mr. Seymour. As
+to the latter, however, some important discoveries have already been
+made, through documents found upon his person. Reticence has been
+observed in making these particulars public, but sufficient is known
+to warrant the statement that, despite the English name under which he
+travelled, he is by nationality a Russian, and that he occupied a
+position of responsibility in a certain secret revolutionary society
+whose aim it is to spread discontent and disaffection among the
+working classes on the Continent."
+
+It was this paragraph which caused Mr. Loveday so much anxiety. There
+could be no mistake that the Mr. Manners referred to was Nansie's
+husband; the association of his name with that of Mr. Seymour rendered
+this a certainty, and it appeared to Mr. Loveday that the personal
+injuries he had met with in the railway accident were not the only
+dangers which threatened him. Mr. Loveday could not immediately make
+up his mind whether it would be wise to acquaint Nansie with what had
+come to his knowledge. It was very unlikely that she would otherwise
+hear of it, for the reason that she never read the newspapers; in the
+neighborhood in which they lived an accident so remote would pass
+unnoticed, and thus it would not be difficult to keep her in ignorance
+of her husband's peril. Kingsley's father could not have known
+anything of this when he and Nansie were together or he would
+undoubtedly have made some reference to it.
+
+What was best to be done? That was the question which was perplexing
+Mr. Loveday. To take any practical step was out of his power, because
+that would entail the expenditure of money which he did not possess.
+He and Nansie were living now literally from hand to mouth; the day's
+earnings sufficed for bare daily food; they had not a shilling to
+spare from the inexorable necessities of existence. To make another
+appeal to Mr. Manners would be worse than useless; it would bring
+fresh insults and revilings upon them from the stern millionaire,
+whose heart was steeled against the calls of common humanity. Thus did
+he argue with himself as to the good that would be done by making the
+disclosure to Nansie; it would but intensify the sorrow caused by
+Kingsley's silence into a torture which would be unendurable. If any
+useful end could have been served by letting Nansie into the secret of
+her husband's peril Mr. Loveday would not have hesitated to inform her
+of it; but, so far as he could see, the distress of mind occasioned by
+the revelation would add misery to misery; and, after some long
+consideration of the matter, he determined to keep the matter to
+himself, at least for the present. Meanwhile he watched the papers for
+further information of the railway accident, but for some time saw no
+reference to it. One day, however, the following paragraph arrested
+his attention:
+
+"With respect to Mr. Seymour who met his death in the railway accident
+in Germany, the particulars of which have been fully reported in our
+columns, it is now certain that he was by birth a Russian, and that he
+was for a number of years intimately connected with conspiracies
+against law and order. The documents found upon his person were of
+such a character, and were so drawn out, as to destroy the hope that
+was entertained that they would lead to the detection of the members
+of the secret societies with which he was associated. Great pains have
+evidently been taken--probably from day to day--to do away with all
+documentary evidence that would incriminate others, and this is an
+indirect proof of the dangerous nature of the conspiracies in which he
+was engaged. With respect to the Mr. Manners who met with serious
+injuries, nothing to directly implicate him has come to light. The
+strongest point against him is the fact of his having travelled for
+many months with Mr. Seymour on apparently confidential relations.
+Papers found in his possession lead to the conclusion that he is the
+son of the great contractor, Mr. Valentine Manners, whose name is
+known all the world over."
+
+In the following day's paper Mr. Loveday read a letter to the
+following effect:
+
+
+"Sir,--It is necessary for me to state that I have not been in any way
+acquainted with the late movements and proceedings of my son, Mr.
+Kingsley Manners, who is reported to have met with serious injuries in
+a railway accident in Germany, nor have I any knowledge of the Mr.
+Seymour with whom he is said to have travelled as companion.
+
+              "Faithfully yours,        Valentine Manners."
+
+
+That was all. Although Mr. Loveday carefully searched the papers day
+after day, he saw no further reference to the matter; it dropped out
+of sight, as it were, and the faint interest it had excited in the
+public mind appeared to have died completely away. The hard battle of
+life continued sadly and monotonously, without the occurrence of one
+cheering incident to lighten the days; and as time wore on Nansie
+ceased to speak to her uncle of the beloved husband who was either
+dead or had forgotten her. In her sad musings upon the question of
+death or forgetfulness she did not bring the matter to an issue. Had
+she been compelled to do so, she would have stabbed herself with the
+torture that Kingsley was dead; for that he could have forgotten her,
+and that he could be systematically neglecting her, was in her
+faithful, chivalrous heart impossible. All that she could do was to
+wait, although hope was almost dead within her.
+
+At an unexpected moment, however, the question was solved.
+
+It was evening. Mr. Loveday had not returned from his daily labors,
+and Nansie had put her baby asleep in her cradle, and had gone out to
+execute some small household duties. She hurried through them as
+quickly as possible, and, returning home, had almost reached the
+street door of the house in which she lived, when a voice at her back
+said,
+
+"It _is_ Nansie!"
+
+The pulses of her heart seemed to stop. It was her husband's voice,
+and so overcome was she by this sudden ray of sunshine that, when she
+turned, she could scarcely see before her. Again the voice came to her
+ears; the gay, light, happy voice of old, which expressed only joy and
+sweetness, and in which there was no note of sadness or sorrow.
+
+"Why, Nansie--it _is_ Nansie! I was born under a lucky star."
+
+And still, without seeing the speaker, she felt herself drawn to the
+heart of the one man in the world she loved--of the dear husband and
+the father of the babe sleeping peacefully at home.
+
+"Oh, Kingsley! Is it you, is it you?"
+
+"Of course it is, Nansie. Who else should it be? But it is very
+perplexing and puzzling; I don't quite see my way out of it. Tell me,
+Nansie--you expected me, did you not?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley, yes--for so long, for so long!"
+
+"No, no, not for so long. Why, it can have been but a few days since I
+went away! Let me see--how was it? We had to look things in the face,
+and we did, and we agreed that something must be done, and then--and
+then--upon my word, Nansie, I think I am growing worse than ever; I
+not only fly off at a tangent, but I seem to be afflicted by an imp of
+forgetfulness. What does it matter, though? I have found you, and we
+are together again."
+
+During this speech Nansie's eyes were fixed upon his face in tender
+love and thoughtfulness. His words were so at variance with the true
+nature of her position and his that she would have been unable to
+understand them if love had not brought wisdom to her. There was in
+Kingsley's eyes the same whimsical expression as of old, there was in
+his manner the same light-heartedness which had enabled him to look
+upon the future without anxiety, the tones of his voice were clear and
+gay, but he bore about him an unmistakable air of poverty. His clothes
+were worn threadbare, his hands were attenuated and almost
+transparent, and the lines of his face denoted that he had passed
+through some great suffering. He evinced no personal consciousness of
+these signs, and seemed to be at peace and in harmony with himself and
+all around him.
+
+"Are you well, Kingsley?" asked Nansie, solicitously.
+
+"Well, my love? Never was better in my life, and now that I have found
+you, there is nothing more to wish for. And yet--and yet--"
+
+He passed his hand across his forehead, and looked at her in a kind of
+humorous doubt.
+
+"Do you observe anything singular in me, my love?"
+
+It would have been cruel to have answered him with the direct truth.
+It was from the deep well of pity with which her heart was filled that
+she drew forth the words,
+
+"No, Kingsley, no."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"I am glad to hear you say so, Nansie. I am the same as ever, eh?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley, the same as ever; but we will not part again."
+
+"No, indeed! I don't intend that we shall--because, although we
+have been separated but a short time, my head has got full of fancies
+about this and that--foreign countries--outlandish places--strange
+people--rapid journeys--accidents even, but dreams, all of them,
+Nansie. They must be dreams, or I could fix them with greater
+certainty. Now, you know my old way, my dear; when anything was
+troubling me I used to say, 'What is the use? It won't make things
+better.' There is only one wise way to look upon life--make light of
+things. You remember a favorite saying of mine--it was from a song, I
+think, was it not? 'Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you.'
+And that is the way we will go through life together, eh, my love?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley," said Nansie, and would have said more, but for a
+sudden trembling that came over him, which caused him to cling to her
+for support.
+
+"What is the matter, Kingsley?"
+
+"To tell you the truth, my dear," he replied, with a wan, whimsical
+smile, "you would hardly believe it, but I think I am hungry!"
+
+"Hungry! Oh, Kingsley!"
+
+"Well, yes; such a careless, neglectful fellow as you have got for a
+husband, Nansie, never thinking of things at the right moment, never
+taking into account that it is necessary to eat even, until it is
+forced upon him that he must eat to live. And talking of eating to
+live--is there anything in the larder, Nansie?"
+
+He had rallied a little, and spoke with greater firmness.
+
+"Yes, Kingsley, plenty; come--come. Ah, my dear, my dear, with all my
+heart I thank God that you are with me again!"
+
+"Dear wife," he murmured, and allowed himself to be led by her into
+the house, and up the dark stairs to the rooms she occupied.
+
+But outside the door, on the landing, she whispered to him,
+
+"Kingsley!"
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"There is a great happiness within. Be prepared for it."
+
+"There is a great happiness here"--with his arms around her. "I am
+really and truly thankful."
+
+"But a greater within, Kingsley, my husband. Listen--our darling child
+sleeps there."
+
+"Our darling child, our little one! Surely I have seen her in my
+dreams, in which I have seen so many strange things. Ah, how I have
+dreamed of you, Nansie, even during this short absence! But let us go
+in, or I shall be reproached for forgetfulness."
+
+They entered the room together, they leaned over the cradle, they
+knelt by its side, and Kingsley, lowering his face to the pretty babe
+sleeping there, kissed her softly and tenderly.
+
+"She is very sweet, Nansie, like you. I am sure her eyes are the color
+of yours."
+
+"No, darling, she has your eyes."
+
+"And your heart, Nansie. Happy little one, happy little one! We will
+make her happy, will we not, dear?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley."
+
+"But, my dear, pardon me for saying so, I am really and truly hungry.
+Even a piece of dry bread would be acceptable."
+
+She kept back her tears, and quickly placed bread upon the table,
+which he ate ravenously at first, smiling at her gratefully the while.
+Very soon she had prepared some hot tea, which he drank, and begged
+her to drink a cup with him. His hunger being appeased, he lay back in
+his chair, his eyes wandering round the room.
+
+"What is our dear little one's name?" he asked; "I have forgotten it."
+
+"No, dear," said Nansie, "you have not forgotten it, because she has
+not one yet; we call her 'baby,' you know."
+
+"Yes, yes," he said, "'baby,' of course, the best, the sweetest that
+ever drew breath; but she must have a name, Nansie; she cannot go
+through life as 'baby.' Say that when she is a happy woman she
+marries, it would not do for her to be called 'baby' then."
+
+"We waited for you, Kingsley, to give her a name."
+
+"Well, then, what shall it be? But that it would introduce confusion
+into our little home, no better name than 'Nansie' could be found.
+That would not do, would it?"
+
+"No, Kingsley. Shall we give her your mother's name?"
+
+"My mother's? No, there must be none but good omens around her. _Your_
+mother's, Nansie. I remember you told me it was Hester."
+
+Then he called aloud, but in a gentle voice, "Hester!"
+
+"She is awake, Kingsley," said Nansie, lifting the baby from the
+cradle and putting her into his arms.'
+
+"This is a great joy to me," he said; "I really think she knows me; we
+shall be the best of friends. There is so much that is good in the
+world to show her--to teach her. Now, you and I together, love, will
+resolve to do our duty by her, and to do all that is in our power to
+make her happy."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+An hour later, when Mr. Loveday returned home, Nansie, who had been
+listening for his footsteps, went out to meet him. Even in the dark
+he, with love's keen sight, observed that something of a pleasant
+nature had occurred.
+
+"Good news, Nansie?"
+
+"Speak low, uncle. Yes, good news. He has come home."
+
+"Kingsley?"
+
+"Yes, uncle. He is asleep with the baby by his side. He is very, very
+tired."
+
+"How did it happen? How did he find you out?"
+
+"It must have been almost by chance. I was out making some little
+purchases, when I suddenly heard a voice behind me saying, quite
+naturally, 'It is Nansie!' Turning, I saw him, not clearly at first,
+because I was almost blind with joy. You must be very gentle with him,
+uncle."
+
+"I will, my dear; but there is something in your voice--gentle for any
+especial reason?"
+
+"Yes, for a special reason, which you will more fully discover for
+yourself. I am glad that I have seen you before he meets you; it will
+be better that you should be prepared."
+
+"Prepared for what, my dear?"
+
+"Kingsley is laboring under an impression that he has been away from
+us but a very short time. What we know to be real he believes to be
+fancies. He has made no reference to his travels abroad with Mr.
+Seymour, nor to the railway accident in which he was injured. He
+speaks of dreams, and even then not clearly. It is difficult for me to
+make myself understood--"
+
+"Not at all, Nansie; I think I understand. The accident he met with
+has affected his memory; but it is good that he is with us now. We can
+take care of him, we can nurse him back to strength and health."
+
+"How kind you are, uncle! Never thinking of yourself!"
+
+"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense! It is entirely of myself that I am
+thinking, for I would not lose you and your dear ones for all the
+money the world contains. That is putting a small value upon money,
+though. I wish we had a little."
+
+In his mind was the thought, "We need it all the more now," but he did
+not give the thought utterance.
+
+"Is he low-spirited, despondent, Nansie?"
+
+"No, uncle, quite the contrary. He is as light-hearted and gay as
+ever, and speaks in the same sweet, hopeful strains of the future, his
+anticipations of which led him into the error of--"
+
+She stopped short; she did not complete the sentence. Her uncle
+completed it for her.
+
+"Of marrying you, my dear. Do not regret it; accept it as a blessing,
+as it really is. Short-sighted mortals as we are to so constantly
+forget that life is short, and that its sweetest happiness is to be
+found in self-sacrifice--even, Nansie, in suffering!"
+
+They entered the room together, and found Kingsley awake. He rose when
+his eyes lighted upon Mr. Loveday, and, with a bright smile, said:
+
+"Nansie's uncle?"
+
+"Yes, Kingsley," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+And Nansie raised her uncle's hand to her lips, and kissed it in
+grateful recognition of the affectionate greeting.
+
+"Now," said Kingsley, to whom strength seemed to have really returned;
+he held out his hand, and retained Mr. Loveday's in his as he
+spoke--"now what could be pleasanter, what could be brighter and more
+full of promise? Here, for the first time, we meet, and I recognize in
+you a friend. Believe me, sir, when I say a friend, it is said once
+and forever; it is _meant_ once and forever. I am no butterfly, eh,
+Nansie?"
+
+"No, dear Kingsley," she replied, pressing close to him.
+
+He passed his arm round her.
+
+"No butterfly," continued Kingsley, "except in the way of conversation,
+but that you will find out for yourself. I fly from one theme to
+another in the most inconsequential manner. A bad habit, sir, if it
+really meant anything serious, but it does not, and I have here by my
+side a spiritual support"--he kissed Nansie--"which never fails to
+recall me to the straight line at the precise and proper moment--as it
+does now; for looking at her, I am reminded of all we owe to you. Let
+me thank you in our joint names. I will not say that I hope to live to
+repay the debt, because there are some debts which it is good never to
+repay, and this is one. It is sometimes most ungracious to
+deliberately cancel an obligation."
+
+"The debt is on my side, Kingsley," said Mr. Loveday, greatly won by
+the returned wanderer's speech and manner. "Nansie has brightened my
+life."
+
+"She could do no less," said Kingsley, in a tone of grave and tender
+affection, "to the life of any person who has the happiness to know
+her."
+
+Upon the invitation of Mr. Loveday, who knew, now that Kingsley had
+joined them, that certain changes were necessary in their domestic
+arrangements, and that Nansie could more readily effect them if she
+were left alone, the two men went out for a stroll. They returned
+after an absence of a couple of hours, and Kingsley presented Nansie
+with a few simple flowers, saying as he did so: "Our honeymoon is not
+yet over, my love."
+
+Presently Kingsley, who, it was apparent, needed repose, was induced
+to retire to his bed. No sooner had he laid his head upon the pillow
+than he was fast asleep. Nansie and her uncle sat together in the
+adjoining room, and conversed in low tones.
+
+"It is as you say," observed Mr. Loveday, "he appears to have no
+memory--that is, no absolute, dependable memory--of what has
+transpired from the time he left you. I have not directly questioned
+him, feeling that it might not lead to a good result, and that he is
+not yet strong enough to bear even a slight shock; but indirectly I
+threw out a veiled suggestion or two, and his responses have convinced
+me of his condition. He has a vague impression of a railway accident
+in which some person whom he knew was killed, and some person whom he
+knew was injured, but he does not associate either the one or the
+other directly with himself. You will not mind my mentioning
+something, my dear, because in our position there must be between us
+no concealment. Kingsley has no money, not a penny."
+
+"It is as I expected, uncle; but how did you discover it? Did he say
+so?"
+
+"No, my dear, it came when he paused before a woman who was selling
+flowers. He put his hands into his pockets, and was, I think, more
+perplexed than distressed. 'Now this is too bad,' he remarked, and I,
+divining, paid the woman for the flowers he selected. It is wonderful
+to me how, circumstanced as he is, he managed to make his way home."
+
+"Providence directed him, and protected him," said Nansie, devoutly,
+"and will surely smooth the path before us."
+
+"With all my heart I hope so," responded Mr. Loveday; "meanwhile,
+until the better fortune smiles upon us, we must work all the harder,
+and bring our best courage to bear upon the present."
+
+Their conversation was interrupted by a gentle tapping at the door,
+and, opening it, they saw Timothy Chance, who had a covered basket on
+his arm which he laid upon the floor, and then respectfully greeted
+Mr. Loveday and Nansie, who, however, would not be content with this,
+but shook hands heartily with him.
+
+A word of explanation as to Timothy's movements will here be useful.
+
+They had not seen him since within a fortnight of the fire which had
+plunged them so low. When he was convinced that there was no present
+hope of Mr. Loveday being able to re-establish his business, he had
+looked out for a situation in the immediate neighborhood, in order
+that he might be near the friends to whom he was so devotedly
+attached. But his efforts were not successful; no situation presented
+itself which he could accept, and as he was driven by necessity, which
+knows no law, he was compelled to avail himself of an engagement in
+the country some fifteen miles away, which offered itself in the nick
+of time. What eventually transpired will be best related in his own
+words.
+
+"You thought I'd forgotten you, sir," he said to Mr. Loveday.
+
+"No, my lad, I did not think that. My thought was that you had not
+been fortunate, and that you kept away out of consideration for us."
+
+"Thank you, sir. You have a happy way of saying things. True, too,
+because I was not very fortunate at first; but there has been a turn
+in the wheel."
+
+"A good turn, Timothy, I hope?"
+
+"It will prove so, sir, if I have a head upon my shoulders; always
+trusting that there are no more fires."
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Loveday, "we have had enough of those experiences."
+
+"Yes, that we have, sir," responded Timothy, gravely; "but what I say
+is, 'Never despair.' I have not neglected my studies, sir, and I can
+give you the Latin words if you like--'_Nil desperandum_.'"
+
+Timothy said this proudly, and with a bright eye.
+
+"Good lad," said Mr. Loveday. "It is not in you to despair, Timothy.
+You are the stuff that men are made of, and will run ahead of all of
+us."
+
+"Never so far ahead, sir," said Timothy, wistfully, "that I shall lose
+sight of the best friends a poor boy ever had; but that sounds like
+boastfulness."
+
+"Not at all, Timothy, not at all. You speak with as much modesty as
+resolution. This turn in the wheel, my lad--what kind of a turn?"
+
+"I think, sir," said Timothy, with a gay laugh, "that you could guess
+in once."
+
+Mr. Loveday glanced at the basket on the floor, and made a guess in
+merry mood, for Timothy's blithe spirits were contagious.
+
+"Eggs, Timothy?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Timothy, laughing again; "you have guessed it in
+once--eggs. But before I tell you about it"--he turned to Nansie--"how
+is baby?"
+
+"Thriving beautifully, Timothy," replied Nansie.
+
+"May I see her?" he asked.
+
+"Wait a moment," said Nansie, and she went to the inner room, where
+baby was lying in her cradle. Returning, she said: "Yes, you may see
+her; but you must be very quiet. Do not make the least noise, and
+don't be surprised at what you see. My dear husband is home."
+
+A bright light came into Timothy's face.
+
+"I am glad," he said, "for your sake and baby's."
+
+He stepped softly into the bedroom, accompanied by Nansie, and stood
+in silence for a few moments, gazing affectionately at the sleeping
+child.
+
+"May I kiss her?" he said.
+
+"Yes, Timothy, but very, very softly."
+
+With the gentleness of a woman he stooped and kissed the child, and
+then came back with Nansie to the sitting-room, closing the door
+softly behind him.
+
+"Eggs, as you say, sir," he recommenced, taking up the business part
+of the conversation where it had broken off. "You know that I had to
+sell off my little stock of fowls here, so that I might get to the
+situation I heard of. It wasn't a very good one, and it wasn't a very
+bad one; I had to work hard, which is a thing I shall never complain
+of, and although, besides my grub, I got very little a week, I managed
+to save a little out of that. Well, sir, six weeks ago I had two
+laying hens, and there I was established again in a small way, doing
+business for myself outside the hours I had to work for my employer.
+Then came a bit of good-fortune, the turn in the wheel I spoke of. Not
+far from my place lives a blacksmith, and to him I've been going of a
+night for a little while past, teaching him to write a bit, teaching
+him to read a bit, and reading books to him myself that made him laugh
+and cry. He gets fond of me and we get talking together, especially
+about eggs. Says I, 'There's a fortune in eggs.' Says he, 'Is there?'
+Says I, 'No doubt of it.' And three weeks ago--that is, you know,
+three weeks after I had set up in business again with my two fowls--I
+put it all down in figures one night, and we went into it seriously.
+'It seems all right,' says he. 'It is all right,' says I. 'Supposing
+you have not made a mistake,' says he, 'and that you are not being
+deceived by sparks.' He was hammering away on his anvil, and the
+sparks were flying up. 'Supposing that,' says he, 'and they are very
+deceptive creatures--sparks--bright as stars one moment, dead as
+ghosts the next, how much would it take to start the business?'
+'First,' says I, 'there's the ground.' 'I've got that,' says he, 'at
+the back of the forge; an acre and a half.' 'Then,' says I, 'there's
+timber for fowl-houses, say enough for thirty to commence with.' 'I've
+got that,' says he, 'lying idle on the waste ground behind.' 'And
+nails you've got,' says I. You see, sir, I was speaking with
+confidence, and rather boldly, because a voice was whispering to me,
+'Here's your chance, Timothy.' 'And tools to work nails and timber
+with,' says I. 'Labor will cost nothing; I should be carpenter and
+builder.' 'Should you?' says he, 'and I could give you a hand. But an
+acre and a half of ground and any amount of timber and nails won't lay
+eggs. Come to the grip--how much money to bring that about?' 'Ten
+pounds will be ample,' says I. 'I've got that,' says he, 'and more at
+the back of it. Say ten pounds then.' 'Do you mean it?' says I, my
+heart almost jumping out of my body. 'I never say what I don't mean,'
+says he, 'though I don't always say what I do. It is agreed, Timothy,
+that we go into partnership; rent of ground to be reckoned, nails and
+tools to be reckoned, timber to be reckoned, and ten pounds to be
+reckoned, as the capital of the firm. The sooner you start, the
+better.' I think you know enough of me, sir," continued Timothy,
+glowing, "to know that I didn't waste an hour. Waste an hour! I didn't
+waste a minute; and before that week was over the fowl-houses were up,
+not far away from the forge--because warmth, sir, is a good thing for
+laying hens--and there was a stock of thirty black Hamburgs to start
+with. Now, sir and Mrs. Manners, we have been in business just one
+fortnight, and everything is going on swimmingly. My partner says he
+never saw such fowls, and says I deal in magic; but the only thing I
+deal in, sir, is common-sense. So, being fairly started on my way, and
+having something good to tell, I burned to come and tell it to the
+friends I honor most; and now I must go. I have to get back to-night;
+but perhaps you will let me come to see you again."
+
+"Indeed, we shall be delighted to see you at any time, Timothy," said
+Nansie, for he looked at her for an answer. "No one is more rejoiced
+at your good-fortune, and at the prospect before you, than ourselves."
+
+"I know that," said Timothy. "Good-night, and God bless you."
+
+"Your basket, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday.
+
+"Oh, if you will excuse me, sir, it is yours, and not mine. I have
+brought it for you, and I hope you will not take it amiss." And off
+Timothy went, without another word.
+
+Opening the basket when he was gone, they took out a score of new-laid
+eggs and a young fowl trussed for roasting. Tears came into Nansie's
+eyes.
+
+"Did I not say, uncle," she murmured, "that Providence will smooth the
+path before us?"
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+
+The week that followed was one of great anxiety to Nansie, springing
+less from the pecuniary circumstances of their position than from the
+state of Kingsley's health. The privations and the sufferings he had
+endured told upon him now that the excitement of the reunion with his
+wife was over, and for some days he was too weak to leave the house.
+He himself made light of his sickness, and would not admit that there
+was anything seriously the matter with him. They made no endeavor to
+impress this upon him, but he gathered it from the evidences of care
+and attention by which he was surrounded.
+
+There was in the neighborhood a doctor of great skill, who could have
+practised successfully in fashionable quarters at high fees, but who
+had deliberately chosen to remain among the poor, whom he loved and
+attended to with as much devotion as he would have displayed to the
+highest in the land. His fee was fixed at a shilling; when this was
+not forthcoming he was content with sixpence, and in many cases with
+nothing, making no complaints against tardy debtors. This man was
+always cheerful, ready, and willing, at whatever hour of the day or
+night; and, without ostentation, he played the part of a true minister
+to those who needed it most. It is pleasant to be able to limn, even
+thus briefly, the character of one in whose life and career were
+exhibited the noblest attributes of human nature. He and Mr. Loveday
+were friends, and shortly after Nansie came to live with her uncle Dr.
+Perriera was greatly attracted to her, no less by her gentle manners
+than by the display of attainments superior to those among whom she
+lived. When Mr. Loveday was burned out Dr. Perriera was the first to
+express sympathy with him; he would also have been the first to offer
+practical assistance had it not been that he was very poor, a fact
+which troubled him not at all so far as regarded himself, but
+frequently disturbed him when he came into contact with distress which
+it was not in his power to relieve. After the fire, when he attended
+Nansie of his own free will and prompting, he declined to receive any
+fee whatever, and to this Mr. Loveday did not demur.
+
+As his name indicated, Dr. Perriera was of Spanish descent, and could,
+indeed, trace his genealogical record back to the days when Spain was
+first among the nations of the world in art, literature, and science.
+But the dark and heavy hand of bigotry effectually scotched the fair
+promise which lay before the favored nation, and with the exodus of
+the Jews--to which race Dr. Perriera belonged--commenced the decay of
+a mighty nation.
+
+On the day succeeding that of Kingsley's return Mr. Loveday called
+upon Dr. Perriera, and told him of it.
+
+"I am greatly pleased," said Dr. Perriera; "it will be better medicine
+for Mrs. Manners than the finest drugs in the Pharmacop[oe]ia."
+
+Then, in order that Dr. Perriera might be in possession of all
+necessary information, Mr. Loveday made him acquainted with the
+particulars of Kingsley's association with Mr. Seymour, following
+those up with the intelligence of the strange hallucination under
+which Kingsley was laboring with respect to his long absence from
+home. To Mr. Loveday's surprise, Dr. Perriera showed an intimate
+knowledge of the movements of the so-called Mr. Seymour, as well as of
+the secret societies in the interests of which it was said that he
+travelled.
+
+"Of Mr. Manners," said Dr. Perriera, "I know nothing. In Mr. Seymour's
+transactions he was little better than a cipher, and was probably used
+as an innocent decoy, or as a means to avert suspicion from the doings
+of his chief."
+
+"How have you become acquainted with these affairs," asked Mr.
+Loveday; "you, who seem to have no spare moments of time apart from
+your professional offices?"
+
+"I have time and to spare for much," replied Dr. Perriera, smiling. "I
+keep up rather an extensive correspondence with many European
+societies which have for their object the advancement of science and
+humanity."
+
+"Humanity!" exclaimed Mr. Loveday.
+
+"I call it by that name," said Dr. Perriera. "Were it possible that
+the ends aimed at could be reached, the toilers of the world would be
+undoubtedly benefited. The advocated means are frequently pernicious
+and indefensible; but this occasionally arises from the fact that men
+of keen intellectual power are goaded to madness by the tyranny of old
+systems. However, enough of this; I think much but speak little of
+such matters. I have my small part to play in the world as to the
+larger and grander movements of which I can simply look on and
+observe."
+
+Dr. Perriera called to see Kingsley, and of his own accord visited him
+daily. He gave Nansie kindly hope and sympathy, but did not enter into
+the peculiarities of her husband's case. With Mr. Loveday he was more
+open.
+
+"It is a singular condition," he said. "The loss of memory is not at
+all uncommon, nor, either, is its recovery; but in most instances this
+loss is a total loss, time, well-known incidents, relative
+circumstances, the names of friends and acquaintances, even one's own
+name, being plunged for a period into absolute obscurity. But here the
+loss of memory is partial, and the singular phase of it is that it
+affects only those circumstances of the past which it would be
+disagreeable to recall. He remembers all that is pleasant and happy in
+his life, but forgets all that has brought trouble upon him. It
+belongs to this phase that he is incapable of realizing the privations
+of the life which seems to lie before him. His temperament is
+exceptionally bright and cheerful; he looks upon the happy side of
+nature, and every hopeful sentiment which passes his lips seems to
+blossom into flower at the moment of its utterance. I can imagine no
+happier condition of being; but in a poor man it has its grave and
+most serious side."
+
+"How?" inquired Mr. Loveday.
+
+"In the fact," replied Dr. Perriera, "that it allows no room for
+effort, that it affords no incentive to it, that it creates a sure
+contentment even for a crust of bread, and an utter obliviousness to
+what may be necessary for those who, he being the head of the family,
+are naturally dependent upon him."
+
+"That is to say," observed Mr. Loveday, "that there is no hope of his
+being the bread-winner."
+
+"None," said Dr. Perriera, "until there is a radical change in him;
+and I confess to being at a loss as to how this can be effected."
+
+The correctness of the good doctor's diagnosis was verified by an
+incident which did not come to the ears of Nansie or her uncle until
+after its occurrence. Stronger in body, and able to walk abroad
+without assistance, Kingsley soon made himself acquainted with all the
+intricacies of the neighborhood; and on a certain morning he wended
+his steps to the West-end of the city, and stood before his father's
+house. Without hesitation he knocked and rang, and upon the door being
+opened pushed his way past the astonished servant, and walked straight
+to his father's study. There sat Mr. Manners, who gazed at his son
+with sternness and some inward agitation which he was successful in
+concealing.
+
+"Good-morning, father," said Kingsley, drawing a chair to the table,
+and seating himself; then glancing at the papers scattered about,
+added, in a tone of inquiry, "Fresh contracts?"
+
+Mr. Manners did not reply to the question.
+
+"What brings you here?" he asked.
+
+Kingsley had grown thinner since he last saw him, and that
+circumstance and the shabbiness of Kingsley's appearance suddenly
+inspired in the heart of Mr. Manners the hope that his son had come to
+him in submission.
+
+"I was anxious about you, father," said Kingsley, in an affectionate
+tone, "it seems so long since we saw each other. A son must not be
+forgetful of his duties."
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Manners, his hope growing, "you recognize that at
+last?"
+
+"At last!" said Kingsley, in a tone of cheerful surprise. "I have
+always recognized it. I cannot recall that I have ever been wanting in
+my duty to you."
+
+Mr. Manners stared at his son, debating now within himself what kind
+of part Kingsley had come to play. There was a silence of a few
+moments, during which Kingsley gazed at the familiar objects of the
+room with great calmness, and quite at his ease.
+
+"The object of your visit?" demanded Mr. Manners.
+
+"I have told you, father. Are you well?"
+
+"Yes, I am well."
+
+"And happy?"
+
+"Yes," replied Mr. Manners, setting his teeth, "and happy. That
+knowledge will hurt you, perhaps."
+
+"Why, no, father, it delights me. Everything, as usual, prospers with
+you, of course."
+
+"Everything, as usual, prospers with me," said Mr. Manners,
+mechanically. "Did you inquire of the servant if I was at home?"
+
+"No, why should I? It was my home once as well as yours."
+
+"But is no longer," said Mr. Manners, with a deepening frown.
+
+"Oh, well, no, in a certain sense," said Kingsley, "not directly, but
+indirectly still my home as well as yours. There are ties which can
+never be broken, and which you, in the goodness of your heart, would
+never wish to be broken. I should not like to hear from any man's lips
+that you think otherwise; I am afraid I should say something
+unpleasant to him."
+
+Kingsley's cordial manner and cheerful voice would have mystified most
+men with a weaker order of mind than Mr. Manners's; but although this
+was not the case with the great contractor, he was certainly at a loss
+to account for them. He knew that Kingsley possessed a soul of
+frankness and honesty, and he could not readily bring himself to
+believe that it was cunning and duplicity which had induced his son to
+seek this interview. Still, for the exhibition of these qualities he
+would have been, as he always was with all men, perfectly prepared,
+but not for the ingenuousness with which he was now confronted. He
+thought to turn the tables upon Kingsley.
+
+"Are you well?" he asked.
+
+"Quite well, father," replied Kingsley.
+
+"And happy?"
+
+"Quite happy, father."
+
+"And prosperous?"
+
+"To be quite well and happy," said Kingsley, in no spirit of evasion,
+"is not that a prosperous state?"
+
+"You are quibbling with me," said Mr. Manners, "and I am not in the
+mood, and have no time for trifling."
+
+"I shall not detain you long, father; you have eased my mind, and I
+shall go away presently, quite contented. As to quibbling, you, who
+know me so well and have been so good to me, must know that I am
+incapable of such conduct."
+
+"I decline to argue with you. Come to the point at once. You wish to
+make some kind of appeal to me. I did hope that you had come in
+submission."
+
+"I have, father; submission in all things that accord with one's
+duty."
+
+"With your duty to me?"
+
+"To you and to others who are dear to me."
+
+"I will not listen," said Mr. Manners, "to anything concerning them."
+
+"I will not force it upon you. There shall be nothing discordant
+between us. But what do you mean by 'appeal?'"
+
+"You are here to ask for money, as those who have separated us have
+been here before you."
+
+"Indeed, you are quite wrong. There has been, there shall be, no
+separation between us. I love you as I have always done, as I always
+shall love you. And they appealed to you for money! Did you give it to
+them?"
+
+"No, nor will I to you."
+
+"Oh, but I need none. You have been since my earliest remembrance most
+liberal to me, but you cannot accuse me of being mercenary. I should
+like you to know my wife, I should like you to know and love our
+child. If you are too busy for that now, we will wait; when you visit
+us, which surely you will do some day, you will be pleased at the
+manner in which we shall receive you; all the honor that is due to you
+shall be cheerfully rendered."
+
+"This mockery must end," said Mr. Manners; "go! But, before you leave,
+it will, perhaps, be as well for me to say what is in my mind."
+
+"Yes, father," said Kingsley, gently.
+
+"I do not know," said Mr. Manners, in a set, hard tone, "whether I
+should ever have been inclined to forgive your disobedience and
+undutifulness; I do not know, after what has passed, whether, you
+being my son upon whom once all my hopes were centred, I should have
+been disposed to once more hold out my hand to you. I think it would
+not have been possible, but there may have been, at least, some remote
+chance of a partial reconciliation. If there was such a chance, you
+have utterly destroyed it by your conduct during the past few months."
+
+"What conduct do you refer to?" asked Kingsley, smiling. "You surely
+are laboring under some delusion!"
+
+"It is no delusion," said Mr. Manners, "that you have been travelling
+for some time with a person of infamous character and designs!"
+
+"Surely it must be, father. Does the man live? If he does, he will
+disprove it."
+
+"I will fall in with your humor," said Mr. Manners, "and will pay no
+attention to your amazing evasions; all the more amazing, all the more
+inexcusable, when adopted towards a man like myself. Do you pretend
+that you are unacquainted with the person who travelled under the name
+of Seymour? Do you pretend that travelling in close association with
+him as you did for so long a time, you had no connection with the
+designs he was wishful to promote?"
+
+"You remind me strangely," replied Kingsley, "of something which has
+been troubling me--no, I am wrong in saying troubling me, I mean that
+has been interesting me. There have undoubtedly been some such designs
+as you refer to, mysterious and inexplicable enough to me, but the
+interesting part of the matter is, how did it ever come into my mind
+that I could have been associated with them? Clearly, I must have
+evolved the idea out of a too vivid imagination; because I cannot
+trace the slightest actual connection between me and them. Similarly,
+too, with the name you have mentioned--Seymour. How did it come into
+my mind that I knew such a gentleman? Clearly, he must have existed;
+and now there occurs to me a dim remembrance of a railway accident in
+which a gentleman of the name of Seymour was killed, and many were
+injured. How comes the knowledge of that circumstance to me? May I not
+also have evolved that from my imagination? Anyway, I shall not allow
+myself to be troubled by matters which I cannot directly trace, though
+I cannot avoid being interested in them. But what you have said has
+another bearing, as though I had done something to disgrace my name.
+Of course such a thing would be impossible, and if I am indebted to
+any ill-natured person for having aroused in you any suspicion to my
+hurt, I make him my hearty acknowledgments without bearing the
+slightest ill-will against him, because, after all, father, a serious
+calumny should not be allowed to have weight unless an absolute
+foundation of fact can be brought forward, as cannot be done in my
+case. Man must be judged by his own actions, not by what people say of
+him. You infer that this Mr. Seymour travelled to promote infamous
+designs with which you suppose me to be in sympathy. What designs,
+father?"
+
+"Republicanism," said Mr. Manners, not displeased at being brought to
+the point, "Socialism, Communism, and the overthrow of existing
+institutions, which are a blessing to mankind."
+
+"Ah, but there, you know," said Kingsley, with no departure from his
+light mood, "you open up debatable matter. It is not disagreeable to
+me. I was always fond of argument, although I have been accused of too
+freely wandering away from one upon the slightest excuse. You condemn
+Republicanism, but I think I would sooner live under a republic than a
+monarchy."
+
+"What you say confirms the accusation I and others bring against you."
+
+"Not at all. I am merely expressing my view of a large matter. You
+see, father, there is so much misery in the world, so much undeserved
+suffering, so much compulsory poverty, such astounding inequalities in
+the social condition of the people, that a fair-minded man cannot
+possibly avoid wishing to remedy these ills. What are you touching the
+bell for?"
+
+"For the servant to show you to the door."
+
+"I do not need him; I know my way out. Your time is valuable, and it
+is inconsiderate of me to take up so much of it. Is my mother in?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I am sorry; I wished to see her. She is well, I hope."
+
+"Quite well. She has not a sorrow in the world. And now, for the last
+time, leave the room--and the house."
+
+His peremptory, harsh tone had no effect upon Kingsley, who, with a
+genial nod and a "Good-morning, father," left the house with a light
+step.
+
+In the evening he informed Nansie and Mr. Loveday of his visit to his
+father, and, to their astonishment, described it as one of a pleasant
+character. Their astonishment was all the greater when they read a
+letter which was delivered personally to Kingsley. It was from a firm
+of lawyers, and was written in accordance with instructions received
+from Mr. Manners. In the first place it conveyed an intimation that
+Kingsley would not be allowed again to enter his father's house; in
+the second place it contained a warning that if he made any further
+endeavor to force himself into his father's presence, proceedings
+would be taken against him for the trespass.
+
+"I think," said Kingsley, "that lawyers must have been invented
+expressly to torment mankind; they never can put a thing pleasantly.
+My father, I suppose, is too busy to write to me himself, so he told
+his lawyers to do so, and they, wishing to make things as unpleasant
+as possible, send me a communication couched in terms which my father
+would certainly resent. Of course I shall not go to him again until he
+sends for me."
+
+So saying, he tore up the letter and put it into the fire.
+
+A few days afterwards it was announced in the papers that Mr. Manners
+had broken up his London establishment, and with his wife and his
+nephew, Mr. Mark Inglefield, had started on a foreign tour, which was
+likely to be of long duration. This paragraph was read by Kingsley,
+and caused in him the first spark of resentment he had exhibited since
+his return.
+
+"I am sorry," he said, "that my father has taken up with such a man as
+Mark Inglefield. He is dangerous and coldblooded, and, I am afraid, no
+friend of mine. Not that I want him for a friend, but that, being with
+my father, he may say something against us. However, to use your dear
+mother's saying, Nansie, 'Everything will come right in the end.'"
+
+With this comfortable assurance he dismissed the matter from his mind,
+as was his habit.
+
+
+And here the course of our story renders it necessary that the curtain
+shall fall for a certain time. When it rises again seventeen years
+will have passed away.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+
+Before, however, we join the threads which link the past with the
+present, we will briefly glance through the years during which
+Nansie's and Kingsley's daughter grew into the beautiful springtime of
+young maidenhood, and before whom fair visions rose even in the midst
+of surroundings pernicious enough to poison the sweetest dreams. They
+poison many, and the awaking would be sad and bitter were the home
+influences with which they were from their birth familiar of a purer
+and more refining nature. In judging them we judge them from our
+standpoint instead of theirs, and we too often condemn where we should
+pity. In respect of these influences Nansie's home shone forth a sweet
+and bright example of what may be accomplished when the early training
+is good. There were few poorer homes than Nansie's, there were few
+lives more full of struggle, but she kept herself and those most dear
+to her pure through all the bitter phases of the battle she was
+destined to fight. She worked hard, and taxed her strength to the
+utmost, but she never complained, least of all to or of her husband,
+who should by right have been the bread-winner. The greatness of
+the sacrifice he had made for her had, as we have seen, deeply
+impressed her. At first, it is true, the heavenly glamour of true
+love had wholly possessed her, but even then, had she known
+what she learned when it was too late, she would not have accepted
+the sacrifice, though her heart had been broken. Indeed, in those
+never-to-be-forgotten days the actual responsibility lay not with her.
+Kingsley made so light of the difference in their social positions,
+and she was so entirely guided by him whom she regarded as the king of
+men, that she had no idea of the extent of his father's wealth or of
+the difficulties in their way. Had she been aware of these, not only
+her love for Kingsley, but her practical good sense and self-respect,
+would have effectually directed her not to yield to his implorings.
+But these hidden from her, she followed the dictates of her heart. All
+the more devoted and considerate towards him was she when she learned
+the truth; all the more noble did his conduct appear in her eyes. If
+reproach lay at either door, it lay at hers; if either of them had the
+right to complain, it was he. In the early days of their union she had
+discovered that he was deficient in those qualities which are
+necessary to fight the hard battle of life even with moderate success.
+Should she blame him for this? What right had she to do so? He had not
+deceived her, and his prospects and education had not been of a nature
+to render him fit for the cruel battle. All the more was he to be
+pitied; all the more need was there that she should show him the
+tenderest consideration. And she did so. Willingly did she take upon
+her own shoulders the burden of the struggle, and worked cheerfully
+and willingly with heaviest odds against her. From the effects of the
+railway accident he never recovered, and his memory never returned to
+him. Although he did little to help the home, his gentleness, his
+contentment with a crust, his light-heartedness, brightened it. And so
+they went on to middle age, with a full measure of love to lighten
+their lot.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXX.
+
+
+At the end of seventeen years we renew our acquaintance with the
+personages who play their part in this story; but before they are
+reintroduced it will be pertinent to touch upon certain political
+changes which had taken place in the social condition of the people
+during this period. The growth of these changes had been going on for
+a great number of years, and the seeds may be said to have been sown
+with the advent of the cheap press. A slow growth at first, the
+slender roots beneath the soil having scarcely strength to take firm
+hold; but as they became stronger they became bolder, and were now
+winding themselves firmly and stoutly around the roots of the old
+institutions which, fixed as they had been for centuries, were in this
+audacious grasp beginning to show signs of weakness and decay. There
+was a time when what is known as the higher classes would have
+regarded as incredibly monstrous the idea of affinity between them and
+those who moved in the lower grooves. There was a time when the lower
+classes themselves would have regarded as the height of effrontery the
+idea of raising their eyes in any other than a timid way to the higher
+classes who ruled and dominated them. That time is past, never to be
+revived. There exist here and there in England instances of feudalism
+almost as marked as any that can be drawn from the time that is gone.
+In those places the high hand is still employed to destroy any hope of
+progress among the people, but these instances are rare, and are
+becoming still rarer. The penny newspaper has drawn prince and
+peasant, noble and serf--for we have the latter even in free
+England--closer together, and has taught the multitude that all men
+and women are human alike, and that there exists in the upper grades
+no divine right of power and supremacy. And, strangely enough, it is
+through this very means that the higher classes have been forced to
+recognize the power and the might of the lower. This new condition of
+things has also been promoted by other causes than the advancement of
+intelligence. The increase of population has forced upon reasoning
+minds among the people the inevitable necessity of radical changes in
+the hitherto existing order of things; and the scarecrow of vested
+interests, which is set up by those who lay claim to them, will be
+powerless to check the onward march. There are, unhappily, retarding
+influences, springing from the very vices of the people, which prove
+stumbling-blocks in every step that is taken or suggested. But for
+these vices the victims themselves are scarcely to blame. It is not an
+inherent matter, it is a matter of birth, whether one grows up with
+the courtly airs of St. James's or with the degrading characteristics
+of St. Giles's; and it is good to observe that there are statesmen in
+St. James's who recognize the fact, and who are working honestly and
+earnestly towards a better end--or, rather, not to speak
+paradoxically, towards a better beginning. And yet, despite these
+reflections, society perhaps never labored under greater ills than at
+present. The ephemeral, vicious fashions of St. James's were never in
+greater vogue than now; the cunning and vices of St. Giles's were
+never more conspicuous and apparent. There was a time when much of
+this, both in the higher and lower classes, was hidden, but in the
+present day everything is brought to light in the conflict of
+testimony which a fair-minded survey is forced to perceive. There are
+cogent and powerful arguments to be adduced in justification by each
+side against the other, but these are small, meandering rivulets which
+but slightly affect the rolling of the grand tide. Out of this seeming
+chaos good must come. It is, as it has ever been, still the fashion of
+the age--even now that darkness no longer weighs heavily upon it--to
+shift and evade a responsibility. Thus, the owner of a great landed
+estate, in portions of which hotbeds of vice and misery can be found,
+is in the habit of shrugging his shoulders when public attention is
+directed to them, and of saying, in effect, "It is not my affair, it
+is the affair of my agents." But this attitude, which springs either
+from fear, cowardice, or indifference, can no longer be accepted. It
+is the owner alone who is responsible; it is the owner and the owner
+alone who thrives and fattens upon these systems, who is in justice
+accountable for the evils of which he is undoubtedly the breeder; and
+the attitude he assumes proves him to be unfitted for his
+responsibilities. The remedy is his to apply, and if he apply it not
+in time the power of doing so will be taken out of his hands. The
+present opportunity is his; the future with its dark possibilities
+lies before him. It is well if he take heed of this before it is too
+late. Let us present an illustration bearing upon our story.
+
+Two years after Kingsley's return Nansie and her uncle, who
+constituted the government of ways and means of the household, decided
+that the rooms they occupied were too dear; they paid for these rooms
+five shillings a week. They looked out for others, and decided upon
+two rooms at the top of a house in a narrow court, in comparison with
+which Church Alley was a paradise. This court was so narrow that the
+occupants of the houses on either side could hold conversation with
+each other from opposite windows. The rooms were very small, the
+ceilings very low, the ventilation horrible, the sanitary arrangements
+disgraceful--a description of affairs which renders it all the more
+wonderful how Nansie's daughter, Hester, and how Nansie herself, could
+have kept themselves pure and sweet in an atmosphere so inimical to
+healthful moral and physical growth. The court--with other
+thoroughfares as narrow and stunted and vicious in its immediate
+neighborhood--was built upon part of an estate which belonged to a
+family the head of which sat in the House of Lords. There was in the
+house in which Nansie resided a cellar, politely called a basement. In
+this cellar were two rooms--one back, one front. The back room had a
+fireplace, but no window; what light filtered into it was filtered
+through a pane of glass let into the compartment which divided it from
+the front room, and as this front room itself could boast of but one
+window, the light it supplied to its neighbor was of a character so
+dismal and forlorn as scarcely to relieve the darkness into which, by
+the laws of its structure, it was plunged. But, indeed, to call it by
+the name of light was the bitterest of mockeries, not alone because of
+the small play it had, but because of the dust and cobwebs which
+covered both sides of the pane of glass. In this back room, however,
+lived a family of father, mother, and three children, all pigging
+together--there is no other word to describe it--in the narrow space
+which may fitly be likened to the Black Hole of Calcutta. They had
+certainly one advantage--that they could run out when they pleased and
+breathe the fetid air of the court, and thence into wider
+thoroughfares where the air was not vile enough to poison them. Had
+this opportunity not been theirs they would have died in a week. The
+social station of the head of this family was that of a scavenger, for
+six months of the year out of work. His wife occasionally got half a
+day's washing to do; the children were young and helpless, and the
+life they all lived can be more easily imagined than described. To
+describe it faithfully would be impossible in the pages or columns of
+any respectable journal, the details were so frightful and vile. And
+it is in no class spirit, in no spirit but that of mournfulness and
+amazement, that the fact is repeated--that the virtual owner of this
+back cellar sat in the House of Lords.
+
+The front room of the cellar was occupied by a cobbler. The window
+which supplied light to his room was a practicable one, resembling a
+shutter of glass, which could be put up and taken down at will; and
+during the whole of the year, in fair weather or foul--except upon
+those occasions, which were frequent enough, when he was drunk--the
+man could be seen by passersby plying his thread and awl. Fortunately
+for himself and for everybody about him, he was a bachelor.
+
+There were two rooms on the ground-floor, the front occupied by a
+"baked-tater man," his wife, and two young children. At those periods
+of the year when baked potatoes with their seasoning of pepper and
+salt were not in request, the man, being a strict Conservative, was
+idle, allowing his wife to accompany a friend of his, who drove quite
+a roaring trade in fairly good neighborhoods with his barrow of
+seasonable flowers. For this labor she was paid in coin one shilling a
+day, and a share of his bread and cheese or bread and meat, as well as
+of the sundry pots of beer his thirsty soul demanded in his
+peregrinations. Their two children played in the gutters, being not
+exceptional in this respect, because most of the children in the court
+found in the gutters a veritable Crystal Palace of delights.
+
+The back room on the ground-floor was occupied by a large
+family--father, mother, and seven children--all employed from morning
+till night, and often from night till morning, upon the manufacture of
+match-boxes, at the rate of two-pence three-farthings a gross. Their
+united earnings never exceeded fifteen shillings, often were less.
+Thus the grim effort to make both ends meet, no less than their close
+and long hours of toil, rendered them white, pinched, haggard-looking,
+and almost fleshless.
+
+On the first-floor front lived a married couple with an only child.
+The man had once been a law-writer, probably not a very skilful or
+capable scribe, seeing he had never been able to save a penny.
+However, it was here he found himself plunged into poverty's depths
+and unable to follow his calling, the muscles of his right hand being
+paralyzed. The wife had become a shirtmaker, and was assisted by her
+child, a girl of sixteen. Neither of these was a skilful workwoman,
+and after the payment of their rent there was seldom left at the end
+of the week more than seven or eight shillings to expend in food.
+
+The first-floor back was tenanted by a widow with two children, twins,
+a little more than a year old. Being unable to find any other means of
+living she had, by force of circumstances, drifted into the rear ranks
+of the ballet, where she helped to fill the stage on a salary of two
+shillings a night. Commencing late in life to learn to dance, there
+was for her no hope of promotion in the ranks. Her lot was hard
+enough, Heaven knows; but she would have found it harder, because of
+the impossibility of leaving her babies every night for a good many
+hours together, had it not been for the kindness of the law-writer's
+wife and daughter, who often looked after them when the mother was
+absent.
+
+In the rooms on the second floor, which were very small attics with
+slanting roofs, lived Nansie, Kingsley, and their daughter. Mr.
+Loveday took his meals with them, but slept elsewhere. The front attic
+was used as a living-room during the day, and as a bedroom during the
+night--the shut-up bedstead being sometimes occupied by Kingsley alone
+and sometimes by Hester. Altogether there slept in this small house
+twenty-eight persons. The frontage of the house was twelve feet, its
+depth twenty feet; and it will be gathered from these dimensions how
+utterly unsuitable it was in the way of health and morals for so large
+a number of occupants. In this respect anything more vicious can
+scarcely be imagined, and yet this house was but one of many built
+upon land owned by an enormously wealthy man, one who helped to make
+laws for the social regeneration of the people. Were the facts forced
+upon his knowledge in the way of accusation, he would doubtless plead
+ignorance of the circumstances, as others have pleaded before him; but
+this convenient blindness to the truth will not serve; this convenient
+shifting of responsibility is of no avail; an unfaithful steward he
+has been, and an unfaithful steward he remains.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+
+It was a great night at the Wilberforce Club, and the members mustered
+in force. Numbers were unable to obtain admission, and the spaces
+outside the room in which the club held its meetings were thronged by
+working-men and lads, many of them members of the Wilberforce. These,
+although disappointed at being shut out, did not give vent to their
+feelings in the shape of grumbling, but good-humoredly accepted the
+position, and split themselves into convenient knots for the purposes
+of discussion.
+
+The Wilberforce was a working-man's club, similar in its nature and
+aims to the numerous institutions of a like character which exist in
+the centres of labor in all the great towns and cities of the kingdom.
+It commenced with small beginnings, the original number of members
+being twelve, who met weekly at the lodgings of one or the other for
+the purpose of discussing political matters affecting themselves. A
+very short time passed before others made application to be allowed to
+join the band of twelve, and then the idea was formed of organizing a
+working-man's club, to be called the Wilberforce. The originator of
+this movement was a man of strong opinions, by trade a carpenter. He
+was a ready orator, and he ruled over his followers by force of this
+gift, as well as by the superior knowledge he possessed of the
+movements of the age in which he lived. It may not be uninteresting to
+place upon record a report of the meeting at which the club may have
+said to have been born.
+
+By consent of a licensed victualler it was held in a room in the
+"Three Jolly Butcher Boys," a noted public-house in the neighborhood.
+There were some thirty persons present, all humble, earnest,
+hard-working laborers in different crafts. Mr. Bartholomew, the
+carpenter and initiator of the movement, elected himself into the
+chair.
+
+"We are only a scattered body as yet," he said, "and none of us has
+the proper authority to propose and second a chairman, so by your
+leave--" He moved to the head of the table and seated himself. Drawing
+out his two-foot rule he used it as a mace to rap the table.
+
+"A dozen of us," he said, rising to his feet when all the others were
+seated and silent, "have been meeting for a little while past at one
+place and another, with a notion that opening our minds to each other
+wouldn't do any harm. That has been proved; it has done good. There
+ain't one of the dozen who don't understand the rights and wrongs of
+things better than he did before. Now, this was no hole-and-corner
+affair, and as it's got about, and as there's a wish of a good many
+others to join us, why, I say, 'Join us and welcome.'"
+
+There was a murmur of approval, and a general rapping of knuckles and
+scraping of feet on the part of the original eleven.
+
+"The more the merrier, I say," continued Mr. Bartholomew. "What we are
+working for, or what we are going to work for, is the general good of
+all alike--in a fair way, mind! Nothing wrong, nothing violent--"
+
+"Hear, hear," from the auditors.
+
+"Everything constitutional. When my wife doesn't agree with me, I
+don't knock her down, as brutes do, I argue with her; if that don't
+make her agree with me, I keep on arguing with her; and if she's that
+obstinate that she won't agree with me even then, I go on arguing with
+her; and the upshot of it is that I fairly wear her down, and in the
+end she's bound to agree with me."
+
+Murmurs of approval and a little laughter from the audience, with here
+and there a _sotto-voce_ remark: "Bartholomew knows what he's about."
+
+"Now," pursued Mr. Bartholomew, "that's what I call constitutional. I
+don't mean to say that I ain't open to conviction myself; but when a
+man knows he's right, all that he's got to do is to go ahead--always
+in a constitutional way. Now there's the government--it's right, or
+it's wrong. If it's right, let it remain as it is; if it's wrong, it's
+got to be altered."
+
+"It's wrong, that's what it is," blurted out a working-man.
+
+"Not so fast, not so fast," said Mr. Bartholomew; "saying it's wrong
+don't make it so. We've got to find it out by argument and open minds,
+constitutionally, and that ain't a thing for to-night; and it ain't a
+thing that can be settled in a day, or a week, or a month, or a
+year. It'll take time, because--I don't mind confessing to you my
+opinion--that what's got to be done is no trifling matter; it's a
+mighty matter, mates, with kings and queens, and princes and
+princesses, and prime-ministers and chancellors of the exchequer, all
+mixed up in it. Do you know what I call those ladies and gentlemen,
+mates? I call them the frillings. The solid mass, the real body, is
+here." He gave the table a great thump with his fist.
+
+"Bravo, Bartholomew!" from many voices. "We've got a man at the head
+of us!"
+
+The excitement was beginning to rise.
+
+"You ain't got anybody at the head of you. All that sort of
+thing--forming ourselves into an institution, election of officers,
+and so on--has got to be done. We're just now having a little friendly
+chat before dinner. Yes, mates, we are the solid body of the country,
+and it has struck me for a long time past that the time has come for
+us to make ourselves known and heard. I won't quite say that it's a
+matter of mathematics, but it is a matter of numbers. Every man has
+two arms and two legs--except those that's got wooden ones--a head to
+think, and often think wrongly, mind you, a heart to love, and a
+stomach to fill, which, if you don't fill, plays the very devil with
+you. There's something in Coriolanus--"
+
+"Where's that?" cried one, interrupting the other.
+
+"'Where's that,' Bill?" echoed Mr. Bartholomew. "It ain't a 'where' at
+all; it's a who. Coriolanus was a great general; and when the
+institution is formed, which we have met to-night to form, I hope
+you'll read about him in William Shakespeare; for what we're going to
+have in that institution, besides other things that's got to be
+settled, is books, mates."
+
+"Hear, hear."
+
+"And papers."
+
+"Hear, hear."
+
+"A little idea just comes to my mind. There's a good number of men in
+the world pretty much like boxes, shut up tight, locked up tighter.
+We're going to open those boxes; we're going to unlock 'em; we're
+goin' to let panes of glass into 'em, that the light can be seen
+through."
+
+"Bravo! bravo! bravo!" from all parts of the room.
+
+"Because, mates, don't you make any mistake. The fault doesn't lie
+with the ladies and gentlemen I made mention of a minute or two ago,
+it lies with us; and if we don't help ourselves--constitutionally,
+mind--we can't expect anybody else to help us. _They're_ not wrong. I
+don't blame 'em, much"--and there was a touch of humor in his manner
+of uttering this small word which caused general laughter--"I blame
+ourselves. I was saying that every man has the regulation number of
+limbs and members, the regulation measure of appetite, the regulation
+instincts, sentiments, and all that sort of thing, and I was going to
+say, when I was interrupted, that you'll find something in Coriolanus
+about the stomach which rather bears upon the point. I dare say there
+are one or two in the room who'll remember my mentioning this at a
+meeting before the last general election, when I spoke against the
+Conservative candidate. It was a Conservative meeting, and the hall
+was pretty well packed with one-siders, but the candidate--a
+gentleman, mates--got me a fair hearing, and I was listened to. Yes,
+you were there, and you"--pointing to two in the room who nodded
+gravely. "Well, when I'd done about this Coriolanus and the stomach
+business, up gets the Conservative candidate and says: 'I don't for a
+moment doubt that our good friend, Mr. Bartholomew'--he knew my name;
+I handed it up to him on paper, not having an engraved card--"
+
+"Ha! ha! ha!" from the back of the room.
+
+Mr. Bartholomew looked severely in that direction, and said:
+
+"What are you ha-ha-ha-ing about? Do you think I want to make a point
+against gentlemen who carry cards? You're mistaken, though perhaps I
+too was wrong in the way I put it. 'I don't for a moment doubt,' said
+the Conservative candidate, 'that our good friend, Mr. Bartholomew,
+who I hope one day will blossom into a good Conservative'--between you
+and me, mates, that will be never."
+
+"Hear, hear."
+
+"'I don't for a moment doubt that he is right about what he says of
+Coriolanus and the application of it. I don't remember the lines
+myself, but I will take them from him, and I will give him an answer
+in an anecdote. There was a serpent once, a regulation serpent, a
+twining, slimy, creeping, crawling reptile, with head and tail, and
+all other necessary parts. Now, Mr. Bartholomew knows that it is a law
+of nature for serpents that in going through life the head goes first.
+I don't know exactly how old the serpent was when its tail ranged
+itself upon what I may call the opposition side. It said to the head:
+"Look here, I ain't going to be dragged about in this manner all day
+long, and all night long, just where you like to take me. I won't
+stand it. It's my _turn_ for an innings; fair play is fair play." All
+the other parts of the serpent joined in the argument, and the tail
+was so noisy and blustering that it carried along with it every bit of
+the serpent but the head. Now, it unfortunately happened,' said the
+Conservative candidate, 'that this particular head of this particular
+serpent was weak-minded; anyhow, it was foolish enough to say: "Put it
+to the vote, and I'll stand by it. You shall decide who goes first,
+the tail or me." It was put to the vote, and it was decided by a large
+majority that the tail was right, and that it ought to have an
+innings. "Very well," says the head, I resign." Then the tail, crying,
+"Come along," took command. But, my friends,' said the Conservative
+candidate, 'you don't need to be told--though perhaps it will
+enlighten Mr. Bartholomew--that the eyes of a serpent's body are in
+its head, and not in its tail, and that as the tail dragged its way
+along it couldn't see where it was going. It got into a prickly hedge,
+and when the other portions of the body felt the sting and the pain
+they cried out: "What are you about?" "Oh, that's nothing," answered
+the tail, working its way out of the prickly hedge, I am new to the
+business, that's all; you must put up with a mistake or two--that's
+only fair, you know." "Yes, yes," said the other parts of the body;
+"go on, go on." He did, and came to a part of the forest where there
+was a smouldering fire. Straight into this fire crept the tail, and,
+maddened with pain, crept farther into it, hoping to escape, and in
+less than no time the tail and the other rebellious parts of the body
+were burned to ashes. The head alone remained.'"
+
+Mr. Bartholomew paused for a moment or two, and then said:
+
+"I see some of you fidgeting at your pipes. Fill 'em and smoke 'em.
+We're not regularly formed, and whether we shall always be at liberty
+to smoke while we're talking is a matter for you to settle by and by."
+
+The pipes being filled and lighted, Mr. Bartholomew went on.
+
+"That was the story the Conservative candidate told, and it set the
+packed meeting cheering and laughing to that degree that I couldn't
+get in another word, and was supposed to be settled. But the
+Conservative candidate made a great many serious mistakes in that
+illustration. He intended to liken the government of England, and
+everybody else in it, to one single being; whether it was beast, bird,
+or fish don't matter, because it won't do, mates, because it doesn't
+apply. True enough there must be a head to all constituted societies,
+to all forms of government, but, mates--"
+
+And here the speaker rested his two hands upon the table and bent
+earnestly forward.
+
+"We who are governed have eyes; we're not like the serpent's tail--we
+can see where we're going. The road is stretched before us, and our
+eyes are open. The serpent's tail not only had no eyes, he had no
+brains--we have, and we can judge. The serpent's tail not only had no
+eyes and no brains, it had no heart--we have, and we can see and
+judge, and love and suffer and enjoy with as large a capacity as those
+who govern us. I don't for one moment believe that the view the
+Conservative candidate took--he didn't get in, you know, mates--"
+
+"Ha, ha, ha!" from the audience.
+
+"Is the view entertained by the Conservative party, the leading
+members of which are far too sensible and clever to put forward such
+narrow-minded theories. But it must never be forgotten that they're in
+the main looking out more for themselves and for their own interests
+than for us and ours. That's human nature, and I don't complain of it;
+if I did, it would be in a measure like cutting the ground from under
+our own feet, because one of the objects of this meeting--the
+principal object, I may say--is to look after ourselves and our own
+interests, which we've got the idea has been rather lost sight of.
+Now, before I come to the wind-up of my speech--it has been a great
+deal longer than I intended to make it--"
+
+"Not a bit too long, Bart," was the general cry.
+
+"Much obliged, mates. Before I come to the end of it, I want to
+impress one thing upon you. All over the world there are to be found
+men who go in for equality, with a capital E. Some of those men are
+scholars, lots of 'em clever and talented; but, mates, they've got a
+warp in their minds. Such a thing as equality ain't possible. If it
+was possible to establish it at nine o'clock to-night, by nine o'clock
+to-morrow morning it wouldn't exist. There must be different degrees
+among human beings, there must be inequalities, like the very world we
+live in, which, as we've been taught in school, resembles the outside
+of an orange. But our argument is--because I suppose we're pretty well
+agreed upon it--that the inequalities are now too great, and require
+to be rubbed down a bit. It's a difficult question, and it's got to be
+treated with good sense. And now, thanking you for your attention, and
+the meeting being regularly opened, we'll proceed to business."
+
+Mr. Bartholomew sat down amid a volley of applause, after which there
+was a long silence, he being really the only practical man among them;
+or, to speak more correctly, the only man who had practice in this
+kind of movement, and knew how to conduct it.
+
+"The first thing we've got to do, you know," he said, looking around,
+"is to propose a resolution forming ourselves into a distinct body. As
+the chairman of the meeting, I can't propose any resolution; it is for
+one of you to do it."
+
+"All right, chairman," said a bold boot and shoe maker, "I do it."
+
+"What?" inquired Mr. Bartholomew.
+
+"Propose it," said the bold boot and shoe maker.
+
+"Propose what?" asked Mr. Bartholomew.
+
+"That we're a distinct body," said the bold boot and shoe maker.
+
+"I seconds it," said another boot and shoe maker, starting up, and
+sinking instantly into his chair, covered with confusion. It was the
+first public speech he had ever made.
+
+"No, no, that won't do," said Mr. Bartholomew, "you must put it in
+words--understandable words. You propose that we form ourselves into a
+working-man's club. That's your proposition, ain't it?"
+
+"That's it," said the bold boot and shoe maker.
+
+"And you second it," said Mr. Bartholomew, looking at boot and shoe
+maker No. 2, who faintly nodded. He had not the courage to speak
+again.
+
+"It is proposed by Mr. Richard Chappel," said Mr. Bartholomew, "boot
+and shoe maker, and seconded by Mr. William Blackmore, that we form
+ourselves into a working-man's club, we being all of us Liberals, and
+our chief object being the political and social advancement of
+working-men generally. Those in favor of the resolution signify it in
+the usual manner by holding up their hands."
+
+Every hand was held up.
+
+"On the contrary," said the chairman.
+
+Full half of those present held up their hands.
+
+"No, no, no," cried the chairman, "there must be something wrong here.
+You, Stokes, and you, Manning, and you, Bill Forbes, and you, William
+Blackmore, who seconded the resolution, all voted for it, of course,
+and now you vote against it. You can't vote two ways!"
+
+Boot and shoe maker No. 2, with a white face, whispered something in a
+neighbor's ear, who thereupon said:
+
+"Blackmore says he always votes on the contrary. He does it at home."
+
+"But that can't be here," said the chairman; "we must all vote one way
+or the other. Are you in favor of this club?"
+
+"Yes," every man cried. "Is there any one not in favor of it?"
+
+"No," every man cried.
+
+"Then it's carried," said the chairman, "unanimously. Now we must give
+it a name."
+
+Upon the face of every man present dwelt a pondering expression, the
+general just interpretation of which would be vacuity. Half a dozen
+put their fingers to their brows, but not one of them had a name to
+propose.
+
+The ever-ready chairman--and be it here remarked that Mr. Bartholomew
+was as good-humored as he was apt--rose and said:
+
+"It ain't the lightest of matters to give a fit name to such a club as
+ours. I think I can suggest one."
+
+"Bart's the cleverest chap in the country," said one of the audience.
+"He ought to be prime-minister."
+
+Mr. Bartholomew resumed.
+
+"I don't throw it in your teeth, mates; it's only a matter of reading,
+and I don't doubt in a year or two that some of you will know as much
+as me, and a good deal more. I don't throw it in your teeth, I say,
+that perhaps none of you ever heard the name of William Wilberforce."
+
+They looked at each other and shook their heads.
+
+"He wasn't a working-man, he was a gentleman with plenty of money;
+born a gentleman, and bred at college. But, mates, he was a man who
+saw things with a clear eye, and a clear heart that bled at the sight
+of oppression, and with a mind steadfast enough to accomplish what it
+was set upon. It is to William Wilberforce that we may say we owe--not
+only we, but all mankind--the abolition of slavery."
+
+Tremendous applause.
+
+"I don't know how many years this grand gentleman worked for
+it--worked and fought for it. He was beat over and over again in the
+House of Commons and the House of Lords, but he stuck to his guns, and
+on his death-bed he had the good news brought to him that the second
+reading of the Abolition of Slavery Bill was carried. He was a man,
+and every Englishman is proud of him. He was a man because he worked
+and fought on the side of humanity, and if any one here will propose
+that our club be called the 'Wilberforce Club' I don't think he could
+do a much better day's work."
+
+Up jumped a dozen and proposed it, and the chairman conducted the
+question to an orderly issue. It was carried that the title of the
+institution should be the "Wilberforce Club." Then, pioneered by Mr.
+Bartholomew, other small matters of detail were discussed and settled.
+Present subscription of members, one penny per week, and the first
+week's subscription was paid into the hands of an elected treasurer.
+Sub-committees were appointed to form rules for the guidance of the
+club, and to look out for a suitable room in which to gather together.
+And then the meeting broke up, satisfied and gratified with the work
+it had done.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+
+From the day of its formation the Wilberforce Club had prospered, and
+although it could never boast of more than sufficient funds to carry
+out its modest requirements, the principal of which were books and
+newspapers, it had become in some sense a political power in the
+district. As was right, Mr. Bartholomew, to whom its existence was
+due, was elected its first president, a position which he filled for
+many years; but although he was still in vigor of life, he had
+resolved to retire from the office, and, in spite of all attempts to
+induce him to withdraw his resignation, he insisted that it was time a
+new president should be appointed.
+
+"You want new blood, my lads," he said; "you might as well have a king
+over you as a president who reigns all the years of his life. A
+stirring up of the waters is good for the people. If the new man
+doesn't work to your satisfaction I will take office again, perhaps.
+The vacation will rub the rust off me."
+
+It was, therefore, for the purpose of choosing another president that
+the Wilberforce Club mustered in full force. It was bruited about, and
+indeed known to some few, that there was a likelihood of the
+introduction of a personal matter at the meeting which might prove
+exciting and interesting. Mr. Bartholomew had found it no easy task to
+keep well in hand a strong and full-blooded team such as the members
+of this working-man's club. Boys with ideas, and with a fresher and
+more advanced kind of education than their parents had received, had
+grown to be men, and were playing their part at the club meetings and
+in the social gatherings; and to this younger element the prospect of
+a change in the direction of affairs was not unpalatable. Upon Mr.
+Bartholomew the necessity of keeping a tight hand upon these youthful
+members, whose ideas were apt to run ahead of the times, had
+frequently impressed itself.
+
+There were two candidates for the presidency. One was Mr. Richard
+Chappel, who had taken part in the initiatory meeting at which
+the club was constituted. He was then somewhat of a timid orator,
+but he was an apt scholar, and was now fully competent to conduct
+working-men's meetings. He was fairly popular, and had many
+supporters. The other candidate was Kingsley Manners, who was popular,
+and a favorite with all the members of the Wilberforce Club. By some
+he was considered not strict or strong enough to lead, but a good
+proportion of those who entertained this notion had determined to
+support him. It was not of his own wish that he had come forward for
+the office. He had been proposed by a powerful section who believed
+that through him it could work its own ends. The backbone of this
+section were the young members, who were always ready to take a
+foremost part in any agitation--such as entertainments, in the heart
+of which lurked some political object: processions against, or in
+favor of, some measure which was then being discussed in the House of
+Commons; the right of public meeting in public places, and so forth.
+These ambitious and hot-blooded members had been kept in moderate
+subjection by Mr. Bartholomew, and now rejoiced in the prospect of a
+president of less force of character.
+
+Nansie's uncle, Mr. Loveday, was also a member of the Wilberforce. He
+had joined it at Nansie's solicitation, who was in anxiety lest
+Kingsley, through his easy nature, should be prevailed upon to take
+part in some violent movement. Mr. Loveday's reports to her had
+removed this cause of alarm.
+
+"Kingsley does no harm at the club," he said; "it is an amusement and
+a relaxation to him. He knows that he is liked by all the members, and
+the knowledge affords him pleasure; and he obtains there books and
+papers which occupy his mind, and which otherwise would be out of his
+reach."
+
+Kingsley's candidature for the presidency had, however, seriously
+discomposed Mr. Loveday. He saw beneath the surface, and suspected
+that Kingsley was simply put forward to assist the views of others.
+
+Mr. Bartholomew opened the proceedings.
+
+"You know," he said, "what we are met to decide. This is the last
+occasion--at least, for some time--upon which I shall take the chair
+at the gatherings of the Wilberforce; but that will not lessen my
+interest in its welfare, and I shall work quite as hard and earnestly
+as a soldier in the ranks as I have done in the position of your
+chief. Now, I want to give you a little bit of advice. Times are
+different from when this club was first started; men and opinions are
+more advanced; there is a better kind of education going on in the
+land, and people who, under the old ways, would never have learned to
+read and write can now do both very well. But I want to warn you. It's
+a good thing to be able to read and write, but it's a better thing to
+be able to profit by these advantages. Go ahead we must; the onward
+march cannot be stopped; but beware of going ahead too fast. Slow and
+sure is a motto I was not very fond of when I was a young man, but I
+have learned its value since, especially in such movements as ours.
+There is no telling what changes the next fifty years may see; in my
+opinion they will be more startling than any that has gone before; but
+in order that these changes shall be for the real benefit of the
+people--that is to say, of us--it will be necessary to look before we
+leap. Now, I am not going to particularize; I am speaking in a general
+sense. There are individual instances of wrong with which I sympathize
+as much as any of you can do, but I don't intend to make any such
+instance a ground for general action. What we have to attend to is the
+interest and prosperity of ourselves as a body. According to the
+rules, you are now to elect a president for the year. You have done me
+the honor of re-electing me again and again for a number of years, and
+I believe I have given you satisfaction. I hope that our new president
+will work as I have done--for the general good of all."
+
+Mr. Bartholomew having resumed his seat, a member rose to propose Mr.
+Richard Chappel as president. He was duly seconded, and then another
+member proposed Mr. Kingsley Manners, who was also seconded. There
+being no other candidates, the aspirants for office addressed the
+meeting:
+
+"I propose," said Mr. Chappel, "to tread in the footsteps of our late
+worthy president, Mr. Bartholomew. I quite agree with him in all his
+opinions, and all he has done. More haste, less speed. We have never
+been in a hurry, and we have done a good deal since we started. In
+elections we have made ourselves a bit of a power, and the reason of
+this is that we have always seen where we were going to fix our nails;
+we have not knocked them wildly about, and made holes in wrong places.
+If you elect me as your president, I will do the best I can in the
+office."
+
+"Good," said Mr. Bartholomew.
+
+"Good," also said and thought many of the elder members; but the
+younger ones looked at each other and shook their heads.
+
+"Richard Chappel promises nothing," said one, starting up.
+
+"What do you want him to promise?" asked Mr. Bartholomew; and, as
+young Hotblood could not exactly say, he sat down abashed, but in no
+wise satisfied.
+
+"That is it," said Mr. Bartholomew; "and I should like you to bear it
+in mind. I don't wish to influence you, nor to say a word against Mr.
+Kingsley Manners, who is a favorite with all of us; but as a common
+member of the club I am entitled, as every other common member is, to
+express my opinion upon this subject. Here is a candidate for office,
+Mr. Richard Chappel, who pledges himself, if elected, to govern the
+club in the same way that it has hitherto been governed; and here is
+one of our members jumping up and saying that he promises nothing. To
+that I reply that Richard Chappel promises a great deal. He promises
+to do everything that is constitutional; he promises to act for the
+benefit of the club, as I have acted. If that doesn't satisfy you, I
+don't know what will. Mind, I'm not saying one word against Mr.
+Manners; I respect and like him, but I shall give my vote to Richard
+Chappel."
+
+"Let us hear Mr. Manners," said a member.
+
+Kingsley rose and addressed the meeting. He had for some little while
+past regarded this approaching event as of great importance, and had
+prepared himself for it. He said he was in favor of public meeting in
+all public spaces. He spoke strongly against the monopoly of brewers
+and distillers. He advocated universal suffrage, and he characterized
+as infamous the neglect of sanitary laws in the dwellings of the
+people. The whole aim of government, he said, should be for the
+benefit of the many, and not of the few. There were old-time
+privileges which, perhaps, could not be suddenly abolished, but to
+which, at all events, a limit should be set. He spoke for half an
+hour, and the tenor of his observations may be gathered from this
+brief description. When he sat down some were pleased, some were
+displeased, and some did not know exactly what to think.
+
+"Mr. Manners," said Mr. Bartholomew, "has generalized almost as much
+as Richard Chappel."
+
+"No," cried some of Kingsley's supporters; "there is a great
+difference between them."
+
+"Let us hear and discuss," said Mr. Bartholomew; "it will open our
+minds."
+
+"What does Richard Chappel say about universal suffrage?" asked a
+member.
+
+Richard Chappel scratched his head. He had not given the subject that
+necessary consideration which enabled him to reply on the instant. Up
+jumped Mr. Bartholomew.
+
+"I like that hesitation on Richard Chappel's part," he said.
+"Universal suffrage has bothered cleverer heads than any in this
+room."
+
+"What do you say about it?" asked a bold member. Mr. Bartholomew
+laughed.
+
+"I would give it to every man who has a right to it."
+
+"Every man has a right to it!"
+
+"No, no; there must be qualifications. The Reform Act did a lot for
+us, and a lot has been done since, and a lot more will be done in the
+future. There _must_ be electoral qualification. Even in our little
+club here every man has not a right to become a member. The difference
+between some of us is this--we agree upon the main point, but we do
+not agree in the way of bringing it about. 'Go slow' is my motto."
+
+"Yes," grumbled one, "and die before we reap."
+
+"Perhaps," said Mr. Bartholomew, gravely. "But does that lessen the
+value of our work, which, I take it, lies greatly in its
+unselfishness? We look more to the future than to the present. We
+think of our children and of the benefits they will enjoy, benefits
+brought about by us who may not live to see the fruit."
+
+Much discussion of a similar nature followed, and it seemed likely at
+one time that the result would be largely influenced by the private
+wrongs of a member who had resolved to take this opportunity of
+ventilating them, and had, indeed, been urged to that course by the
+more inflammatory spirits. His story was not an uncommon one, and may
+be narrated in a very few words. He was a working-man, of course, with
+one child, a daughter whom he idolized. This daughter, to his grief
+and despair, had left her home; and it was, the father said, a
+gentleman who had brought the shame upon them. The man was very
+eloquent in his description of the monstrous wrong. He did not know
+the name or the whereabouts of the villain who had inflicted it, and
+said that if he could find him he would strike him dead at his feet.
+Mr. Bartholomew was too wise to prevent the father from speaking,
+although he strongly disapproved of the intrusion of this private
+matter into the club business; but he saw that it had been
+prearranged, and was intended to influence the election in favor of
+Kingsley. As a prudent general, therefore, he proposed the adjournment
+of the meeting, which broke up in some slight confusion.
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+
+This meeting led to important results. It is by small and apparently
+trivial matters that the main issues of life are determined. A fall of
+rain, the plucking of a flower, the accidental turning to the right or
+the left--any one of these trifling incidents is sufficient to stamp
+the future with an indelible impress.
+
+Parkinson was the name of the man whose daughter had been tempted from
+her home by the false wooing of a man in a superior station of life to
+her own; the daughter's name was Mary. The disclosure of this private
+wrong proved to be the most exciting incident in the proceedings of
+the Wilberforce Club on the night of the proposed election, and after
+the meeting broke up the grievance formed the subject of animated
+discussion all around the neighborhood. To feel and express sympathy
+for the father was humanly natural, but here and there this sympathy
+was expressed in an unreasoning and dangerous manner, and served as a
+peg--as was attempted at the Wilberforce--upon which to hang an
+ominous string of hardships as between class and class. Dr. Perriera,
+who had remained a firm and faithful friend to Nansie and her family,
+had just listened to certain outpourings of this nature mouthed by a
+trenchant demagogue to a small band of working-men and lads, among
+whom, also, was Mr. Loveday. These two more intelligent of the
+audience walked away together.
+
+"It is remarkable," said Dr. Perriera, "to note the blindness of these
+ignorant orators to palpable facts. The way in which Mary Parkinson
+was brought up was enough to ruin any girl. A father at work all day
+and spending his nights at the Wilberforce Club. A mother dying
+when her daughter was twelve years of age, and leaving as a legacy
+to her child a recollection of frivolities. This was one of the
+reasons--perhaps the principal one--why Parkinson spent nearly all his
+leisure time away from his home. His wife had no notion of domestic
+duties, was a bad cook, and either would not or could not make his
+home attractive to him. Parkinson is a good and skilful workman, has
+never been ill a week in his life, has never been out of employment.
+This is an unusual record, but it has not benefited him. When his wife
+was alive she and he between them spent every penny of his earnings;
+she was fond of incongruous color in her dress, fond of mock jewelry,
+fond of aping the foolish fashions of her betters. She was fond of
+worse things--of music-halls and their brutalizing vulgarity. I am
+well aware that it is absolutely necessary to provide amusement for
+the people; without it life would be unendurable; but I have always
+been of the opinion, and experience has confirmed it, that amusement
+in a worse form than that provided by the music-hall could scarcely be
+devised. I speak of the entertainments as a whole. There are portions
+of them which are innocently amusing and healthful, but the most
+popular features are those which the exponents of coarseness and
+vulgarity provide. I had some opportunity of studying Mrs. Parkinson's
+character, and I know that it was this coarser element of the
+entertainments that attracted her. I frequently heard her singing
+verses of songs which, I regret to say, were and are popular, and the
+true meaning of which is an offence to decency. The mischief is that
+this moral poison is at the bottom of the cup; but it is well known to
+be there by everybody who partakes of it; and even when it is so
+cleverly veiled that it can only be conveyed by a motion or a gesture,
+this form of expression is carried away by the audience and used by
+them when they sing the song in private. It is to Parkinson's credit
+that he preferred the Wilberforce Club to the music-hall; but it is
+not to his credit that he left the entire social education and
+recreation of his daughter to one so unfitted for these duties as his
+wife. I would not make life too serious, but I refuse to excuse any
+person who ignores its responsibility. Parkinson allowed his wife to
+take their little Mary to the music-halls, and to implant in her
+nature a foundation of frivolity which has borne bad fruit; it could
+not be hoped that it would bear good."
+
+"I agree entirely with you," said Mr. Loveday, "and if I take the
+matter more closely to heart it is because of the affection which our
+Hester bears for the poor girl. Mary is bright and attractive, and has
+many good qualities."
+
+"Good qualities which needed home training," said Dr. Perriera, "and
+which should not have been allowed to run wild. Bright and attractive!
+Frequently a misfortune when the early education has been bad. I will
+finish my argument. The orator to whom we have just listened is one of
+an unreasoning class who takes into account only the faults and errors
+of one side of his case. That side, in his view, is thoroughly black;
+the other side is thoroughly white. Fair-minded men are bound to take
+into consideration both cause and effect, and men incapable of doing
+this are not fitted to lead. I am sorry that Mr. Bartholomew has
+resigned the presidency of the Wilberforce; in addition to being a man
+of sound, advanced opinions, he was a restraining force. Do you think
+Kingsley Manners fit for the position?"
+
+"I do not," replied Mr. Loveday, firmly, "and I have done all I could
+to dissuade him from standing for office. At times I thought I was
+succeeding, but some kind of outside influence has always thwarted me.
+'A man must follow his star,' he said; and he said it, I believe, with
+but a vague idea of his meaning."
+
+"There are members of the Wilberforce," said Dr. Perriera, "who want
+to use Kingsley Manners as a tool; and he, with his amiable nature,
+might easily be led into a false position. His true friends must save
+him from this danger, if possible."
+
+"The difficulty is to find a way," observed Mr. Loveday.
+
+As he made this remark a hand was laid upon his arm, and, turning, he
+saw Nansie. From her face the beauty of youth had quite fled; sorrow
+and trial had left their traces there, but her brave spirit and
+cheerful endurance of long hours of toil had so chastened her that no
+one could be long in her presence without being made to feel that here
+was one in whom the highest attributes of fortitude, faith, and duty's
+performance were manifest. The time was within a few minutes to
+eleven, and Mr. Loveday was surprised to see her out at that hour of
+the night.
+
+"Do you know where Kingsley is?" she asked.
+
+"No," replied Mr. Loveday. "Is he not at home?"
+
+"He has not returned yet," said Nansie, "and I am anxious about him."
+
+"I will find him for you," said Mr. Loveday. "He will come home at
+once when he hears you are uneasy about him."
+
+"Yes, I know he will do that. I should like to see him myself, to
+explain--"
+
+"Nansie," cried Mr. Loveday, as she paused, "something is troubling
+you."
+
+"Yes," she answered, frankly; "I cannot tell you what it is--I do not
+think I ought."
+
+"Where is Hester?"
+
+"At home, alone. She will not go to bed until her father returns."
+
+"But you, Nansie, are you not going back?"
+
+"No; I have something to do that will keep me out late. That is what I
+wished to see Kingsley for--to explain it to him. Tell him I may not
+be home till the morning, and that Hester is waiting for him. He is
+not to worry himself; everything is right."
+
+"There goes a true woman," said Dr. Perriera, looking after her, "upon
+an errand of mercy and goodness."
+
+"Do you know what it is?" asked Mr. Loveday.
+
+"No, nor can I guess, but I would stake my life that it is as I say,
+and that you believe as I do, notwithstanding that we are both in the
+dark."
+
+"You are right," said Mr. Loveday. "Dr. Perriera, misfortune sometimes
+proves a blessing. It has been so to me. Had I been rich and
+prosperous, I doubt whether it would have been given to me to know the
+perfect sweetness and beauty to be found in common lives."
+
+"It is the fashion to call them common lives," responded Dr. Perriera,
+"though here and there is a life which an angel would be proud to
+live."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+
+Some three months after this night a gentleman was sitting with a
+friend in a well-appointed house in Harley Street. The host was
+a man in the prime of life, his name Hollingworth; the guest was his
+elder in years, his name Manners--none other than the once great
+contractor--Mr. Valentine Manners, Kingsley's father. They had dined,
+and were sitting over their claret.
+
+Mr. Valentine Manners had long since retired from business. For many
+years he had travelled the world in search of something--he knew not
+what--which he had lost, and had returned home without finding it.
+Part of the time his nephew, Mark Inglefield, who was to be his heir,
+had travelled with him; but the younger man had made periodical visits
+to England upon his uncle's private affairs, of which he had the
+practical management. A fortune so vast as Mr. Valentine Manners had
+amassed was in itself a business, the care of which occupied a great
+deal of time.
+
+Mr. Hollingworth and his guest had discussed many matters, the most
+important of which was a proposed marriage between Mr. Hollingworth's
+only daughter, Beatrice, and Mark Inglefield, the rich contractor's
+heir. The girl was barely twenty, Mark Inglefield nearly fifty; but
+these disparities are not uncommon in matrimonial unions in which
+money and not love is the principal factor. Mr. Hollingworth had only
+one other child, a son of twenty-six, who had just been elected a
+member of the House of Commons. The conversation of the two gentlemen
+was interrupted by the announcement of a servant that a man wished to
+see Mr. Hollingworth.
+
+The tone of the servant when he uttered the words "a man" was a
+sufficient indication of his opinion of the visitor's standing. Mr.
+Hollingworth accepted his servant's opinion.
+
+"Did you say I was busy?"
+
+"I told him so, sir, and that you could not be disturbed."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"He said he must see you, sir, and that he would come every day and
+night till he did." Mr. Hollingworth groaned. "Did he give you his
+name?"
+
+"Yes, sir, and said you would know it. Mr. Parkinson--a stone-mason,
+he said he was."
+
+"Parkinson--Parkinson! I do not know the man, and I have not been
+engaged in building. More in your way, Mr. Manners."
+
+His guest nodded, but made no remark; there was nothing in the
+incident to interest him.
+
+"He has been here several times this week, sir," said the servant.
+
+"I remember now hearing of it, and I left instructions that he was to
+put his business with me in writing."
+
+"He paid no attention to that, sir, but kept on calling."
+
+"Well, we must get rid of him somehow. A stone-mason, eh?
+Parkinson--the very name for a stone-mason. My boy Dick carried his
+election on the working-man's interests. A popular cry; we are
+becoming very radical. Show Mr. Parkinson up. You have no objection,
+Mr. Manners?"
+
+"None at all."
+
+The servant retired, and returned, ushering in Mr. Parkinson. Mr.
+Hollingworth cast a keen glance at his visitor, and saw that he was to
+all appearance a respectable working-man.
+
+"You wish to see me?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Parkinson in a respectful tone, and yet with
+something of defiance. He had repaid Mr. Hollingworth's keen glance
+with interest. He was calmer now than when he had recounted his wrongs
+at the meeting of the Wilberforce Club; but although he was holding
+himself in check, he was quite as much in earnest.
+
+"It seems that a personal interview was imperative."
+
+"It was, sir."
+
+"Well, I am not disinclined to listen to you. Anything respecting
+politics? My son, Mr. Richard Hollingworth, has lately been returned
+to Parliament in the interests of the working-man, as I dare say you
+know."
+
+"Yes, sir, I know it. That is how I found you out, though I expected
+to see an older gentleman than you."
+
+Mr. Hollingworth smiled. "You may do that in the course of years if I
+live. Your expectation is an inexplicable one, however, and as strange
+as your expression that you have found me out. Almost a crime," he
+continued, still with a smile on his face, "to be found out in these
+days. You have come, then, upon political business?"
+
+"No, sir; I have come upon private business."
+
+"Upon private business! A singular time to introduce it. As singular
+as the question. What private business can there be between you and
+me, who are perfect strangers to each other?"
+
+"There _is_ private business between us, sir, of a vital nature. You
+will understand if you will listen to me, as you said you would."
+
+"Will you be long?"
+
+"I will try not to be, but there's a tale to tell."
+
+"Tell it, my friend, as briefly as you can. Will you wait?" he asked,
+turning to his guest, "or shall we resume our conversation to-morrow?"
+
+"I will wait," replied Mr. Manners, "unless you wish to hear this
+person in private."
+
+"I have no such wish."
+
+"I think it will be better, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, "that we shall
+speak without witnesses."
+
+"Let me be the judge of that," said Mr. Hollingworth, warmly. "You
+have chosen to intrude upon me at an untimely hour, and if you have
+anything to say of which you are ashamed, you have only yourself to
+blame for the publicity."
+
+"The shame's on your side, not on mine," retorted Mr. Parkinson,
+speaking as warmly as Mr. Hollingworth had done, "and the blame rests
+with you and yours."
+
+Mr. Hollingworth's hand, at this retort, was extended towards the
+bell, and but for the last two words uttered by his visitor he would
+have ordered him to the door. He sank back in his chair, and with some
+sternness desired Mr. Parkinson to proceed.
+
+"I am, as you may see, sir, a working-man, and have been so all my
+life. I live Whitechapel way, and this is my full name and address."
+He placed an envelope on the table. "I am a widower with one child, a
+daughter, just eighteen years of age. My wife died eight years ago,
+and I brought up my girl as well as I could. She is good-looking,
+worse luck! and can read and write. There has never been anything
+against me; I owe no man a penny, and my character in my line is as
+good as yours or any gentleman's in his."
+
+"I don't see how all this affects me," said Mr. Hollingworth, with an
+assumption of weariness. "Cannot you spare me further details?"
+
+"I must tell my story my own way, sir, and you will soon see how it
+affects you."
+
+"Go on, then, if it must be so."
+
+"If we had been let alone, my girl and me, there would have been no
+occasion for me to be here now; but we were not let alone, to live our
+lives our own way. We were interfered with by a gentleman."
+
+"Come, come, my friend," said Mr. Hollingworth, "this is mere
+clap-trap."
+
+"Not a bit of clap-trap about it, sir. Hard, bitter truth; that's what
+it is. According to the order of things, my girl would have married
+one of my sort, one of her own--there were plenty after her, but she
+wouldn't look at 'em--and would have had her regular ups and downs,
+and gone through life respectable."
+
+"Oh," remarked Mr. Hollingworth, flippantly, "she has spoiled her
+chance for that!"
+
+"It's been spoiled for her, sir. When and where she met this gentleman
+of hers I've no means of saying; she's as close as wax; and it is only
+by a trick--a just trick that a father has a right to use--that I've
+come to some knowledge of things. But I'll tell my story straight, and
+won't run ahead more than I can help. It's months ago now since my
+girl run away from me, and left never a word behind her that I could
+find her by."
+
+"In the name of all that's reasonable," exclaimed Mr. Hollingworth,
+"you have not come to me to find her for you?"
+
+"No, sir; that's not my business here. My girl was found and saved by
+an angel."
+
+"A veritable angel?" asked Mr. Hollingworth. He was nettled by the
+tone and attitude of the man, and was disposed to resent these signs
+by a lightness of manner in his reception of the uninvited confidence
+that was being reposed in him.
+
+"What do you mean by veritable?" demanded Mr. Parkinson; and quickly
+himself answered his own question. "Oh! I know; a kind of mockery of
+me! The angel I mean is a woman with a name which I'll give you if you
+like."
+
+"It's a matter of perfect indifference to me, my good man."
+
+"I'll give it to you, then. There are not many like her, and as I come
+here alone, unsupported by evidences or witnesses, you might, when
+I've done, like to find out for yourself whether I'm speaking the
+truth. That would be only fair. The good angel who found and saved my
+Mary is Mrs. Manners, who is something more than loved--she's
+worshipped by every one who knows her."
+
+When Mr. Parkinson uttered the name of Manners, Mr. Hollingworth
+started, and glanced at his visitor; but the great contractor made no
+movement.
+
+"Your daughter being found and saved," said Mr. Hollingworth, "there
+is a pleasant ending of your story."
+
+"Not at all, sir. There's been a wrong done that must be righted; and
+before we come to the way of that, there's more to say. When my girl
+ran away from her home I was for a long time fairly mad, and was ready
+to strike both him and her dead at my feet if I had the chance. I was
+as bitter against her as against him; and if I'd known what I know
+now, there would have been a case in the papers, and the boys in the
+streets screaming out the news. But I couldn't discover who the man
+was; all that reached me was through hearsay from one of her girl
+companions, who had happened to see her in the company of a man they
+called a gentleman. They didn't know who he was any more than I did;
+and when I made up my mind that my girl had been brought to shame, I
+swore that she should never darken my doors again. A good many weeks
+passed by, and my feelings against my girl got harder instead of
+softer; and then, sir, the usual thing happened."
+
+"I understand," said Mr. Hollingworth, "as little of what you mean by
+'the usual thing happened,' as I do of how the story you are telling
+can possibly affect me."
+
+"A little more patience, sir, and it will be clear to you. The usual
+thing is, that the man who wronged my child deserted her."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"She was left pretty well shipwrecked in this big city of cruelty.
+Where should she turn to? Where do they all turn to in their thoughts?
+To the home they have brought disgrace upon; to the father and mother
+whose hearts they have broken. But my girl was afraid to come to me.
+She had somehow heard that I had sworn she should never cross my
+threshold again; that I had sworn to strike her down dead if she ever
+came before me again. So she hid herself and her shame, and fell into
+a fever, and was close to the death I had sworn against her. I knew
+nothing of it; the news didn't reach my ears, but it reached the ears
+of the angel woman I spoke of, Mrs. Manners. The way of it was that,
+thinking she hadn't many hours to live, my girl wrote a letter to one
+whom she loved and honored, a girl of her own age, sweet, and loving,
+and good, Miss Hester Manners. 'Dear Hester,' my girl wrote, 'come to
+me, if only for a minute, and give me one kind look before I die.
+Heaven will reward you for it.' There was more in the letter that I
+won't trouble you with. Miss Hester, as was right and proper, showed
+her mother the letter, and her mother, as was right and proper, said,
+'My dear, _I_ will go and see the poor girl.' Heaven bless her for her
+merciful act all the days of her life! She is poorer than I am by a
+long way, and has had such a battle to fight as few women have, and
+has fought it in a way that no other woman could. I have been pretty
+much of a careless, selfish man, I can see that now; not through her
+telling me of it; no, sir; but through her ways, somehow, that I've
+seen so much of lately. I've been neglectful of my duty, though I've
+led an honest life, which is about the best that can be said about me,
+but I'm a different man now through her, a different and a better man,
+I hope, than I've ever been; and if I could serve her by suffering any
+pain that a man can suffer, I'd do it gladly, and thank the chance. It
+was late at night when Miss Hester gave her the letter from my poor
+girl, and her husband wasn't at home, but she went straight on her
+errand of mercy, and remained with my child, nursing and attending to
+her till daylight came; and when she went away she promised to go
+again, and she did, day after day, night after night, taking her
+sewing with her, for the minutes were precious, and bread for her
+family had to be earned. This went on, sir, for some time in secret
+without me ever knowing it, until my Mary was snatched from death's
+door by this bright angel. Then, sir, Mrs. Manners began to speak to
+me of my child; how she did it I can't remember, try my hardest; there
+was nothing sudden, no news all at once that my Mary had been almost
+dying, and nursed back to life by her; she softened my heart gradually
+in a cunning and beautiful way, bringing Miss Hester with her to my
+rooms, and making me feel, as the dear young lady moved about, doing
+this and that for me, how happy I might be once more if I could see my
+child doing as she was doing. Mrs. Manners's heart is not only a heart
+of love and mercy, it is a heart of wisdom, and when she had well
+prepared me, and had led up to it so that I couldn't have refused to
+do the hardest task she set me, then, sir, it was that she told me all
+that had happened to my Mary, and told me, in her loving, gentle
+voice, that it was my duty to open my arms to the child who had been
+led into wrong through her own innocence and helplessness, and perhaps
+through my own neglect. She didn't put this last thought into my mind;
+it came there out of my own sorrow and self-reproach, but it was Mrs.
+Manners who planted the seed. I took my girl home, hoping and
+believing that everything would be right, and resolved, too, to do all
+I could to make 'em right. But the contrary has happened, and another
+disgrace, that none of us but my Mary knew, is threatening me now. The
+companions she used to associate with won't have anything to say to
+her. The poor can be hard, sir, as well as the rich--I've found that
+out; can be hard, and unjust, and merciless. Perhaps it was my Mary's
+own fault. She went away a merry, chattering magpie, singing and
+laughing, and chirruping like a cricket. She came back quiet and
+melancholy, and she moves about as though she wanted to die. The only
+women friends she has are Miss Hester and her mother; she's faithful
+and loving to them, but often when they are gone I find her crying fit
+to break her heart. Now, sir, as was natural, I tried to get out of
+her the name of the man who has brought this ruin and shame upon us,
+but never a word would she let slip, even to them who proved
+themselves better friends to her than I was. Seeing she was so quiet
+and shy, I looked out for letters; none came, and if she wrote any she
+has kept it secret from me. Now, sir, with the new disgrace
+threatening us that only a few days ago came, to my knowledge, I was
+more determined than ever to find out the man who must do her justice.
+I had never pried into the little box of clothes she brought home with
+her, and that she kept always locked in her bedroom, but I thought
+myself justified now in opening it unknown to her. It wasn't
+difficult; it is a cheap, common box, and almost any key the size of
+the lock would open it. I found no letters there, but a portrait, with
+a name at the back in my girl's writing. I went to her straight, and
+told her what I had done. 'Is this the man?' I asked her. She said,
+'Yes,' in a whisper. 'Did he give it to you himself?' I asked. 'No,'
+she answered, 'I took it without his knowing, and he doesn't know now
+that I've got it.' That shows the wickedness and artfulness of the
+villain--I beg your pardon, sir, for letting the right word slip."
+
+"Why beg my pardon?" asked Mr. Hollingworth, coldly.
+
+"Can't you guess what I'm coming to, sir?"
+
+"Indeed, I cannot; and I may add that up to this point, although I
+sympathize with you in your trouble, and wish it were in my power to
+relieve you, I have not the remotest idea why you have inflicted your
+story upon me."
+
+"Is that true?"
+
+"As this is the last time you will have the opportunity of speaking to
+me, I forgive the impertinence. It is quite true."
+
+"But you sympathize with me, you say?"
+
+"I have said so. You are yourself aware that your unhappy story is one
+which many poor fathers can relate; but that does not render it less
+detestable. You seem to be mistaken in me, my friend. You present
+yourself here to me, and plainly, although not in the exact words, you
+say, 'I am a working-man, and therefore an honest man. You are a
+gentleman, and therefore a scoundrel. I credit myself with virtue; I
+credit you with vice. I am a worthy member of society; you are an
+infamous one.'" And now Mr. Hollingworth spoke with real dignity: "You
+are absolutely and fatally in error. The pernicious views you have in
+effect expressed are, I am well aware, shared by many of your class.
+They are erroneous views. Among the class I may be supposed to
+represent are a number of very worthy and honest persons who are
+really earnest in their desire and endeavors to set right what is
+wrong in society. I believe myself to be one of these persons; I
+believe my son to be another; and it is you and such as you who throw
+obstacles in our way. There is something too much of this parade of
+exceptional virtues on the part of such demagogues as yourself. Have I
+made myself clear to you?"
+
+"Quite clear, sir," replied Mr. Parkinson, frankly and respectfully.
+He had listened with eager attention and interest to Mr. Hollingworth,
+from whose speech he seemed to derive satisfaction. "And I am free to
+admit that there is some truth in what you have said."
+
+"Really!" exclaimed Mr. Hollingworth, letting his earnest mood slip
+from him. "Perhaps you are as free to admit that even among the
+humbler classes such wrongs are done as you have come here to descant
+upon."
+
+"I admit it, sir; but each wrong must be treated on its own special
+ground. Had a poor man betrayed my child, I should have gone to him as
+I now come to you."
+
+"This is beyond endurance--"
+
+"No, sir," interposed Mr. Parkinson, "do not summon your servants
+until you hear what name is written on the back of the portrait I
+found in my poor girl's box."
+
+"Let me hear it, then, without any further beating about the bush."
+
+"It is that of your son, Mr. Richard Hollingworth!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+
+Mr. Hollingworth fell back in his chair, shocked and horrified, and a
+panorama of years of deceit crossed his mind. If what this man said
+was true, he had undoubted justice on his side. If what this man said
+was true, the son in whose honor and rectitude the father had
+implicitly believed had lived a life of treachery, had secretly lived
+the infamous life, and had successfully concealed the knowledge from
+those who held him dear.
+
+"When I read the name on the picture," said Mr. Parkinson, "it did not
+enlighten me, and as my daughter, after her first admission,
+obstinately refused to give me further particulars of her betrayer, I
+should have remained in the dark but for one circumstance. I belong to
+a working-man's club, the Wilberforce, which is in some sense a
+political club, as all such clubs are more or less. For weeks before
+my discovery of the portrait, I had not visited the club, having no
+heart to mix in its affairs; but it happened that I strolled into the
+club-room on the night the portrait fell into my hands. Political
+matters are freely discussed there, and the effect of every fresh
+election is commented upon. The evening papers contained the result of
+the election which has made your son a member of Parliament, and then
+it was that I saw his name in print. I took counsel with certain
+friends upon whose judgment I can rely, and their advice was that I
+should come direct to you. I have done so, and you will now know
+whether I was justified in seeking this interview."
+
+He paused, and it was only after a long silence that Mr. Hollingworth
+said:
+
+"Quite justified." Mr. Parkinson bent his head and waited. When Mr.
+Hollingworth spoke again it was in a constrained voice. "I should have
+preferred that your disclosure should have been made to me privately."
+
+"I wished it, sir," interrupted Mr. Parkinson.
+
+"Yes; I forgot. The fault was mine." He looked at Mr. Manners, but the
+contractor's eyes were averted. Not by word or motion had he denoted
+that he had been an interested listener to what had passed. "Nothing
+can be decided in the absence of my son, and you must not suppose that
+I shall condemn him unheard. What reparation can be made--" He could
+not finish the sentence; his agitation was so great that he scarcely
+knew what he was saying.
+
+"You would not think of offering us money," said Mr. Parkinson, in a
+tone of deep sternness.
+
+"No, no, of course not. And yet--but I can say no more at present.
+Have you the portrait with you?"
+
+"Yes, I brought it, expecting you to ask to see it."
+
+He handed it to Mr. Hollingworth, who, the moment he saw it, gave
+utterance to a cry of joyful surprise. It was the cry of a man who had
+been suddenly and unexpectedly released from unendurable torture.
+
+"You are not mistaken?" he exclaimed. "This is the picture you found
+in your daughter's box?"
+
+"It is," replied Mr. Parkinson, gazing suspiciously at Mr.
+Hollingworth. "Your son's name is written on the back."
+
+"I see it, in your daughter's handwriting." Mr. Parkinson could not
+understand the meaning of another strange expression in Mr.
+Hollingworth's face as that gentleman raised his eyes from the picture
+and partly turned to the contractor. "You are satisfied that this is
+the portrait of the--the gentleman who has wronged your daughter?"
+
+"She told me it was, and I am satisfied."
+
+"You lift a weight from my heart. Mr. Parkinson, this is not the
+portrait of my son, nor of any member of my family."
+
+"I'll not take your word for it," cried Mr. Parkinson, taking, with
+some roughness, the picture from Mr. Hollingworth. "Tell me, sir,
+you," he said, addressing Mr. Manners, "whether he speaks the truth."
+
+Before Mr. Hollingworth could prevent him he thrust the picture into
+Mr. Manners's hand, who, gazing upon it, recognized the likeness of
+his nephew, Mark Inglefield. Mr. Manners and Mr. Hollingworth
+exchanged meaning glances.
+
+"My friend speaks truly," said Mr. Manners, "and you might have
+believed him without appealing to me. This is not his son."
+
+"What infamous plot is here?" cried Mr. Parkinson.
+
+"None of our making, Mr. Parkinson," said Mr. Hollingworth. "With all
+my heart I sympathize with you."
+
+"I want none of your sympathy," said Mr. Parkinson, "I want justice,
+and I will have it. Whoever this man is, I will drag him into the
+light." In his passion he turned from one to the other with furious
+looks.
+
+"You cannot blame the innocent," said Mr. Hollingworth, pointing to a
+picture on the wall. "That is my son, Mr. Parkinson. You can trace no
+resemblance between the portraits."
+
+"No, they are not the same men. What is the meaning of this mystery?
+It shall not remain a mystery long--I swear it!"
+
+"Is there any reason why this interview should be prolonged?" said Mr.
+Hollingworth. "If you doubt my word, and that of my friend, you can
+set your doubt at rest by looking at the illustrated papers this week,
+in which the portrait of my son, a newly elected member of Parliament,
+will appear. It would be the height of folly on my part to attempt to
+deceive you. I make this promise to you, Mr. Parkinson. If you prove
+the portrait to be that of my son--who is as dear to me as your
+daughter is to you--and if he has done your child wrong, he shall make
+her the only reparation in the power of an honorable man."
+
+"I hold you to your word, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, "and if I have been
+mistaken, I ask your pardon. There is, however, something more for me
+to say. I am not blind; I have watched the faces of you gentlemen, and
+I believe you know who this person is. I may be mistaken in this
+belief, as I am in the other, according to you. Will you tell me if I
+am right or wrong?"
+
+Mr. Hollingworth made a deprecatory motion with his hand which the
+injured father construed into a refusal. Mr. Manners was motionless.
+
+"Very well, gentlemen," said Mr. Parkinson, with a gesture, half
+despairing, half scornful, "I will take your silence for what it is
+worth. But listen to me. There appears to be a double villainy in this
+affair, and it shall be brought to light. In my daughter's belief, the
+name of the man who betrayed her is Richard Hollingworth; and if your
+son's name has been so used it has been used for a vile purpose, and
+your honor is concerned as well as my own--if you will excuse a common
+working-man for speaking of his honor."
+
+"Nay, nay, Mr. Parkinson," said Mr. Hollingworth, gently, "surely you
+will not do me a further injustice!"
+
+"It is far from my wish, sir; but it is natural--perhaps you will
+admit it--that words should escape me for which I ought not to be held
+strictly accountable. Again I ask your pardon. You have met me fairly,
+and I thank you for it. That is all, I think."
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Parkinson," said Mr. Hollingworth, holding out his
+hand. "There are reasons why I should say nothing further at present.
+I will make a point of calling upon you and your daughter, with my
+son, if you will permit me. And if I can in any way befriend you--"
+
+"You can in one way," interrupted Mr. Parkinson, "and in one way only;
+by helping me unmask this villain and bringing him to justice. He
+has ruined my daughter's life, and I will ruin his if it is in my
+power--ay, I will, though it cost me the last drop of my blood.
+Good-night, sir."
+
+He turned to go, but stopped at the instance of Mr. Manners.
+
+"One moment," said that gentleman; "your visit here is at an end, and
+mine is nearly so. Would you have any objection to waiting for me
+below for two or three minutes? I wish to speak privately with you."
+
+"Will it serve any good purpose?" demanded Mr. Parkinson.
+
+"It may," replied Mr. Manners. "There are other wrongs than yours."
+
+"I don't dispute it. But I am concerned only in my own. Excuse me for
+speaking roughly."
+
+"I excuse you readily, and may perhaps have cause to be grateful to
+you. Other persons whom you honor may also have cause to be grateful
+that what you had to say to this gentleman was said in my presence.
+Let this assurance content you, and give me the favor of your company
+when you leave this house."
+
+"I'll do so, sir. I seem to be struggling in a net. A little mystery
+more or less won't matter much."
+
+With a rough bow--in which there was some native grace of manner which
+well became him in his grief and perplexity--he left the room. The two
+gentlemen, being alone, waited each for the other to speak; but the
+silence was soon broken.
+
+"The man's tale is true," said Mr. Hollingworth; "of that there can be
+no doubt. But I will not rashly commit myself to what may be an act of
+injustice. It remains for your nephew, Mr. Inglefield, to clear
+himself from the foul charge. If he cannot do so, he has played the
+part of an infamous scoundrel in the use he has made of my son's name;
+it is conduct which cannot be forgiven. Why, he might have ruined my
+lad at the very outset of his public career! If you were in my place,
+with an only son, upon whom all your hopes were set--for, although he
+has a sister, a girl counts for very little--would you overlook an act
+so base?"
+
+"No," replied Mr. Manners. A sharp pang had passed through him at Mr.
+Hollingworth's reference to an only son. He thought of Kingsley, with
+his bright, ingenuous face, with his eager voice, and simple, loving
+ways, with his clear ideas of duty and honor. Yes, even duty, which,
+in the years that were gone, he had accused Kingsley of forgetting and
+neglecting, crept into his mind side by side with honor. A rash act to
+marry without a father's consent, against a father's wishes; but
+Kingsley was ever rash and impulsive, but never in a dishonorable
+direction--never! And the step being taken, he did not flinch from its
+consequences. He had thrown in his hard fortune with the woman to whom
+he had pledged his faith, and had not for one instant wavered in the
+course he had believed it was right to follow. Would his nephew, Mark
+Inglefield, have stood so unflinchingly firm; would he have withstood
+temptation as Kingsley had done? Mentally he surveyed the two men, and
+a sound like a groan escaped his lips.
+
+"Have I pained you by my decision V asked Mr. Hollingworth, in a
+solicitous tone.
+
+"No; it is just. My thoughts were upon another matter."
+
+The sadness of his voice impressed Mr. Hollingworth, and he remembered
+that Mr. Manners had an only son, whom he had cast off for
+disobedience. This remembrance came to him now with strange
+significance. Mr. Parkinson had mentioned the name of Mrs. Manners,
+and had described her as an angel of goodness. Was it possible that
+some close relation existed between these two who bore the same name?
+
+"You had a son," he ventured to say.
+
+"Yes, I had a son," said Mr. Manners, "who disappointed and disobeyed
+me."
+
+"Children have no appreciation of the sacrifices parents make for
+them. I am sorry for you. I should not have spoken of him but for a
+reference made by the man who has just left us.
+
+"Yes; he spoke of a Mrs. Manners. The name is not a common one, and it
+may be--" He broke off here. "Mr. Hollingworth, it is not correct for
+me to say that my son disobeyed me, and you must not suppose that he
+was guilty of a dishonorable action. He was incapable of it."
+
+"Is he living still?" asked Mr. Hollingworth, laying his hand
+sympathizingly on his guest's shoulder.
+
+"I do not know. I have heard nothing of him for years. We will not
+pursue the subject; it is too painful, and I am waited for below. With
+respect to Mr. Inglefield, your best course will be to see or write to
+him. There need be no disguise. I myself shall speak to him, and shall
+mention names plainly."
+
+"I will write to him to-night; he must know at once that his visits
+here are at an end, unless he has been maligned."
+
+Mr. Manners found Mr. Parkinson waiting for him in the street.
+
+"I could not stop in the house," he said, "there is something about it
+that suffocates me."
+
+"I intended to ask you to walk with me to mine," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"I will walk with you, but I refuse to enter it," rejoined Mr.
+Parkinson, roughly. "You are, of course, a rich man."
+
+"Yes, I am rich."
+
+"I am poor, and I will keep my place. It would be better for all of us
+if every man did the same. We can talk in the streets. It will serve
+some good purpose, you said. I ask nothing for myself, mind, nothing
+but justice."
+
+"In the sad story you have told," said Mr. Manners, "you spoke of a
+woman who was kind to your daughter."
+
+"I did, and what I said of her is true. She is an angel of goodness,
+and she saved my daughter, body and soul. See here, sir. I am not a
+church-going man, and I hate sanctimonious people, but I am not a
+heathen either. There's some kind of a power that made the world and
+sent us into it for some purpose. I often wonder what, when I think of
+things. And there's a hereafter, and I'm glad to know it. I'll tell
+you why I'm glad. Because, if that scoundrel who ruined my daughter
+escapes his punishment here--and I'll do my best that he sha'n't--but
+if he _does_ escape it here, he'll meet it there! That's a
+satisfaction to me, and the thought of it will make me religious. I'll
+go to church next Sunday."
+
+"My object in speaking to you now," said Mr. Manners, "is to obtain
+information of Mrs. Manners. I gathered from what you said that she is
+poor."
+
+"Very poor," said Mr. Parkinson, "and that stands to her credit here,
+and 'll stand to her credit in the next world--if there's any justice
+there."
+
+"In what way does it stand to her credit?"
+
+Mr. Parkinson stopped suddenly to look at Mr. Manners's face, upon
+which the light of a street lamp was shining.
+
+"You are asking close questions," he said, "and I'm getting suspicious
+of people."
+
+"You are suspicious of me?"
+
+"Put it as you like. You don't know me, and never heard of me before
+to-night, and I don't suppose you care a brass farthing whether you
+ever hear of me again. I never saw you before to-night, and I don't
+know your name even; so you have the advantage of me. You're in the
+light, you see, and I'm in the dark, and here we are talking together
+confidentially, with the difference that you know what you're talking
+about, and I don't. Stop a bit. I see you want to speak; but I must
+work off my reel first. I don't care for interruptions. You've heard
+me tell my story; you've got in your mind my name, and my girl's name
+and shame, likewise the name of the man I'd take by the throat if he
+stood before me now and I knew it. Likewise the name of the angel
+woman who saved her, and who'd stand by her--I'll take my oath on
+it--if all the rest of the world was hounding her and throwing mud at
+her. Likely as not you're a friend of the scoundrel that's brought
+this upon us. I saw something in your face that makes me sure now he's
+not a stranger to you. He was a gentleman, so-called; you're another.
+I've only got your word for it that the talk you're having with me is
+for a good purpose. It may be for a bad one. I've no call to trust you
+that I can see. Give me a reason."
+
+"I find no fault with you for your suspicion of me. My name is
+Manners."
+
+"Oh! And is the woman I'd die to serve a connection of yours?"
+
+"She may be. It is to ascertain whether she is that I am questioning
+you now."
+
+"For a good purpose, you said?"
+
+"What I said I mean."
+
+"Let me have another look at you."
+
+Again they stopped, and again Mr. Parkinson's eyes fixed themselves on
+Mr. Manners's face. He was to some extent apparently satisfied.
+
+"Go ahead," he said.
+
+"You said," resumed Mr. Manners, steadily, "that her being poor, very
+poor, stands to her credit here, and will stand to her credit in
+another world, and I asked in what way."
+
+"All right. You've got a clear head on you. In this way. She's
+got nothing to gain by it. What she does is done out of pure
+goodness--not only what she's done for me and my girl, but what she does
+for every one who's in trouble. There isn't a face that don't light up
+when she comes by; there isn't a lodging, the commonest you can think
+of, that isn't brightened when she opens the door. If she was to die
+to-morrow--the good Lord forbid that she should! but I'm putting it
+that way to make it plain to you--if she was to die to-morrow, there'd
+be hundreds of us, men, women, and children, who'd follow her to the
+grave, and know that they'd lost a friend that could never be
+replaced. There would be no money to pay for a stone, but she'd have
+one in our hearts. God Almighty bless her and hers!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+
+The earnest sincerity of the grateful man shook Mr. Manners to the
+soul, and for once in his life his self-control slipped from him. He
+recovered himself quickly, but the impression produced by Mr.
+Parkinson's words remained.
+
+"You speak," he said, "of a woman and her daughter who have laid you
+under an obligation--"
+
+"A moment, if you please," interrupted Mr. Parkinson; "I spoke of a
+lady and her daughter. Mrs. Manners is a lady; we all know that, every
+one of us, and we've often wondered how she found her way among us,
+and how it is she is almost as poor as the poorest of us. I object to
+your calling her a woman in a tone that means, if it means anything,
+that she is no better than the rest of us. It's clear enough to me
+that you look down on us. Well, look down. It doesn't hurt us, any
+more than it's to your credit."
+
+"You are mistaken," said Mr. Manners, gently; "I do not look down on
+you. I was once a working-man myself." He sighed as he made the
+admission, at the thought that in those early days when he was
+struggling and making his way up the ladder he was a happier man than
+he had ever been since.
+
+"Were you?" exclaimed Mr. Parkinson, in wonder. "Let me think a bit. I
+remember when I was a boy hearing of a Mr. Manners, a great
+contractor, who was once no better than a bricklayer, and who had made
+himself a millionaire by his cleverness. It may be that you're the
+gentleman."
+
+"I am he."
+
+"I take off my hat to you. I'm not one of the envious ones. You made
+your money fairly, I've heard, and though you drove hard bargains, you
+didn't cut down wages."
+
+"That is true. I shall be pleased if yon will reckon it to my credit
+now."
+
+"I'll do that--it's no more than fair. And the lady I speak of may be
+a connection of yours, you say. That's interesting, though I never
+thought of linking you two together."
+
+"She never gave you cause to suspect it?"
+
+"Never. If she had it would have been known and talked of. These
+things get about, you see."
+
+"What you say makes me think all the better of her. May I proceed with
+my questions?"
+
+"You may."
+
+Had Mr. Manners been inclined to reflect, in his usual spirit, under
+the peculiar nature of this conversation, he would have loftily
+resented Mr. Parkinson's occupation of the higher ground; but in truth
+there was that stirring within him which humbled him; and it is good
+to know that it humbled without mortifying him.
+
+"Are Mrs. Manners and her daughter," he asked, "living alone? Is she a
+widow?"
+
+"No," replied Mr. Parkinson. "She is married, and lives with her
+husband."
+
+"Are you acquainted with his Christian name?"
+
+"Yes. It is Kingsley."
+
+A sigh of relief escaped Mr. Manners. He was not childless, then. It
+was still in his power to make reparation, or if not to make, to offer
+it. The latter alternative trod close upon the heels of the new-born
+impulse to atone for his harshness; the reflection intruded itself
+that his overtures towards a reconciliation might be declined. Many
+years had passed since there was peace between him and his son, and
+during all those years he had been, figuratively speaking, rolling in
+gold. So vast was his fortune that, living the life he did, he could
+not spend one half of it, and every day of his existence its colossal
+proportions grew. To Mark Inglefield he had made a most liberal
+allowance, and Inglefield, cunning and careful of the future, had
+occasionally drawn largely upon the great contractor's generosity. The
+requests he made were never refused, the reasons for them never
+inquired into. Mr. Manners had set store upon his wealth before he
+discarded his son; it meant then distinction, fame, political power,
+in which he would have a share. Kingsley's sense of right, no less
+than the ingenuousness and unselfishness of his nature, would have
+caused him to lay at his father's feet the honor and glory which he
+would assuredly have won had he been allowed to follow the career
+which, in his young manhood, had been mapped out for him. The rich
+man's heart was tortured as the image of Kingsley rose before him: the
+frank, laughing mouth, the bright eyes, the eager manner, smote him
+now with more than the force of actual blows. Those he could have
+parried or returned; not so the accusing voices from the past which
+proclaimed him tyrannical, ruthless, and unjust. The manner of
+Kingsley's life, as indicated by Mr. Parkinson's championship of his
+wife and daughter, was an added sting to the torture he was suffering.
+Kingsley and those with whom he had, without a murmur, thrown in his
+lot, had borne privation and poverty cheerfully, and had won a place
+in the esteem and affections of the poor people around them of which
+the highest in the land might have been proud. And all this time it
+had been in his, the father's, power to have lightened and brightened
+their lot without in the remotest degree feeling the loss; and all
+this time they had lived and labored without uttering one Word of
+reproach against him whose unreasoning, dictatorial conduct had made
+their life one of daily, hourly struggle; and all this time they had
+made no appeal to him upon whom they had a just claim, but trod, with
+courage and resignation, the thorny paths into which he had thrust
+them. Well might he hide his face in his hands with shame. He thought
+of Nansie, and of the surprise he felt when he first saw her--surprise
+at her modesty and gentleness of manner, surprise at the soft,
+pleading voice, surprise that she was a lady, fitted to grace any
+position to which wealth could raise her; to grace and adorn it, and
+to bring into it qualities of goodness which would have made her a
+shining example amid the follies and frivolities of fashionable life.
+What were the grounds of his anger against her and his son? That
+Kingsley, meeting her, had fallen in love with her, and had wooed her
+honorably, and that she, urged in some degree by youth and love, and
+in some degree by Kingsley's confident view of the future, had
+accepted him and become his wife. How, then, was Nansie to be blamed?
+How had she merited the lot to which he had condemned her? And wherein
+lay Kingsley's misconduct? In that having wooed and won a lady, he had
+held an opinion of his father which placed Mr. Manners above the
+sordid considerations of a sordid age. That surely was not a crime;
+but the father and judge had viewed it as such, and had meted out a
+cruel punishment. Kingsley might have acted differently; he might
+have acted towards Nansie as Mark Inglefield had acted towards the
+working-man, whose visit to Mr. Hollingworth had brought about
+disclosures which had led--and perhaps happily led--to the
+contemplations in which Mr. Manners indulged as he stood in the dark
+night with Mr. Parkinson. The conversation between them had been
+continued, and Mr. Manners, anxious to obtain as much information as
+it was in Mr. Parkinson's power to impart, had been told of Kingsley's
+connection with the Wilberforce Club, and of the project to make him
+president in the place of Mr. Bartholomew. This project Kingsley
+himself had relinquished, further experience of the violent views of
+his partisans having convinced him that their methods were not such as
+he could approve of. Mr. Parkinson, being led on by Mr. Manners,
+dilated at some length on working-men's politics in connection with
+Kingsley.
+
+"Not so easily led as you would imagine, sir," observed Mr. Parkinson,
+referring to Kingsley's characteristics. "Sympathizing with all who
+suffer from unjust and unequal laws, but stanch in his belief that
+those wrongs can only be set right by temperate means. Mr. Kingsley
+Manners has a will of his own."
+
+The father had already been compelled to acknowledge that. Strikingly
+different as he and his son were in their dispositions, they resembled
+each other in one respect; having resolved upon what they deemed right
+to do, they walked straight forward, regardless of consequences.
+Kingsley had done this in his relations with Nansie, and Mr. Manners
+had done this in his relations with his son. But Kingsley had
+sacrificed everything, his father nothing; and yet, of the two, Mr.
+Manners could not help confessing that the lot of the man who had
+cheerfully embraced poverty was the higher and nobler of the two.
+
+"And now," said Mr. Parkinson, after further questions had been asked
+and answered, "I've told you all I know about Mr. and Mrs. Manners and
+their daughter, and I should like to know what good it is going to do
+me."
+
+"I do not follow you," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"You've been so much occupied," explained Mr. Parkinson, "in the
+object you've been driving at, getting all you can out of me, and
+telling me precious little to enlighten me, that maybe you've lost
+sight of _my_ story."
+
+"I acknowledge it," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"I told you," proceeded Mr. Parkinson, "when we were in Mr.
+Hollingworth's house, that I believed you knew who the man is who has
+wronged my child. I say so again. You _do_ know him. Come, come, sir,
+I've played fair with you; play fair with me."
+
+"If the portrait you showed Mr. Hollingworth," said Mr. Manners, "is
+that of the man who has done you this wrong, I do know him."
+
+"Thank you for that much. I'll trouble you for his name. I don't want
+any one to take my quarrels on himself; I'm equal to them, and can
+carry them through. His name, sir, if you please."
+
+"At present I must decline to give it to you," said Mr. Manners, and
+would have proceeded had he not been interrupted roughly by Mr.
+Parkinson, who exclaimed:
+
+"That's the thanks I get! I might have known what to expect! But I'll
+find out where you live, and I'll dog you like your shadow till I come
+face to face with him."
+
+"There is no cause for you to speak to me like that. I have told you
+who I am, and wished you to come with me to my house. Mr. Parkinson,
+you have done me a great service, and in return I would give you all
+the assistance in my power. But threats and violence will not help you
+here. For the present, leave your wrongs to me; it is not unlikely I
+may be able to render you an infinitely greater service than you dream
+of. I ask you to trust me."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"For a few days."
+
+"Have you influence with the scoundrel?"
+
+"I have."
+
+A queer smile played about Mr. Parkinson's lips. "An infinitely
+greater service than I dream of," he said, repeating Mr. Manners's
+words. "Of course there's but one way of setting this thing right, and
+then I should lose my daughter. That's what we have children for--to
+plague, or torment, or disgrace us."
+
+Mr. Manners laid his hand gently on Mr. Parkinson's arm, and said, "We
+bring such punishment upon ourselves often. Perhaps it is the parents,
+not the children, who are chiefly to blame. Good-night, Mr. Parkinson.
+Here is my card; if you wish to see me you are welcome at any time. If
+you do not come to me I will come to you. There is one other favor I
+would ask of you."
+
+"Name it, sir."
+
+"Say nothing to Mr. and Mrs. Manners of what has passed between us
+to-night; regard our interview as private, for a time at least."
+
+"All right, sir. It shall be so. Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+
+Mr. Manners had not far to go before he reached his house, but he
+lingered somewhat on the road, wrapped in thought. Had what was
+passing within him been revealed to any person long familiar with him,
+it would have inspired feelings of wonder and surprise. In truth, a
+great change was taking place in this man's nature; he was no longer
+stern, self-willed, and arrogant; he was conscious of a certain
+humbleness of spirit, and he yielded to its influence. His thoughts
+were chiefly upon Kingsley and Nansie; what he had heard concerning
+them had touched him nearly; it had, as it were, opened a window in
+his soul which had been darkened all his life. But now and again his
+thoughts wandered to Mark Inglefield, and he dwelt upon the contrast
+between this man and his son. Kingsley so impetuous, open-minded, and
+frank, Inglefield so cool, methodical, and wary; the one wearing his
+heart upon his sleeve, the other keeping strict watch upon it, so that
+he might not be tempted to follow its impulses to his own
+disadvantage. The links which united Mr. Manners and Mark Inglefield
+were strong ones, and had been forged by Mr. Manners himself. When he
+discarded his son, and made up his mind to leave England, perhaps
+forever, he had made certain propositions to Mark Inglefield which had
+been eagerly accepted. Inglefield was to be his companion, his second
+son, and was to devote himself entirely to his patron, to be as it
+were at his beck and call, and subservient and obedient in all things.
+That the companionship had been productive of little pleasure was
+perhaps as much the fault of one as of the other. Disappointed in his
+dearest wishes, Mr. Manners's principal desire was to be left to
+himself, and Mark Inglefield humored him; careful ever to be ready
+when called upon to perform some duty, never contradicting his patron,
+never arguing with him; a willing, submissive slave, waiting for his
+reward in the future. This reward had been promised him; he was to be
+Mr. Manners's heir. The prospect was a glowing one, and he revelled in
+it, although there were occasions when a great wave of discontent
+swept over him. He was not a young man; how long would he have to
+wait? Mr. Manners was his senior by twenty-five years, but his health
+was perfect. It was his boast that he had never had a day's illness in
+his life, and his habits were such that there seemed little
+probability of his breaking down before he was a very old man.
+Luxuriousness of living had no temptations for him; plain fare
+sufficed for his needs. Mark Inglefield, on the contrary, was fond of
+rich food and rich wines, and he indulged in them; his tastes (in
+which may be included his vices) were the very reverse of Mr.
+Manners's, and if he chafed under the restraint in which he was held
+he was careful not to betray himself to his patron. He took his
+pleasures in secret, and was not sparing of them; and it was a proof
+that he was an able and astute man, cunning in device and richly
+capable in deceit, that not a whisper of those doings which would have
+been reckoned to his disadvantage had ever reached Mr. Manners's ear.
+
+"Is Mr. Inglefield in his room?" asked Mr. Manners of the servant who
+opened the door.
+
+"No, sir," was the reply.
+
+Mr. Manners passed up to his own, in which the gas was lighted, and
+paced it slowly in deep thought, with his hands clasped behind him.
+The house was the same he had built during the time he was resolving
+upon Kingsley's future and the position he was to occupy in the world.
+He remembered that then he had in view a lady whom Kingsley was to
+wed, and through whom he was to obtain immediate entry and recognition
+into the highest circles of society. All the years that Mr. Manners
+had been abroad the magnificent house had been left in the charge of
+care-takers, the owner not caring to let or part with it. There was
+another motive. Despite the apparent irrevocableness of the break
+between him and Kingsley, there lurked in Mr. Manners's mind the
+latent hope that something--he knew not what, and had not the courage
+to mentally inquire--might occur which might bring them together
+again. He would do nothing to bring this about, but the possibility
+existed, and, for a while, was dimly recognized. Gradually it faded
+into mere nothingness and was lost sight of, but by that time Mr.
+Manners had become too indifferent to the making of money to turn his
+investment to account.
+
+He had left this house with his wife and Mark Inglefield. He returned
+with Mark Inglefield, having buried his wife in a foreign country.
+Between her and him no mention had been made of their son from the day
+of the renouncement. On that day he had said to his wife, "I will not
+allow his name to be uttered in my presence." He was her master as
+well as her husband, and she had grown to fear him. Whether in the
+depths of her heart she had preserved some touch of that most sacred
+of human attributes, a mother's love for her only child, was never
+known to Mr. Manners. She obeyed him implicitly in this as in all
+other matters, and even on her deathbed Kingsley's name did not pass
+her lips. But now, in the solitude of his room, Mr. Manners recalled
+those last minutes on earth of the woman he had sworn to cherish, and
+it came to his gentler self to place a new meaning on the wistful look
+in her eyes as she turned them upon him for the last time. "She was
+thinking of Kingsley." He did not speak the words, but they could not
+have been plainer to his sense had he uttered them aloud.
+
+He went up to his wife's room, the room in which he had deposited all
+the mementoes of her silent life which he had brought home with him.
+Her jewels were there, her desk, and an old trunk which from sentiment
+she had preserved from the days of her maidenhood. In her desk he
+found a bunch of keys, and one of these fitted the trunk, which now
+lay open before him. He had never before looked into this trunk, and
+he could not have told what he expected to find there; but what he saw
+now stood witness against him. From the grave in a foreign land came
+the accusation.
+
+Nothing of his dead wife's was in the trunk, nothing that she had worn
+or that he had given her. Everything it contained had belonged to
+Kingsley. Portraits, school-books, articles of dress, and many items
+insignificant and worthless in themselves, but deeply precious in
+their spiritual significance. Here was the mother's heart portrayed,
+here the record of her inner life and sufferings, to which she had
+never given utterance. All the more potent now in their silent
+testimony. The proud man read in these trifles his condemnation. With
+a little quivering of his mouth, which he made no effort to control,
+he closed the trunk and locked it, and left the room, treading softly.
+
+In the passage he lingered a few moments, wrestling with an inward
+urging to visit the room which Kingsley used to occupy, and which was
+situated on the floor above. With something of his old masterfulness
+he wheeled suddenly round, and returned to his own apartment. There,
+however, the desire manifested itself more strongly, and yielding to
+it he soon found himself in Kingsley's room, which he had not visited
+since the day on which he had conducted Nansie thither, with the
+endeavor to impress upon her the great sacrifice which she would force
+Kingsley to make if she did not herself take steps to separate from
+him. Here, again, Mr. Manners was confronted with accusing testimony,
+for, from surrounding evidence, he saw that his wife had been in the
+habit of sitting in this room, and frequently occupying it after their
+son's departure. These signs of suppressed suffering, of anguish borne
+in silence, could not fail to impress him; nor could he fail to be
+impressed by the once familiar objects in which Kingsley took pride.
+The books, the bed, the articles of taste and value, the pipes, even
+some bits of jewelry--it seemed as if nothing had been removed or
+disturbed. Mr. Manners was both surprised and touched; these things
+were Kingsley's own, and he might have taken them and converted them
+into money, which the father knew had been sadly needed. "Kingsley was
+never mercenary," thought Mr. Manners, with a pitiful smile of mingled
+pride and humiliation. "The soul of honor and generosity!"
+
+He returned again to his room, and had not been in it a minute before
+he heard the sound of a step on the stairs. He threw open the door,
+and Mark Inglefield appeared.
+
+"I hardly knew whether you would be home so early," said the expectant
+heir. "Did you leave Mr. Hollingworth well?"
+
+The object of Mr. Manners's visit to that gentleman was, of course,
+known to Mark Inglefield, who looked upon this day as the red-letter
+day of his life. In the event of Mr. Manners arranging the marriage
+between him and Mr. Hollingworth's daughter, all anxiety for the
+future was at an end. Mr. Manners had promised to make at once a
+settlement upon him which would place him above all the chances and
+caprices of fickle fortune. For some time past he had found the ties
+which bound him to his patron irksome and disagreeable; he was hardly
+his own master; and to all the hints he had thrown out that he might
+fairly claim to be placed in a more independent position, Mr. Manners
+had replied:
+
+"Wait till you are settled."
+
+It was, indeed, this consideration that had impelled him to urge on
+the marriage. He had as little true love for Miss Hollingworth as the
+young lady had for him. She plays no part in this story, but it is
+necessary to say that she was a thoroughly worldly young person, with
+a full appreciation of the worldly advantage of marrying the heir of a
+millionaire. In their matrimonial views, therefore, she and Mark
+Inglefield were on an equality; the marriage into which they were
+willing to enter was a marriage of convenience, and they were content
+to leave the preliminaries in the hands of their elders.
+
+Mark Inglefield put on an air of anxiety as he asked Mr. Manners if he
+had left Mr. Hollingworth well. He knew the exact value of his part in
+the projected alliance, but he had represented to Mr. Manners that his
+heart was deeply engaged, and he labored under the belief that he had
+succeeded in throwing dust into his patron's eyes. Mark Inglefield had
+a remarkable opinion of his own capacity and capabilities, and, during
+his long relations with Mr. Manners, had grown extremely confident of
+himself and his powers, and somewhat scornful of Mr. Manners's force
+of character. The reason for this was that the two men never came into
+collision; their opinions never clashed. This might have occurred in
+the early years of their association had not Mark Inglefield tutored
+himself into complete subservience to a will which he had reason to
+know was imperious; but as time wore on Mr. Manners's interest in the
+affairs of life grew weaker, and Mark Inglefield made the mistake of
+attributing this indifference to failing mental power. Hence the
+growing scorn of his patron's character, which, once respected and
+feared, he now held in small esteem.
+
+"Mr. Hollingworth is well in health," said Mr. Manners. Mark
+Inglefield detected nothing significant in the tone, and was not in
+the least disturbed.
+
+"I hope the interview was satisfactory," he said.
+
+"Not entirely," replied Mr. Manners.
+
+This did produce some slight discomfiture in the younger man.
+
+"I thought," he remarked, "that everything was understood, and that it
+was a mere matter of arrangement of practical details."
+
+"I thought so, too," said Mr. Manners. "Something else, however, has
+cropped up, which needs explanation."
+
+"From me?" inquired Mr. Inglefield.
+
+"From you," said Mr. Manners.
+
+All Mark Inglefield's astuteness came instantly into play; no wariness
+was expressed in his face, for the reason that he had complete control
+over himself, and, on his mettle, was seldom, if ever, to be taken at
+a disadvantage.
+
+"I am ready to give any explanation that may be required," he said, in
+a tone of modest assurance. "Perhaps it was hardly to be expected that
+an affair of such importance could be settled without some trifling
+hitch."
+
+It was in his mind to say that the required explanation was nothing
+that affected his character, but he was prudent enough to arrest the
+words. No one knew better than himself that this was dangerous ground
+to approach. If anything was to be said upon the point, it must not
+come from him.
+
+"I was not prepared for any hitch," said Mr. Manners. "When I visited
+Mr. Hollingworth this evening, I believed that everything would be
+arranged as you wished."
+
+"And as you also wished," said Mark Inglefield, quickly.
+
+"Yes; although my interest in the negotiation was naturally less than
+yours. Do not stand, Inglefield; what we have to say to each other
+will occupy a few minutes."
+
+Mark Inglefield, with inward anxiety and a cheerful exterior, drew a
+chair to the table and sat down.
+
+"Do you love the young lady?" inquired Mr. Manners.
+
+"If I did not," replied Mark Inglefield, wondering at the strangeness
+of the question, "should I desire to marry her?"
+
+"That is scarcely an answer," observed Mr. Manners.
+
+And now Mark Inglefield suspected that a battle was impending, and
+that something serious was coming.
+
+"Certainly I love her," he said. "Is there any doubt of it, and is
+that the difficulty?"
+
+"That is not the difficulty, but it strikes me now as singular that
+love was never mentioned in the course of the interview."
+
+For the life of him Mark Inglefield could not help remarking:
+
+"I was not aware that you were given to sentiment."
+
+"Nor am I," retorted Mr. Manners. "I have been all my life a practical
+man, until lately, when life seems to have been valueless to me."
+
+"I am sorry to hear you say that," said Mark Inglefield, with
+well-simulated sympathy.
+
+"The sentimental view of a question," continued Mr. Manners, "is a
+view I have always ignored. I set my own course, and, rightly or
+wrongly, have followed it. Whether it has brought me happiness or not
+affects myself only."
+
+"Pardon me for venturing to differ from you," said Mark Inglefield,
+thinking he saw what might be turned to his advantage; "what you
+decide upon may affect others as well as yourself."
+
+"I am corrected; it may, and has."
+
+Mark Inglefield inwardly congratulated himself. Not a suspicion
+crossed his mind that he and Mr. Manners, in this contention, were
+mentally travelling different roads. He was thinking only of his own
+interests; Mr. Manners was thinking of Kingsley.
+
+"May I ask," said Mark Inglefield, "whether Miss Hollingworth was
+present during your interview with her father?"
+
+"She was present at no part of it," replied Mr. Manners.
+
+"Then the difficulty you refer to did not spring from her."
+
+"It did not."
+
+"Nor from you, I hope, sir?"
+
+"No, nor from me."
+
+"Surely Mr. Hollingworth raised no objection?"
+
+"He was not the originator of it."
+
+Mark Inglefield took heart of grace. Whatever grievance had
+arisen--and he was too wary to demand its nature with any show of
+indignation; it might lead to the idea that he himself was conscious
+of something blamable in his conduct; it was by far the best to avoid
+anything that savored of heat, and to maintain the attitude he had
+always assumed with Mr. Manners--whatever grievance, then, had arisen
+must be purely imaginary, and could be easily explained away.
+
+"I await your pleasure," he said, "and am ready, as I have already
+stated, to give you any explanation you require."
+
+"The interview between Mr. Hollingworth and myself," said Mr. Manners,
+his eyes fixed upon Mark Inglefield's face, in which no trace of
+discomposure was visible, "was nearly at an end, when a visitor was
+announced. It is not my habit to beat about the bush, Inglefield. The
+name of this visitor was Parkinson."
+
+Not a muscle in Mark Inglefield's features twitched, although he
+recognized at once the precipice upon which he was standing.
+
+"Parkinson," he repeated, in a tone of unconcern.
+
+"Do you know a man of that name?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"Parkinson! Parkinson!" said Mark Inglefield, as though searching his
+memory. "No. I am not acquainted with any man bearing that name."
+
+"Nor with any woman?"
+
+"Nor with any woman," replied Mark Inglefield, coolly. "It is only
+fair that you should be told what this man revealed."
+
+"If it affects me, certainly, though I am completely in the dark. The
+person was admitted, then?"
+
+"He would not be denied. It appears that he has called repeatedly at
+Mr. Hollingworth's house, with the purpose of seeing that gentleman,
+and he refused to go away now without being satisfied."
+
+"As you evidently suppose me to be implicated in the revelation--I
+adopt your own term, sir--he made, I am entitled to ask whether he is
+a gentleman."
+
+"He is a working-man."
+
+Mark Inglefield leaned back in his chair with an air of content,
+expressing in this action a consciousness of complete innocence.
+
+"I was really beginning to fear," he said, "that a charge had been
+brought against me by one whose words would have some weight."
+
+"Mr. Parkinson's words had considerable weight," said Mr. Manners,
+"and the tale he related was true."
+
+"It is not for me to dispute with you, but I am all curiosity, sir."
+
+"Before I recount the shameful story he related, of which you appear
+ignorant--"
+
+"Of which I _am_ ignorant," interposed Mark Inglefield.
+
+"It is but right," continued Mr. Manners, ignoring the interruption,
+"that I should make reference to a certain understanding between
+ourselves. I refer to the promise I gave you to make you my heir."
+Mark Inglefield caught his breath, and his face grew a shade paler.
+"This promise, in effect, as we sit together here to-night, is already
+fulfilled. My will is made out to that end."
+
+Mark Inglefield recovered himself. What need was there for anxiety?
+The blow was unexpected and crushing, but he would prove himself a
+clumsy bungler indeed if he were unable to parry it.
+
+"I have never had any uneasiness on that score, sir," he said. "Your
+promised word was sufficient assurance. The trust, the confidence you
+reposed in me cannot be shaken by false statements."
+
+"It is not for me to say," remarked Mr. Manners, "at the present
+juncture, whether the statements made by Mr. Parkinson are true or
+false; but as they stand they affect you vitally, so far as worldly
+circumstances go. I do not hold myself bound by my promise if I find I
+have been deceived in you. It was given to a man of honor. Prove
+yourself so, and you shall not be disappointed, although some small
+share of my wealth may be otherwise bestowed. But I tell you frankly
+that I intend, quite apart from what you may have to say, to sift this
+man's story to the bottom, and to come to the truth of it. You have
+not lived with me all these years, Inglefield, without knowing that
+when I announce an intention I shall carry it out to its end. Mr.
+Parkinson's story, and other disclosures of which it formed the
+groundwork, have deeply affected me, and may have a strong bearing
+upon the small span of life which is yet left to me. I am speaking to
+you openly, because the occasion demands it. Quite independent of the
+wrong of which Mr. Parkinson justly complains, there are matters of
+which I intend to speak to you. Shall we go into them to-night, or
+would you prefer to defer their consideration till the morning?"
+
+"To-night, sir, to-night," exclaimed Mark Inglefield, with an
+exhibition of great indignation. "I could not sleep until I have
+removed from your mind the unjust suspicions which have been planted
+there by a man who is an utter stranger to me."
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+
+Mark Inglefield's assumption of virtuous indignation would have been
+supplanted by a feeling of veritable consternation had he been aware
+of what was passing through the mind of his patron. Mr. Manners owed
+it to himself, and was fully determined, to lay bare the naked truth
+of Mr. Parkinson's story; but, true or false, it was of small
+importance to him, in comparison with the feelings which had been
+aroused within him by the description which Mr. Parkinson had given of
+Kingsley and Nansie. He had promised to make Mark Inglefield his heir,
+and if this man succeeded in freeing himself from the charge which had
+been laid against him, the promise should be fulfilled. But he had not
+pledged himself to leave Inglefield the whole of his property. There
+was enough and to spare for ample provision for the son he had
+discarded, and to whom now, at the eleventh hour, his heart was
+turning. He had never entertained any strong affection for Inglefield.
+In the early days of their association he had endeavored to acquire a
+feeling of sentiment towards his nephew, in order that the alienation
+between himself and Kingsley should be complete and irrevocable; but
+Inglefield was not gifted with the qualities to win such an affection.
+Failing in this, he and Mr. Manners travelled together more as
+ordinary acquaintances than warm friends; and as time wore on the
+opportunity of drawing them closer together was lost.
+
+"We will first," said Mr. Manners, "dispose, as far as we can, of the
+wrongs of which Mr. Parkinson complains. I say as far as we can,
+because I wish you to distinctly understand that I intend myself to
+investigate the matter."
+
+"I understand so, sir," said Mark Inglefield, inwardly cursing Mr.
+Manners for his obstinacy.
+
+"You should be glad that I have resolved upon this course. Declaring
+yourself innocent, as you do, the result should more completely
+exonerate you. In which case Mr. Hollingworth will doubtless adhere to
+the alliance which I went to his house to-night to complete."
+
+"Otherwise he will not?"
+
+"Otherwise he will not," said Mr. Manners. "Do you wish to hear the
+words he uttered with respect to you?"
+
+"It will be best," said Mark Inglefield.
+
+"Mr. Parkinson's story being told, he left the house, and Mr.
+Hollingworth and I remained in conference for a few minutes. It was
+then that Mr. Hollingworth said: 'It remains for your nephew, Mr.
+Inglefield, to clear himself from this foul charge. If he cannot do
+so, he has played the part of an infamous scoundrel.' Strong words,
+Inglefield."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Mark Inglefield, "and that they should be used
+towards me fills me with indignation and amazement."
+
+"Innocent, your feelings are justifiable, and you will find Mr.
+Hollingworth ready to make amends. In what he said I fully concurred.
+I will explain as briefly as possible the matter of which Mr.
+Parkinson complains. He is a working-man, living in the east of
+London. He has one child, a young woman named Mary." Mr. Manners
+paused; Mark Inglefield never winced. "This daughter, it appears,"
+continued Mr. Manners, "has fallen a victim to the designs of a
+scoundrel. She fled from her home at this scoundrel's instigation,
+who, wearying of her, deserted her and left her, ruined and penniless,
+to die or pursue her life of shame."
+
+"It is not at all an unusual story," said Mark Inglefield, apparently
+listening to the narrative with great interest, "but I fail to see its
+relation with me."
+
+"Had it not been," continued Mr. Manners, "for the kindness of a lady
+who, according to Mr. Parkinson, is universally beloved for her
+goodness of heart, the unhappy girl, driven to despair, would probably
+have committed suicide; but this lady--"
+
+"Lady, sir?" interrupted Mark Inglefield, noting with curiosity a
+certain emphasis of tenderness which, unconsciously to himself, Mr.
+Manners put upon the word.
+
+"I said a lady, although she is as poor as those among whom she
+lived."
+
+"Ah," sneered Mark Inglefield, "a piece of working-man's clap-trap,
+introduced for the purpose of imposing upon your benevolence."
+
+"I am not noted for benevolence," said Mr. Manners, dryly; "it would
+not have been to my discredit had I been more charitable in my
+career."
+
+Mark Inglefield stared at his patron. This was a new phase in the rich
+man's character, and, with his altered demeanor, for which Inglefield
+could discover no explicable reason, boded changes. Still he did not
+lose his self-possession.
+
+"Of every twenty who beg of you," he said, "nineteen are rank
+impostors."
+
+"Possibly; but that does not affect our present business. The lady I
+refer to stepped in at a critical moment, nursed the poor girl and
+brought her to reason, and finally succeeded in reconciling her father
+with her, who received her again in his home."
+
+"Ah!" thought Mark Inglefield, "Mary is at home, then. I shall know
+where to find her." Aloud he said, "Why do you pause, sir?"
+
+"I supposed you were about to speak," replied Mr. Manners.
+
+"No. I was only thinking that this Mr. Parkinson was not a bad sort of
+fellow."
+
+"Because of his reconcilement with his only child," asked Mr. Manners,
+"who not only offended but disgraced him!"
+
+"Yes, because of that," said Mark Inglefield.
+
+"It speaks well for him?"
+
+"Yes." Almost upon the utterance of the word there came to Mark
+Inglefield the recollection of the estrangement between Mr. Manners
+and his only child; and now there occurred to him that behind this
+story of Mary Parkinson there lay something which might be of almost
+equal consequence to his prospects. All the cunning forces of his
+nature took array within him, and stood on the alert for the
+protection of their wily master. The affair was beginning to assume a
+more serious aspect. Well, he was prepared to battle with it.
+
+"I am pleased to hear your opinion, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners; "it
+coincides with mine." ("I was right," thought Inglefield.) "The
+daughter, however," pursued Mr. Manners, "again in her home, was most
+unhappy, from a cause which her father had not suspected. He set a
+watch upon her, to discover the cause of her unhappiness, and soon
+found that he was threatened by another disgrace. Maddened by this
+discovery, he questioned his daughter, and pressed her to give him the
+name of her betrayer. She refused." ("Good girl!" thought Mark
+Inglefield; "stanch girl! I am safe.") "Mr. Parkinson was not the kind
+of man, with this additional disgrace hanging over him, to rest
+contented with the refusal, and he adopted the extreme measure of
+breaking open his daughter's box, in which he found the portrait of a
+man, a stranger to him. On the back of this portrait a name was
+written." (Mark Inglefield smiled placidly. "I never gave her a
+portrait of myself," he thought, "though she begged often for one. Nor
+has she a scrap of my writing to bring against me. You were ever
+prudent, Mark. You will get over this difficulty, have no fear.") Mr.
+Manners had observed the placid smile, but he made no comment on it.
+"It happened that the name written on the back of the picture has just
+been brought into prominence, and with this double clew in his
+possession, Mr. Parkinson sought, and after some difficulty obtained,
+an interview with Mr. Hollingworth, in which he told the story I have
+narrated to you. Are you curious to learn the reason of his desire to
+speak with Mr. Hollingworth?"
+
+"It would be strange," said Mark Inglefield, "if I were not interested
+in anything concerning a family with which I hope to be soon connected
+by marriage."
+
+"Mr. Parkinson accused Mr. Hollingworth's son, Richard, who has just
+won his election, of being Mary Parkinson's betrayer. Shocked at the
+charge, Mr. Hollingworth demanded some better proof than Mr.
+Parkinson's bare word, and the wronged father produced it. He handed
+the portrait he had found in his daughter's box to Mr. Hollingworth,
+and stated how it had come into his possession. The name written on
+the back of the photograph was Richard Hollingworth."
+
+"In whose writing?" asked Mark Inglefield.
+
+"In Mary Parkinson's. But the portrait was not that of Richard
+Hollingworth."
+
+"Whose then, sir?"
+
+"Yours."
+
+Mark Inglefield started, and could have lashed himself for this
+exhibition of surprise.
+
+"Surely," he said, "upon such evidence you do not accuse me?"
+
+"I accuse no one. I must not forget to inform you that when Mr.
+Parkinson found the portrait he forced from his daughter the
+confession that it was that of her betrayer, who had the audacity and
+the infamy to present himself to her under the guise of a friend. Mr.
+Richard Hollingworth was your friend. Inglefield, I have purposely
+used these two strong words 'infamy' and 'audacity.' Do you agree with
+me that such conduct on the part of any man was audacious and
+infamous?"
+
+"I agree with you entirely," replied Mark Inglefield, who, although he
+felt as if he were being caught in a trap, still spoke in a calm
+voice, and was busily casting about for ways and means to get out of
+it. "But I repeat, you would surely not accuse--nay, not only accuse,
+but convict me upon such evidence?"
+
+"I have already told you that I accuse no one; still less would I
+convict without absolute proof. Very little more remains to be told of
+this shameful story. Mr. Hollingworth, upon seeing the portrait,
+indignantly defended his son, whose prospects of a public, honorable
+career would have been blasted had he been dragged into the courts,
+charged with a crime so vile, and he made the promise to Mr. Parkinson
+that if it should be proved that Richard Hollingworth was the
+betrayer, the young gentleman should make the girl the only reparation
+in the power of an honorable man."
+
+"Marry her?"
+
+"That was his undoubted meaning."
+
+"It was a convenient promise," said Mark Inglefield, with easy
+assurance. "Had the portrait been that of his son he would not have
+made it. Mr. Hollingworth is a man of the world."
+
+"There is no need for us to discuss that point. Your remark does you
+no credit, Inglefield."
+
+"It was founded, sir," said Mark Inglefield, in a tone of respectful
+deference, "upon a knowledge of Mr. Hollingworth's character."
+
+"Mr. Hollingworth would not thank you for that."
+
+"Possibly not. Still I speak as a man of the world, as you know me to
+be, and as you are yourself. A man's experience must count in such
+matters. Is your story ended, sir?"
+
+"Very nearly. When I left Mr. Hollingworth he expressed the intention
+of writing to you to-night, to the effect that your visits to his
+house must cease until you have cleared yourself. You will receive his
+letter in the morning. Mr. Parkinson also said something with which
+you should be made acquainted. He said you had ruined his daughter's
+life, and he made the solemn declaration that he would ruin yours if
+it cost him the last drop of his blood."
+
+"He knows my name, then?"
+
+"He does not. Neither Mr. Hollingworth nor I enlightened him."
+
+"That was only fair to me, sir. My good reputation is as dear to me as
+any man's. All the time you have known me there has been nothing
+dishonorable laid to my charge."
+
+"I know of nothing, Inglefield; but then our courses have lain
+somewhat apart. There should certainly, in our relations, have been a
+closer confidence. However, all that is past, and it is not given to
+us to recall our actions. Now that we are speaking together, openly
+and frankly, there must be no reservations. I have plainly indicated
+to you the course I have resolved upon with respect to the story of
+Mary Parkinson. I have pledged myself to assist him in obtaining
+justice, and you know that I shall keep my word. Let me tell you that
+there appears to be something strange in your attitude on this
+question."
+
+"What do you expect of me? I can afford to treat with quiet scorn the
+accusation which you seem to favor against me."
+
+"You are still on the wrong tack--a surprise to me in a man of so much
+intelligence. I expected from you something more than general
+statements."
+
+"If you would put direct questions to me," said Mark Inglefield, who
+all this time was in serious mental debate with himself, "I should
+cease from unconsciously offending you. I owe you much, sir, and all
+my future prospects depend upon you. Recognizing and acknowledging
+this, it would be the height of folly in me to disappoint you in any
+way; but, I repeat, I am in the dark as to what you expect from me."
+
+"You would prefer that I should ask straight questions?"
+
+"It is my wish."
+
+"I will do so. You are now acquainted with the disgraceful story which
+has caused both Mr. Hollingworth and myself to assume an attitude
+towards you for which we shall fully atone if we are satisfied there
+are no grounds for it. You do not know any person, male or female,
+bearing the name of Parkinson?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Do you deny that you are, directly or indirectly, connected with the
+wrong of which Mr. Parkinson complains?"
+
+"I deny it emphatically." Mark Inglefield said it boldly, and met Mr.
+Manners's gaze unflinchingly.
+
+"That is plain speaking," said Mr. Manners. "You must pardon me if I
+widen the matter a little. It is far from my wish to pry into your
+private concerns, but to some extent they affect me."
+
+"You have every right to inquire into them," said Mark Inglefield; and
+now that he was launched on a full tide of deceit and treachery,
+determined to override every obstacle and to overcome every danger,
+there was nothing in his voice or manner to which the most suspicious
+person could take exception. "Every action in my life is open for your
+inspection."
+
+"The man who has wronged Mr. Parkinson's daughter presented himself to
+her under a false name. She may have done the same to him."
+
+"I understand what you mean, sir," said Mark Inglefield, not giving
+Mr. Manners time to finish, "and I declare, upon my honor as a
+gentleman, that there lives not a woman in the world who can complain
+of wrong at my hands. Is that sufficiently comprehensive, sir?"
+
+"So far as Mary Parkinson is concerned," replied Mr. Manners, "it
+covers the whole ground, although it does not clear up the mystery."
+
+"What is it that remains to be cleared? Is not my word of honor as a
+gentleman of more weight than the false statements of a shallow,
+ignorant woman?"
+
+"You are speaking with unnecessary heat," said Mr. Manners, calmly.
+"In a few hours, by a very simple process, the matter can be settled.
+To-morrow morning you will accompany me to Mr. Parkinson's home--I
+have the address--and there, face to face with him and his daughter,
+you will be able in a moment to convince them how you have been
+maligned."
+
+"Surely, sir," remonstrated Mark Inglefield, to whom this proposal
+brought a feeling of consternation, "you do not really mean to drag
+both yourself and me personally into this disgraceful affair?"
+
+"What can you find to object to in it?" asked Mr. Manners. "I have
+pledged myself to sift the matter to the bottom, and I am not the man
+to depart from my word. The course I propose is an honorable course,
+and the result must be your complete vindication. At the present
+moment you are under suspicion; you cannot wish to remain so. Of
+course, Inglefield, I cannot compel you to accompany me. If you
+refuse--"
+
+Mr. Manners paused, but the uncompleted sentence was sufficiently
+comprehensive. Thus driven, there was no alternative before Mark
+Inglefield than to cry, with great warmth,
+
+"I do not refuse."
+
+"You will accompany me?"
+
+"Yes, sir, willingly, as you attach so much importance to it."
+
+"I attach the most serious importance to it. We will start at eleven
+o'clock in the morning, and will go by train. To drive there would
+attract notice, which it is my desire, for more reasons than one, to
+avoid. It is agreed, then?"
+
+"Yes, sir, it is agreed."
+
+"There is an aspect of this unfortunate affair," said Mr. Manners,
+"which seems not to have occurred to you."
+
+"What is it, sir?" asked Mr. Inglefield, whose inward perturbation was
+not lessened by the continuance of the conversation.
+
+"Think, Inglefield. I would prefer that it should come from you
+instead of from me."
+
+"I can think of nothing," said Mark Inglefield, speaking now with
+sincere ingenuousness. "So far as I can see, we have threshed it
+completely out."
+
+"Take a moment or two to consider. I am really anxious that it should
+occur to you."
+
+Mark Inglefield pondered, but so entirely engrossed was he by
+the main issue--which now, indeed, he recognized was vital to his
+prospects--that there was no room in his mind for small side issues.
+He found himself incapable of wresting his thoughts from the one grand
+point--how was he to avoid this personal meeting with Mary Parkinson
+in the presence of her father and Mr. Manners?
+
+"I can think of nothing," he said, presently.
+
+"Then I must remind you," said Mr. Manners, coldly, "that Mary
+Parkinson has your portrait in her possession."
+
+"True, sir, true," exclaimed Mark Inglefield. "How could it have
+escaped me? And, now that you have reminded me, I believe you said
+that the girl herself unblushingly proclaimed that the portrait was
+that of her betrayer." He said this glibly; a plan was forming in his
+mind by which he could avert the threatened danger.
+
+"She proclaimed it," responded Mr. Manners, "so Mr. Parkinson informed
+me, but I do not think I said she proclaimed it unblushingly; I had no
+warranty for saying so."
+
+"The expression is mine, and fits the case; she has trumped up the
+story, very likely at the instigation of her accomplice."
+
+"If that is so he proves himself a clumsy scoundrel. Your statements
+established, Inglefield, you must bring this man to justice. It is a
+conspiracy to ruin you, therefore a criminal offence."
+
+"You may depend," said Mark Inglefield, vivaciously--his plan was
+formed, and he was confident of success--"that I shall not allow this
+scoundrel to escape me."
+
+"We will dismiss the matter for to-night," said Mr. Manners; "be sure
+that you are ready at eleven in the morning. And now I wish to speak
+to you upon another matter."
+
+"Very well, sir," said Inglefield, and thought: "What is the old fool
+going to bring forward now?"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+
+"I told you," said Mr. Manners, "that the matter we have left is one
+vital to your interests. The matter we are now approaching is vital to
+mine."
+
+"I am sure, sir," said Inglefield, wondering, "anything I can do to
+serve you--"
+
+"The truth will serve me; nothing less. How long is it since you saw
+my son, Kingsley?"
+
+"A great many years," replied Inglefield, with a fainting heart.
+
+Here was another unforeseen danger threatening him, for there was
+nothing of harshness or severity in Mr. Manners's voice; it was,
+indeed, gentle and tender.
+
+"How long since you have heard of him?"
+
+"Nearly as long. I never corresponded with him, you know. It was
+enough for me that he offended and deceived you--you, the best of men
+and fathers!"
+
+Mr. Manners gazed at Mark Inglefield in surprise. This reference to
+himself as the best of men and fathers was new to him, and from such a
+quarter quite unexpected.
+
+"I do not deserve your good opinion," he said; "I am not the best of
+men, and have not been the best of fathers."
+
+"Let others judge," murmured Inglefield.
+
+"They would condemn me, but not more strongly than I condemn myself."
+
+"Why do you agitate yourself, sir?" said Inglefield. "The affair is
+dead and buried long ago. You have no cause for reproach."
+
+"It is because I have true cause for reproach that I am tortured
+now. Wrongs may be buried, but they do not die. They live to bear
+after-fruit."
+
+He leaned his head upon his hand, and a thought flashed suddenly into
+Mark Inglefield's mind.
+
+"The past has been recalled to you, sir," he said, in a tone of false
+commiseration, "in some special way."
+
+"Yes, Inglefield."
+
+"Through this Mr. Parkinson?" asked Inglefield. "Yes, through him."
+
+"Ah," cried Inglefield, "then these men are acquainted with each
+other."
+
+"These men?" repeated Mr. Manners, in inquiry.
+
+"Mr. Parkinson and your son," replied Inglefield, somewhat confused by
+the question.
+
+"Yes, they are acquainted with each other."
+
+"Then it is your son," exclaimed Inglefield, starting to his feet with
+a show of passion which was not entirely simulated, "I have to thank
+for the vile accusation which has been brought against me! It is he I
+have to thank for blackening my character! And it is by these means
+that he, after all these years, endeavors to supplant me in your
+respect!"
+
+"Restrain yourself," said Mr. Manners, "You are doing Kingsley an
+injustice. With what has passed between us he has nothing whatever to
+do."
+
+"Then how comes it, sir," demanded Inglefield, speaking still with
+violence, "that this Mr. Parkinson, this sham working-man--oh, I know
+them, sir; they trade upon the term, and twist it artfully to their
+own advantage--how comes it, I ask, that this Parkinson visited Mr.
+Hollingworth with this trumped-up story while you were with that
+gentleman? Why, the plot is as clear as daylight! I see it all. The
+shameless villains!"
+
+"Stop, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners, sternly; "I will not allow you
+to brand my son with such an epithet. Recall it."
+
+"At your bidding, yes, sir. But none the less am I amazed that you
+should permit yourself to be duped by such a barefaced, superficial
+trick."
+
+"How was it possible," asked Mr. Manners, "that Mr. Parkinson knew that
+I was with Mr. Hollingworth when he called?"
+
+"How was it possible, sir? There was no difficulty in ascertaining a
+fact so simple. It belongs to the deep-laid plot by which my enemies
+hope to ruin me."
+
+"Once more I tell you," said Mr. Manners, "that the expectations I have
+held out to you shall be fulfilled to your satisfaction if you clear
+yourself of the charge in relation to Mary Parkinson. Be wise,
+Inglefield; I am not a man to be lightly trifled with, especially at a
+time like this, when you can see I am deeply moved. Whether Mary
+Parkinson's story affects you or not, it is a true story; there is no
+room for doubt; and the introduction of my son's name into it was not
+premeditated."
+
+"What is it you wish of me?" asked Inglefield, seating himself
+sullenly.
+
+"Some assistance in recalling what I learned from your lips with
+respect to my son and his wife."
+
+"Well, sir, I am bound to obey you, though the subject is intensely
+painful to me."
+
+"How much more painful must it be to me when I have heard that which
+leads me to doubt the justice of an act which condemned my son to a
+life of privation!"
+
+"What you have heard from Mr. Parkinson to-night, sir?"
+
+"Yes, from Mr. Parkinson. Inglefield, I remember that you spoke of the
+lady who won Kingsley's love as an artful, designing woman. If I am
+exaggerating, correct me."
+
+"I certainly said little in her favor," replied Mark Inglefield,
+sullenly and ungraciously. There could have been no more unwelcome
+topic than this, and it was broached at a time when all his attention
+and skill were required to ward off impending ruin. It proved that he
+was a man of infinite resource that two such blows dealt at once and
+so unexpectedly did not completely confound him.
+
+"You must be a great deal more explicit with me, Inglefield," said Mr.
+Manners. "You said nothing in her favor."
+
+"Well, sir, if you will have it so."
+
+Mr. Manners frowned.
+
+"It is not as I would have it; it is or is not the truth."
+
+"I have no intention of denying it;" and here came a cunning stroke.
+"Consider, sir. Is it not natural that I should be to some extent
+unbalanced by what has transpired?"
+
+"Yes, it is natural, Inglefield, and I will excuse much. But I must
+have plain answers to my questions, or I shall ask you nothing
+further."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XL.
+
+
+The turn which this conversation had taken and the unexpected nature
+of the disclosures which Mr. Manners had made were, indeed, surprises
+for which Mark Inglefield could not possibly have been prepared. He
+had entered the house in a condition of mind which may be designated
+beatific. All his plans had prospered, and he had expected to hear
+from Mr. Manners a thoroughly satisfactory account of the interview
+between his patron and Mr. Hollingworth. The celebration of the
+contemplated union with Miss Hollingworth would have been the crowning
+triumph of all his scheming. From the day when he first instilled into
+Mr. Manners's ears the poisoned insinuations which were to effect the
+separation of father and son, success had attended him. Wary, cunning,
+and most painstaking in the early years of his association with Mr.
+Manners, he believed that he had so firmly established his position
+that there was no possibility of his being shaken from it. Gradually
+he had allowed himself to be lulled into a state of perfect
+security--to such an extent, indeed, that he no longer took pains to
+make himself more than ordinarily agreeable to the man upon whose word
+his future prospects depended. But now, in this startling manner, and
+at this unexpected time, the storm he had not foreseen burst upon him.
+He did not pause to consider that the Nemesis which threatened him
+was the outcome of his own evil, and that it sometimes happens that
+wrong-doers themselves forge bolts which destroy them. The idea of
+anything like justice or Providence did not occur to him. He was
+angry, but his conscience was not disturbed. His inherent and perfect
+selfishness led him straight to one incontrovertible view of the
+difficulty in which he found himself. He had enemies who, nettled and
+wroth at his approaching triumph, had suddenly banded themselves
+together for the purpose of trampling him in the dust. It was,
+therefore, a battle to the death between him and them, and,
+recognizing that this was the supreme moment in his career, he
+determined to stop at nothing which would avert defeat. In the heart
+of this determination there lurked a ruthlessness of spirit which
+would lead him to any extreme of crime and duplicity. For the unhappy
+girl whom he had brought to shame and ruin he felt not one spark of
+compassion; his own safety was his only consideration. As for Kingsley
+and Nansie, if a wish of his could have destroyed them it would have
+been breathed without compunction.
+
+Between Mr. Manners's last words and his response there was not a
+moment's pause. Swift as lightning's flash his resolution was formed.
+
+"I scarcely know, sir," he said, "how to convince you that I have no
+other desire than to satisfy you. I can only repeat what I have
+endeavored already to make clear, that you shall have plain and honest
+answers to everything you ask of me. But for all that, you must make
+some allowance for my natural feelings of surprise and indignation,
+that, after all these years, I find my integrity and honor doubted,
+and matters suddenly and strangely revived which I thought were
+settled long ago."
+
+"I will make every reasonable allowance," said Mr. Manners. "At
+present, so far as you are concerned, I am animated by no other spirit
+than that of being strictly just towards you--even though finding that
+through some mischance I have drifted into error, I shall be compelled
+to deprive him who is nearest to my blood of the chief portion of his
+patrimony. I am ready to take upon myself the whole of the blame; but
+I must be satisfied that I have not been wilfully deceived."
+
+"Deceived by whom, sir? By me?"
+
+"By you," replied Mr. Manners, calmly. "You were the first to impart
+to me information concerning the lady my son Kingsley married. Your
+reports aggravated the feelings I entertained towards her because of
+the disappointment I experienced by my son marrying without my consent
+and approval. No other person spoke to me of her but yourself, nor did
+I seek information elsewhere. You cannot fail to remember the nature
+of the charges you brought against her."
+
+"That is asking me a great deal," said Inglefield. "Do you expect me
+to remember faithfully every trifling detail of circumstances which I
+have not thought of for a long number of years?"
+
+"I do not," said Mr. Manners, observing with displeasure that Mark
+Inglefield continued to fence with the most important issues of the
+conversation; "but the principal of them cannot have escaped your
+memory."
+
+"Being, as it seems to me, upon my trial--" said Inglefield, and
+paused, for the purpose of ascertaining whether this statement was in
+consonance with Mr. Manners's intention.
+
+Mr. Manners nodded, and said:
+
+"Yes, Inglefield. You may consider that to some extent you are upon
+your trial."
+
+"That being the case, sir, it strikes me that you have already formed
+a judgment, without hearing what I may have to say."
+
+"I should be sorry to think so. Tell me in what way you suppose I have
+done this."
+
+"You speak of the person your son married as a lady."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That is not how I should describe her."
+
+"Your remark tallies with what you said against her many years ago.
+But I shall continue to speak of her and to regard her as a lady until
+I have evidence to the contrary."
+
+"Have you seen her, then, lately," asked Inglefield, "as well as the
+scoundrel who has brought these monstrous charges against me?"
+
+"You are overtaxing my patience, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners. "You
+assert that you are anxious to satisfy me upon certain points which I
+consider vital, and yet you take advantage of any slight word or
+remark which offers the opportunity of evasion. If this opinion is
+unpalatable to you, thank yourself for it. I have seen the lady of
+whom we are speaking but once in my life, and on the occasion she
+visited me I was surprised at the impression she produced upon me. I
+expected to see a woman whose appearance would have justified the
+opinion I had formed of her through your statements. I saw, on the
+contrary, a lady of gentle manners, a lady of culture and refinement,
+who received with dignity and respect the reproachful words I
+addressed to her. She needed to be accomplished, indeed, in duplicity
+and artfulness to have so successfully simulated the air of modesty
+and gentleness which distinguished her."
+
+"You are not versed in the ways of such women, sir," said Inglefield.
+"They can deceive the cleverest of men."
+
+"Possibly. I am waiting to ascertain whether I have been so deceived.
+At present, everything is in her favor. You informed me that she was a
+vulgar, showy person whose appearance in good society would bring
+ridicule upon my son."
+
+"That is the opinion I formed of her, sir, from more complete evidence
+than you are supplied with."
+
+"I understood that you were very well acquainted with her; intimately,
+I think, you said."
+
+"I knew her very well, sir."
+
+"Intimately? You told me so at the time."
+
+"Yes, sir, intimately," replied Inglefield, inwardly cursing his
+patron's faithful memory.
+
+"I am glad to be corroborated; it shows that you are speaking frankly.
+You related to me a story of the arts she used to entangle you, of
+your seeing through them, and escaping. Is that correct?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"As she could not ensnare you, she turned to Kingsley, and got him
+into her toils. Correct me if I am wrong in my memory of these
+matters."
+
+"I cannot say you are wrong, sir, but I will not pledge myself to the
+precise words you are using."
+
+"I do not ask you to do so. So long as we are agreed upon the general
+view I shall be satisfied. For my own part, I may say, Inglefield,
+that I am quite certain I am putting it fairly. Most distinctly did
+you call her an adventuress."
+
+"Was she not one, sir, in entangling your son because he had a wealthy
+father?"
+
+"If that was her motive, yes, she was an adventuress; but it scarcely
+accords with the character of an adventuress that she should be
+content with making but one appeal to the man upon whose money she had
+designs."
+
+"You have a very positive and decided manner, sir, from which she
+might naturally infer that further attempts would be useless."
+
+"I cannot agree with you. Such a woman as you described would not so
+easily relinquish her designs. It was all she had to depend upon.
+Failing success, a life of poverty was before her. She certainly would
+have tried again."
+
+"Surely you would not make me accountable for her actions, sir?"
+
+"No; I am simply arguing the question logically--not as regards you,
+but as regards her. At the time she made her modest appeal my judgment
+was clouded with passion; it is now clear, and the course I took does
+not commend itself to me. Her uncle also made an appeal to me--only
+one. He had fallen into sudden misfortune; on the day before he came
+to me he had been burned out, and was not insured."
+
+"A trumped-up story, I have no doubt, sir."
+
+"Not so. A true story, as I saw in the papers afterwards. Neither in
+his manners was there anything vulgar or objectionable. Although a
+poor man, he was well educated, and spoke with discretion and
+intelligence. Had he appealed to me for a large sum of money I might
+have had reasonable grounds for suspicion; but all he asked for was
+either five or ten pounds, and that was to send to my son, who was in
+a state of poverty abroad. I declare," said Mr. Manners, rising, and
+pacing the room in agitation, "now that I am opening my mind upon these
+matters, now that I hear myself speaking of them, I cannot justify my
+conduct. It was monstrous, monstrous. Had I given them a thousand
+times as much as they asked for I should not have missed it. My heart
+must have been made of stone!"
+
+"Do not distress yourself, sir," said Inglefield, with a fawning
+attempt at sympathy. "You could not have acted otherwise."
+
+"I could. I could have acted both justly and mercifully, and so have
+lightened their lot. I drove the uncle away from the house, and he,
+too, never made another appeal to me. Their conduct from first to last
+was dignified and independent; mine was dastardly. You see how little
+disposed I am to spare myself. Let us put an end to this conversation;
+I am afraid to trust myself further."
+
+Mark Inglefield was too discreet to offer any opposition, and too glad
+to escape to put into operation the plans he had formed. With a gentle
+"Good-night, sir," he was about to leave the room, when Mr. Manners
+said:
+
+"Do not forget that we have to inquire into the treacherous story
+related to me by Mr. Parkinson. You will be ready to accompany me at
+eleven o'clock in the morning."
+
+"I shall be quite ready," said Mark Inglefield. And thus the interview
+terminated.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLI.
+
+
+Being alone in his room Mark Inglefield set to work at once. The first
+thing he did was to write a letter, which he addressed to Mary
+Parkinson. The purport of this letter was that difficulties which had
+stood in his way were fortunately removed, and that he was now in a
+position, or would be in a very short time, to fulfil the promise he
+had made to her. This promise was that he would marry her.
+Appearances, he said, had been against him, but he would explain all
+to her personally. The past had been sad, the future should be bright.
+She could trust him implicitly, and it was a proof of his anxiety to
+do what was right that he asked her to leave her father's house the
+moment she received this letter. He was waiting for her, and would
+take her away at once to commence a new and better life. She must
+leave the house quietly and secretly, and no one must know of her
+movements. "In a little while," he wrote, "when you are my wife, we
+will either send for your father, or you shall go to him and bring him
+to the home I shall prepare for you. Do not delay; there is not a
+moment to lose. I have much to tell you, and I cannot rest till I see
+you." Having reached this point in his letter, he was about to add an
+instruction to bring this letter with her from her father's house; but
+he did not write the words. "It might arouse her suspicions," he
+thought. "She is sure to bring the letter." He signed himself, "Your
+faithful lover and husband," and then paused again, doubting whether
+this would be sufficient without a name. He could not put his own, for
+the reason that she was not acquainted with it. With the boldness of
+desperation he wrote the name he had assumed when he first introduced
+himself to her, "Richard Hollingworth," and thought as he did so what
+a fool he had been not to have assumed a name which was entirely
+false. But he had not then reckoned with the future, and had not
+dreamed that an exposure could ever occur. It was too late now to
+repent; with all these chances against him he had little doubt that he
+would ultimately triumph.
+
+If he could succeed in conveying this letter to her to-night all would
+be well. Mary Parkinson would only be too glad to obey him, would only
+be too glad to fly into his arms. She had no one else in the world to
+depend upon but herself; her honor, her good name, her future
+happiness, were in his hands.
+
+The letter finished, and placed in an envelope, at the head of which
+he wrote, "Read this immediately. R. H.," he looked through his
+wardrobe, and selected a suit of clothes which would in some measure
+disguise him. These he put on, and then enveloped himself in an ulster
+which would render the disguise more complete. Carrying the letter in
+his hand, he stole stealthily out of the house, locking the door of
+his bedroom, and taking the key with him. He had provided himself with
+a latchkey, so that he could leave and enter the house without
+attracting attention.
+
+"Safe so far," he muttered, when he found himself in the dark street.
+When he was at a safe distance he hailed a cab, and was driven to the
+east of the City, within a quarter of a mile of Mr. Parkinson's house.
+He was too cunning to drive nearer. Paying the cabman liberally, he
+strolled away with apparent carelessness. The next thing to be done
+was to convey the letter to Mary Parkinson without any one but
+themselves being the wiser. A difficult undertaking at such an hour;
+he was not even sure of the house in which Mary lived. It was
+necessary, therefore, he decided regretfully, to obtain the assistance
+of a stranger. He arrived at the street in which Mr. Parkinson lived,
+and he looked about him. A policeman passed him, but he dared not seek
+the aid of a public officer. The policeman being out of sight, fortune
+favored him. Wretched wayfarers who had no roof to cover them, and no
+money to pay for a bed, are not uncommon in these poor thoroughfares,
+and one approached him now and looked into his face. She was, alas! a
+young woman, scarcely twenty years of age. He accosted her without
+hesitation.
+
+"Do you want to earn half a crown?" he asked.
+
+She laughed hysterically, and held out her hand. He put sixpence into
+it, saying:
+
+"The other two shillings if you can tell me what I want to know."
+
+"Right you are," she said, recklessly; "fire away."
+
+"Are you acquainted with this neighborhood?" he said.
+
+"What game are you up to?" she cried.
+
+"Never mind my game," he said, "but answer my questions. Do you know
+these streets?"
+
+"Do I know 'em? Why, I was born in 'em!"
+
+"In which one?"
+
+"In this; and wish I hadn't been."
+
+"Never mind that. You know the people who live in these houses, then?"
+
+"Know 'em? By heart! And they know me--rather! Ask any of 'em what
+they think of Blooming Bess."
+
+"Can you keep a secret?"
+
+"Make it worth my while."
+
+"Will a crown be worth your while?"
+
+"Depends."
+
+"You shall have a crown, and if you hold your tongue, in a fortnight
+I'll come and find you and give you another crown. I suppose you'll be
+hereabouts."
+
+"Unless I'm in jail, or dead! I don't much care which."
+
+"It isn't much of a secret, only don't talk about it to any one. You
+know this street, you say, and everybody in it. Just walk along with
+me, and tell me who lives in the houses."
+
+"That's a lot to make a fuss about," said the wretched girl, and
+walked past the houses in his company, and said, here lives such and
+such a one, here lives so-and-so, here's a dozen of 'em living
+together, and so on, and so on. Now and again, to put her off the
+scent, Mark Inglefield asked questions concerning strangers, as to
+their trade, families, and other particulars. At length she came to
+Mr. Parkinson's house, and said,
+
+"Here lives old Parkinson."
+
+"And who is he?"
+
+"Oh, one of us," replied the girl.
+
+"One of us!
+
+"Leastways, no better than the others. No more is his gal. I'm as good
+as she is, any day."
+
+"His daughter, do you mean?"
+
+"Yes. Stuck up, she used to be. Not stuck up now, not a bit of it.
+That's her room on the first floor, with a light in it. Afraid to go
+to bed in the dark. A nice lot she is!"
+
+Mark Inglefield, having ascertained what he wanted, marked the number
+of the house, and congratulated himself on the lighted candle. Then he
+walked to the end of the street, listening to the account the girl
+gave of the residents, and when he came to the end of it he handed her
+four-and-sixpence, and said that was all he wanted to know.
+
+"You're a rum un," said the girl. She had enough to pay for a bit of
+supper and a miserable bed. Late as it was, she knew where to obtain
+them.
+
+All was silent and dark as Mark Inglefield wended his way back to Mr.
+Parkinson's house. Making sure that he was alone, he stepped back and
+threw a small stone at the window. Mary Parkinson was awake, for he
+had but to throw another before the sash of the window was raised, and
+the girl looked out.
+
+"Who's there?" she asked.
+
+"Hush!" said Mark Inglefield. "Read this."
+
+He had the letter ready, with a stone attached to it, and he threw it
+skilfully almost into her hand. The girl retreated into her room, and
+Mark Inglefield waited. He had purposely disguised his voice, fearing
+that, in the excitement of recognizing it, Mary might have screamed
+out and alarmed the house. He had not long to wait. He heard the key
+being softly turned in the street door, and the next moment Mary
+Parkinson was by his side.
+
+"Oh, Richard!" she cried; "is it you--is it you?"
+
+"Yes," he said, hurriedly. "Don't make a fool of yourself. No, no, I
+don't mean that; I mean, speak low. You're a good girl; you've got
+your hat on; now, let us get out of this. You thought I was going to
+leave you in the lurch. See, now, how you were mistaken in me. I will
+explain all as we go. I couldn't help acting as I did. My whole future
+and yours, Mary, depended on it. But everything is right now, and you
+will not have any reason to complain of me again. It did look bad, I
+admit; but all your trouble is over now."
+
+He was hurrying her away as he spoke, and already they were at some
+distance from her father's house.
+
+"Oh, Richard, Richard, it is all so sudden!" sighed the girl. "I have
+been so unhappy--so unhappy!"
+
+"Yes, yes," he said, interrupting her, having no desire to encourage
+her to talk, but you are happy now, and everything will be well. "You
+read my letter, didn't you? All that I wrote in it is true. Ah, here's
+a cab. Get in."
+
+"Shall we never part again, Richard?" asked Mary, trembling so in the
+sudden happiness of this adventure that he had to support her into the
+cab.
+
+"Never again, Mary, never again. Never mistrust me again."
+
+"I won't, I won't!" said the girl, and burst into a fit of passionate
+weeping.
+
+Mark Inglefield gave an instruction to the driver, and they rattled
+along at a great pace through the City.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+
+At eleven o'clock punctually the next morning Mark Inglefield knocked
+at the door of Mr. Manners's study. They were not in the habit of
+taking their meals together; this was the reason of their not meeting
+at the breakfast-table.
+
+"Good-morning, sir," said Inglefield.
+
+"Good-morning," said Mr. Manners.
+
+Mark Inglefield was cheerful and composed, and Mr. Manners, gazing at
+him, could not help thinking that he must be mistaken in suspecting
+him of wrong-doing.
+
+"Shall we start at once, sir?"
+
+"At once."
+
+"I have been thinking," said Mark Inglefield, "of what took place last
+night, and I almost fear that I laid myself open to misconstruction."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"By my manner. I was nervous and agitated, and I am afraid I expressed
+myself badly. It was not quite unnatural. The shock of finding myself
+charged with a crime so vile was great. Stronger men than I would have
+been unnerved. Indeed, sir, I could bear anything except the loss of
+your esteem."
+
+"It will soon be put to the proof, Inglefield."
+
+"Yes, sir, and I am truly glad that I shall be brought face to face
+with my accusers. When the poor girl who has been wronged sees me you
+will be immediately undeceived. Let us go, sir."
+
+"This," thought Mr. Manners, "is innocence; I have done Inglefield an
+injustice." His manner insensibly softened towards the schemer who up
+till now had so successfully plotted; but this more lenient mood was
+attributable only to his stern sense of justice. It was this which
+induced him to say aloud, "Inglefield, you gathered from what I said
+last night that it is not unlikely I may take steps to reconcile
+myself with my son and his wife?"
+
+If Mark Inglefield had dared he would have denied that he had gathered
+any such impression, but so much now depended upon his keeping his
+patron in a good-humor with him that he merely said, "Yes, sir," and
+waited for further developments.
+
+"Should this take place," continued Mr. Manners, "we shall both have
+to confess ourselves in the wrong. Your mistake may have been only an
+error of judgment; mine was much more serious; but that is a matter
+with which you have nothing to do. If Kingsley is willing, I should
+wish you and he to be friends."
+
+"I am ready to do anything," said Inglefield, "to please you. But may
+I venture to say something?"
+
+"Say whatever is in your mind, Inglefield."
+
+"Nothing, believe me, sir, could be farther from my desire than that
+you should find yourself unable to carry out your wishes. No effort
+shall be wanting on my part to bring happiness to you, quite
+independent of any reflection that may be cast upon my truthfulness
+and single-mindedness in what I unhappily was compelled to take part
+in many years ago. I waive all selfish considerations. I feel that I
+am expressing myself lamely, but perhaps you understand me."
+
+"Yes, and I appreciate your delicate position. Go on."
+
+"Having, then, made this clear to you, having as it were consented to
+have a false light thrown upon my actions, you cannot doubt my
+sincerity when I say that you have my warmest wishes towards the
+success of what you desire. But this is what I wish to say, and I beg
+you will not misconstrue me. The new impressions you received were
+gained from this Mr. Parkinson, whom you so unexpectedly met at Mr.
+Hollingworth's house last night."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Heaven forbid that I should step between father and son! The duty
+that I once felt devolved upon me was a most painful one, but I did it
+fearlessly, in the hope that the disclosures it was unhappily in my
+power to make might have been the means of assisting you to the
+accomplishment of your wishes with respect to your son. As I did my
+duty then, fearless of consequences, so must I do it now."
+
+"Well, Inglefield?"
+
+"I repeat, sir, that the new impressions you gained were gained from
+statements made by Mr. Parkinson. I have no hesitation--you must
+pardon me for being so frank--in declaring him to be a slanderer. I
+have no key to the mystery of the plot which, in the hands of a man
+less just than yourself, would almost surely have been my ruin, and I
+should be wanting in respect to myself were I not indignant at the
+monstrous charge of which it seems I stand accused, and of which I am
+now going with you to clear myself. That will be a simple matter, and
+I will pass it by. But, sir, if it is proved that Mr. Parkinson is
+wrong in my case, if it is proved that for some purpose of his own,
+and perhaps of others, he has invented an abominable story, and
+committed himself to abominable statements, may he not also be wrong
+in the statements he has made respecting persons whom, out of
+consideration for you, I will not name?"
+
+"You refer to my son and his wife," said Mr. Manners. Inglefield was
+silent. "I can cast no blame upon you, Inglefield. I can only repeat
+that everything shall be put to the proof."
+
+With this remark Inglefield was fain to be satisfied; but he inwardly
+congratulated himself that he had done something to throw doubt upon
+Mr. Parkinson's eulogies of Kingsley and Nansie.
+
+They did not walk all the way to the east of London, but, as Mark
+Inglefield had done but a few short hours ago, they rode to within a
+quarter of a mile of Mr. Parkinson's residence, to which they then
+proceeded on foot. As they drew near they became aware that the
+neighborhood was abnormally excited. It was past twelve o'clock when
+they reached the street in which Mr. Parkinson resided, and this was
+the dinner-hour of a great many of the working men and women
+roundabout. The majority of these were standing in groups, talking
+excitedly of an event in which it was evident they were hugely
+interested. Mark Inglefield guessed what it was, but Mr. Manners had
+no clew to it. He inquired his way to Mr. Parkinson's house, and, at
+the moment he reached it, was confronted by Mr. Parkinson himself.
+
+The man was in a violent state of agitation. His limbs were trembling,
+his features were convulsed with passion, and he gazed upon Mr.
+Manners without recognizing him.
+
+"I have come," said Mr. Manners, "in accordance with my promise--"
+
+"What promise?" cried Mr. Parkinson. "I want my daughter--my
+daughter!"
+
+"It is about her I have come," said Mr. Manners, in great wonder.
+
+"What of her?" cried Mr. Parkinson. "You have come about her? Well,
+where is she--where is she? But let her be careful, or I may be
+tempted to lay her dead at my feet!"
+
+"I do not understand you. Do you not remember what you and I said to
+each other last night? I said I would see you righted. I said I would
+bring the man whom you accused."
+
+"I remember, I remember," interrupted Mr. Parkinson, in a voice harsh
+with passion. "You made fair promises, as others have made before you!
+But what does it matter now? My daughter is gone--gone! Run away in
+the night, like a thief! She may be in the river. Better for her, a
+great deal better for her! Stop! Who are you?" He advanced to Mark
+Inglefield, and, laying his trembling hands upon him, peered into his
+face. "I know you, you black-hearted scoundrel! You are the man whose
+picture I found in my daughter's box. Give me my daughter--give me my
+Mary!"
+
+Mark Inglefield shook him off, but with difficulty, and the man stood
+glaring at him. Already a crowd had gathered around them; the words,
+"black-hearted scoundrel," caused them to cast angry glances at Mark
+Inglefield. Mr. Manners looked in astonishment at one and another,
+utterly unable to comprehend the situation.
+
+"The man is mad," said Mark Inglefield.
+
+"Yes, I am mad," cried Mr. Parkinson, striving to escape from those
+who held him back from springing upon Mark Inglefield, "and therefore
+dangerous. What! Is a man's home to be broken up, is he to be robbed
+of his only child and disgraced, and is he to stand idly by when the
+scoundrel is before him who has worked this ruin upon him? As Heaven
+is my judge, I will have my revenge!"
+
+"Come, come," said a working-man, "this violence will do no good,
+Parkinson. Be reasonable."
+
+"If violence will do no good," retorted Mr. Parkinson, "still
+struggling, what will?"
+
+"The truth," replied the working-man who had interposed.
+
+"Ah, yes, the truth," said Mr. Parkinson; "and when that is told, let
+us have justice!"
+
+"Spoken like a man," murmured some in the crowd.
+
+"But what kind of justice?" demanded Mr. Parkinson. "A cold-blooded
+law court, with cold-blooded lawyers arguing this way and that, while
+those who have been brought to ruin and shame sit down with their
+wasted lives before them? No--not that kind of justice for me!
+I will have the life of the man who has cast this upon me! And
+that"--pointing with furious hand towards Mark Inglefield--"that is
+the monster I will have my justice upon, without appeal to lawyers!"
+
+"I give you my word of honor," said Mark Inglefield, appealing to
+those by whom he was surrounded, and who hemmed him and Mr. Manners
+in, determined that they should not escape--"I give you my word of
+honor that I have not the least idea what this man means. I do not
+know him, nor any person belonging to him."
+
+"You lie!" cried Mr. Parkinson.
+
+"I speak the truth," said Mark Inglefield, perfectly calm. "This
+gentleman who has accompanied me here will testify to it. If I did not
+suspect that this man is not accountable for his words, I would not
+remain here another moment."
+
+"But you must," said a friend of Mr. Parkinson; and, "Yes, you must,
+you must!" proceeded from others in the throng.
+
+"I will," said Mark Inglefield, "because I have come here for the
+express purpose of unmasking a foul plot--"
+
+"Rightly put," shouted Mr. Parkinson. "A foul plot--a foul plot! And
+it shall be unmasked, and the guilty shall suffer--not the innocent!
+For, after all, mates"--and now he, in his turn, appealed to the
+crowd--"what blame lies at the door of a weak, foolish girl who is led
+to her ruin by the lying, plausible words of gentlemen like these?"
+
+But here the unreasoning torrent of his wrath was stemmed by many of
+his comrades, who said:
+
+"None of that, Parkinson. It won't help you, and it won't help us. The
+gentleman speaks fair. He says he has come here to unmask a foul
+plot."
+
+"That is my intention, and the intention of my friend here," said Mark
+Inglefield, "and, as you say, it will not help him nor any of us to be
+violent and abusive. Why, does it not stand to reason that we could
+have kept away if we had chosen? Does it not prove, coming here of our
+own accord as we have done, that we are of the same mind as
+yourselves?"
+
+"Yes," replied one, struck, as others were, with this plain reasoning,
+"let us hear what this gentleman has to say."
+
+"It is not for me," said Mark Inglefield, who, although he had won the
+suffrages of his audience, was not disposed to be too communicative,
+"to pry into any man's family affairs, but when he makes them public
+property and brings false accusations against the innocent, he is not
+justified in grumbling if he is hauled over the coals. My friend here
+was compelled last night to listen to charges which seemed to him to
+implicate me in some trouble into which Mr. Parkinson has fallen."
+
+"How do you come to know his name?" inquired a man.
+
+"He gave it last night to this gentleman, who communicated it to me.
+Besides, it has been mentioned half a dozen times by yourselves. The
+charges I referred to coming to my ears, it was arranged between my
+friend and myself that we should present ourselves here this morning
+for the purpose of confuting them. I suppose you don't expect anything
+fairer than that?"
+
+"Nothing could be fairer."
+
+"I am sorry to learn," continued Mark Inglefield, "that this man has
+been wronged, and sorry to learn that trouble has come to him through
+his daughter. They are both entire strangers to me. What I ask is that
+he bring his daughter forward now to corroborate my statement that she
+and I never saw each other in all our lives."
+
+"But that," said one of Mr. Parkinson's friends, "is just what he
+can't do. His daughter has strangely disappeared in the night."
+
+Mark Inglefield turned towards Mr. Manners, with a smile of
+incredulity on his lips.
+
+"Our errand here seems to be wasted. Let me speak to you a moment out
+of hearing of these people."
+
+The working-men moved aside to allow the two gentlemen to pass, and
+when they were a little apart Mark Inglefield said:
+
+"I hope you are satisfied, sir."
+
+"So far as you are concerned," replied Mr. Manners, "I cannot help
+being. But there is something still at the bottom of this that I would
+give much to get at the truth of."
+
+"Why, sir," said Mark Inglefield, scornfully, "can you not see that
+the whole affair is trumped up?"
+
+"No, I cannot see that. These men were not aware that we were coming
+here this morning, and even if they were it is not likely that they
+would have got up this excitement for our especial benefit."
+
+Mark Inglefield bit his lip.
+
+"I am not quite right, perhaps, in saying that the whole affair is
+trumped up, but undoubtedly it is much exaggerated, and more
+importance is being attached to it than it deserves. You must not mind
+my saying that I cannot form the same opinion of Mr. Parkinson as
+yourself. It seems to me that he is desirous of making capital out of
+his calamity. I have done all I could, have I not, to clear myself of
+the charge?"
+
+"I do not see that you could have done more."
+
+"There is nothing more to stop for, then. Shall we go?"
+
+"Not yet. You may, if you wish, but I shall remain to make inquiries."
+
+"I will remain with you, sir, of course. It would not be safe to leave
+you alone in such a neighborhood as this."
+
+"It would be quite safe. You forget that it was in just such
+neighborhoods I passed my young days. I know them better than you
+appear to do, Inglefield. The people we see about us are respectable
+members of society--quite as respectable as ourselves. As to
+remaining, please yourself. I do not feel at all out of place in such
+society."
+
+"Nor do I, sir," said Mark Inglefield, with a frank smile. "It is only
+my anxiety for you that made me say what I did."
+
+"There is another matter which you seem to have forgotten. It is in
+this neighborhood that my son and his wife and daughter live, If I am
+not mistaken, Mr. Parkinson wishes to say something to us."
+
+During this colloquy Mr. Parkinson had calmed himself greatly, and
+now, followed by his friends, approached the gentlemen.
+
+"I should like to ask you a question or two," he said, addressing
+himself to Mark Inglefield, "if you have no objection."
+
+"Of course I have no objection," said Mark Inglefield. "I will do
+whatever I can to help you; only come to the point."
+
+"I'll do so, sir. Your visit here, on the face of it, seems fair and
+above-board. What I want to know first is, how it happens that my
+daughter had a portrait of yours in her possession?"
+
+"My dear sir," replied Mark Inglefield, blandly, "you are putting a
+conundrum to me."
+
+"You don't know how she got hold of it, sir?"
+
+"I haven't the remotest notion."
+
+"How comes it that, when I taxed her with it, she confessed that it
+was the portrait of the scoundrel who had brought her shame upon her?"
+
+At this question all eyes were directed towards Mark Inglefield.
+Nothing daunted, he said:
+
+"That is a question it is impossible for me to answer. She must, of
+course, have had some motive in giving utterance to so direct a
+falsehood. My only regret is that she is not here to tell you herself
+that we are complete strangers to each other. Has your daughter always
+told you the truth? Has she never deceived you?" Mr. Parkinson winced;
+these questions struck home. "Why, then," continued Mark Inglefield,
+perceiving his advantage, "should she not have deceived you in this
+instance? Perhaps she wishes to screen the man against whom you are
+justly angered; perhaps she still has a sneaking fondness for him, and
+protects him by throwing the blame upon a stranger."
+
+"I don't dispute," said Mr. Parkinson, "that you may be right. But are
+you public property?"
+
+"I fail to understand you."
+
+"Are you a public man, sir?"
+
+"Thank Heaven, no. I am a private gentleman."
+
+"Your portraits are not put up in the shop windows for sale?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then what I want to know is," said Mr. Parkinson, doggedly sticking
+to his point, "how your portrait fell into her hands."
+
+"And that, I repeat," said Mark Inglefield, impatiently, "is exactly
+what I am unable to tell you."
+
+"She couldn't have bought it. She must have had it given to her by
+some one."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Whoever gave it to her must know you, and you must know him."
+
+A murmur of approval ran through the throng. Nothing better pleases
+such an audience, as was now assembled, than an argument logically
+worked out.
+
+"That does not follow," disputed Mark Inglefield, annoyed at Mr.
+Parkinson's pertinacity, but seeing no way to avoid it without
+incurring the risk of reviving Mr. Manners's suspicions.
+
+"That's where the chances are, at all events," said Mr. Parkinson.
+"You see, sir, that you can't help being dragged into this bad
+business."
+
+"And if I decline to be dragged into it?"
+
+"It is what very few men would do, sir. I should say--and I think most
+of those round us will agree with me--that you are bound to do all you
+can to assist me in discovering the scoundrel who would ruin you as
+well as me."
+
+Mr. Manners looked straight at Mark Inglefield. Mr. Parkinson's view
+tallied with that which he had expressed to Inglefield in their
+interview.
+
+"I will do what I can," he said, "but I really am at a loss how to take
+even the first step."
+
+"Thank you for saying so much, sir. We are all at a loss, but I don't
+intend to rest till I discover the scoundrel. You'll not object to
+giving me your name and address."
+
+"What for?" demanded Mark Inglefield, wishing that the earth would
+open and swallow his tormentor.
+
+"Give it to him," said Mr. Manners, quietly.
+
+Thus forced to comply, Mark Inglefield, with a show of alacrity,
+handed Mr. Parkinson his card.
+
+"I am obliged to you, sir," said Mr. Parkinson.
+
+A possible road of escape presented itself to Mark Inglefield.
+
+"Who saw this portrait?" he asked.
+
+"No one in this neighborhood," replied Mr. Parkinson, "that I know of,
+except me and my daughter."
+
+"It may not be my portrait, after all," suggested Mark Inglefield.
+
+"There isn't a shadow of doubt, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, "that it
+_is_ a picture of you. I'm ready to swear to it."
+
+It was at this precise moment that there occurred to Mark Inglefield a
+contingency which filled him with apprehension. From what Mr. Manners
+had told him, Kingsley's wife had befriended Mary Parkinson, and was
+doubtless in the confidence of the poor girl. Suppose Mary had shown
+his portrait to Nansie, would she have recognized it? It was long
+since he and Nansie had met, and time had altered his appearance
+somewhat, but not sufficiently to disguise his identity. He did not
+betray his uneasiness, but a new feature was now introduced that
+caused him to turn hot and cold. This was the unwelcome and unexpected
+appearance of Blooming Bess upon the scene.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+
+The wretched girl did not come alone. A woman dragged her forward.
+
+"Here you are, Mr. Parkinson," said the woman. "Blooming Bess can tell
+you something about Mary's disappearance last night."
+
+"I am ruined," thought Mark Inglefield, and hoped that Blooming Bess
+would not recognize him. There were chances in his favor. It was night
+when they met, and he had taken the precaution to change his clothes
+and wrap himself in an ulster. To these chances he was compelled to
+trust; and perhaps he could keep himself out of the girl's sight.
+
+"What do you know about it?" asked Mr. Parkinson, in great excitement.
+
+"Oh, I don't mind telling," said the girl. "Here, you! Just let go of
+me, will you?"
+
+She released herself from the woman's grasp.
+
+"Do you want the lot," she asked of Mr. Parkinson, "from beginning to
+end?"
+
+"I must know everything," he replied, "everything."
+
+"You must, must you? Well, that's for me to say, not you. I could tell
+you a lot of lies if I wanted to."
+
+He made a threatening motion towards her, but was held back by his
+mates. "You'll only make things worse," they said.
+
+"A precious sight worse," said Blooming Bess, with a reckless laugh.
+"Oh, let him get at me if he likes! Who cares? I don't. But I'll tell
+him what he wants, never fear. She's a respectable one, she is! When I
+went to the bad, passed me by as if I was so much dirt. Wouldn't look
+at me--wouldn't speak to me; holding her frock like this, for fear I
+should touch it. And now what is she, I'd like to know? Better than
+me--or worse?"
+
+Mr. Parkinson groaned.
+
+"Groan away; much good it'll do you. It won't bring her back; and if
+it did, who'd look at her? Not me. She's come down, with all her
+stuck-up pride. I'm as good as her, any day of the week!"
+
+"Come, come, Bess," said a man in the crowd, "you're not a bad sort;
+let us have the truth, like a good girl."
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm a real good un now you want to get something out of me!
+But never mind; here goes. It was in the middle of the night, and I
+didn't have a brass farthing in my pockets. They turned me out because
+I couldn't pay for my bed. It wasn't the first time, and won't be the
+last. So out I goes, and here I am in the middle of this very street,
+when a swell comes up to me, and says, says he, 'Do you want to earn
+half a bull?' I laughs, and holds out my hand, and he puts sixpence in
+it, and says, says he, 'The other two bob when you tell me what I want
+to know.'"
+
+"Are you making this up out of your head, Bess?"
+
+"Not me! not clever enough. Never was one of the clever ones, or I'd
+be a jolly sight better off. Then the swell asks me if I can tell him
+the names of the people that lives in the street, and plump upon that
+asks me if I can keep a secret. I thought he was kidding me, I give
+you my word, and I says, 'Make it worth my while.' With that he
+promises me five bob, and I walks with him, or he walks with me--it
+don't matter which, does it?--from one end of the street to the other,
+and I tell him everybody that lives in it. 'Who lives here?' says he,
+and 'Who lives here?' says he; and thinks I, this is a rum game;
+wonder what he's up to! But it ain't my business, is it? My business
+is to earn five bob, and earn it easy; and when I have told him all he
+wanted, he gives me four bob and a bender, and sends me off. What can
+you make of all that?"
+
+"Not much," said the man who had taken her in hand. Mr. Parkinson
+could not trust himself to speak, and Mark Inglefield did not dare.
+"What time was it when this occurred?"
+
+"By my gold watch," replied the girl, "with a fine sarcasm, it was
+half-past the middle of the night. Perhaps a minute or two more. I
+like to be particular."
+
+"And that is all you know? You can't tell us anything more?"
+
+"Oh, I didn't say that, did I? All? Not a bit of it. Why, the cream's
+to come. It's only skim-milk you've got as yet."
+
+"Let's hear the end of it, Bess," said the man, coaxingly.
+
+"That's the way to speak to me. Be soft, and you can do what you like
+with me; be hard, and to save your life I wouldn't speak a word. The
+end of it was this. The swell had done with me, and thought I had done
+with him. Never more mistaken in his life. I was born curious, I was;
+so thinks I to myself, 'I'm blowed if I don't see what he's up to;'
+and when I turned the corner of the street and he thought I was gone
+for good, I come back, and there I was, you know, standing in the
+dark, out of sight. He walks back to the middle of the street, and
+stops right before this house, and looks up at Mary's--I beg your
+pardon, at Miss Parkinson's window. There's a light burning there, you
+know. He's got a letter in his hand, and what does he do but pick up a
+stone and tie them together. Then he picks up another stone, and
+throws it at Mary's window, and it opens and she looks out. I'm too
+far off to hear what they say to each other; but I suppose he says,
+'Catch,' as he throws the letter up, and catch she does. And would you
+believe it? A little while afterwards down she comes and takes his arm
+as natural as life, and off they go together. I follow at a distance;
+I didn't want my neck twisted, and he looked the sort of cove that
+wouldn't mind doing it, so I keep at a safe distance, till he calls a
+growler, and in they get and drive away. And that's the end of it."
+
+"It's a true story," said Mr. Parkinson. "When I went into her bedroom
+this morning, her window was open."
+
+Those who had heard it gathered into groups, and discussed its various
+points; some suggesting that it looked as if the police were mixed up
+in it; others favoring Mark Inglefield's view that Mary Parkinson's
+statements to her father were false, from first to last. Meanwhile
+Mark Inglefield and Mr. Manners were left to themselves, the younger
+man congratulating himself that he had escaped being seen by Blooming
+Bess. His great anxiety now was to get away as quickly as possible,
+and, at the risk of offending Mr. Manners, he would have chosen the
+lesser evil, and have made an excuse for leaving him, had it not been
+that he was prevented by Blooming Bess, whose aimless footsteps had
+led her straight to Mark Inglefield, before whom she now stood. She
+gazed at him, and he at her. Her look was bold, saucy, reckless; his
+was apprehensive; but knowing, if she exposed him, that there was no
+alternative for him but to brazen it out, he did not decline the
+challenge expressed in her eyes. She said nothing, however, but
+slightly turned her head and laughed. As she turned she was accosted
+by Mr. Parkinson, who had joined this group.
+
+"Did you see the man?" asked Mr. Parkinson.
+
+"Did I see him?" she exclaimed. "Yes; though it was the middle of the
+night, and dark, I saw him as plain as I see you. Why, I could pick
+him out among a thousand."
+
+But to Mark Inglefield's infinite relief she made no movement towards
+him; she merely looked at him again and laughed.
+
+"Describe him," said Mr. Parkinson, roughly. "It may be a laughing
+matter to you, but it is not to us."
+
+"To us!" retorted the girl. "What have these gentlemen got to do with
+it?"
+
+"We are interested in it," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"Oh, are you? And are you interested in it too, sir?" she asked,
+addressing Mark Inglefield.
+
+"I am," he replied, finding himself compelled to speak.
+
+"That's funny. You're the sort of gentleman, I should say, that would
+pay well for anything that was done for him."
+
+"I am," said Mark Inglefield, growing bold; her words seemed to
+indicate a desire to establish a freemasonry between them, of which
+neither Mr. Parkinson nor Mr. Manners could have any suspicion.
+
+"That's a good thing to know," said Blooming Bess, "because, you see,
+I should be an important witness--shouldn't I?"
+
+"Very important," said Mr. Manners, "and I would pay well also."
+
+"You would, would you, sir?" She looked from one man to the other.
+
+"Allow me to manage this, sir," said Mark Inglefield. "It is more to
+my interest than yours."
+
+Mr. Manners nodded acquiescence.
+
+"I asked you to describe the man," said Mr. Parkinson.
+
+"I can do that. He was short and fat, and his face was covered with
+hair. Oh, I can spot him the minute I see him."
+
+Mark Inglefield gave the girl a smile of encouragement and approval.
+The description she had given could not possibly apply to him. Every
+fresh danger that threatened vanished almost as soon as it appeared.
+
+"There seems to be nothing more to stop for, sir," he said to Mr.
+Manners; "with respect to this man's daughter, we have learned all
+that we are likely to hear. It occurs to me that you might prefer to
+carry out the second portion of your visit to this neighborhood
+alone."
+
+"You refer to my son," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"Yes; and I might be an encumbrance. Whether justly or not--out of
+consideration for you I will not enter into that question--your son
+and his wife would not look upon me with favor if they were to see me
+suddenly; and the circumstance of my being in your company might be
+misconstrued. I am willing, sir, that the past should be buried; your
+simple wish that your son and I should become friends again is
+sufficient for me. I will obey you, but a meeting between us should be
+led up to; it will be more agreeable to both of us. Do you not think
+so?"
+
+"You are doubtless right, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners. "I appreciate
+your delicate thoughtfulness."
+
+"Thank you, sir. There is another reason why I should leave you now.
+The story that girl has told may be true or false. You must not mind
+my expressing suspicion of everything in connection with Mr.
+Parkinson's daughter. It is even possible that she and that girl may
+be in collusion for some purpose of their own, and that they have
+concocted what we have heard. I have cleared myself, I hope."
+
+"It would be unjust to deny it," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"But I shall not allow the matter to end here," said Mark Inglefield,
+warmly. "I shall put it at once in the hands of a detective, who will,
+I dare say, be able to ascertain how far we have been imposed upon.
+The sooner the inquiry is opened up the stronger will be our chances
+of arriving at the truth. Do you approve of what I propose?"
+
+"It is the right course," said Mr. Manners. "I was about to propose it
+myself."
+
+"I will go then at once. In simple justice to me, sir, if you see Mr.
+Hollingworth, you should tell him how cruelly I have been suspected."
+
+"You shall be set right in his eyes, Inglefield. If I can find time
+to-day, I will make a point of paying him a visit."
+
+"My mind is greatly relieved, sir. Good-morning."'
+
+"Good-morning, Inglefield."
+
+Mark Inglefield, without addressing a word to Mr. Parkinson, went his
+way. The conversation between him and Mr. Manners had been quite
+private. Before he left the street he looked to see if Blooming Bess
+was still there, but she had disappeared.
+
+He did not proceed to the office of any detective. Slowly, and in deep
+thought, he walked towards the Mansion House; the crowds of people
+hurrying apparently all ways at once disturbed him and annoyed him; it
+was impossible to think calmly in the midst of such noise and bustle.
+If ever there was a time in his life when he needed quiet and repose
+to think out the schemes which were stirring in his cunning mind, that
+time was now. The danger was averted for a while, but he could not yet
+regard himself as safe. He had to reckon with Blooming Bess.
+
+That she had recognized him was certain--as certain as that she had
+played into his hands, and put his enemies off the scent.
+
+"I wonder," he thought, "that she did not ask my name and address.
+What a misfortune that she should have presented herself when I was in
+the street!"
+
+He was not aware that the girl of whom he was thinking was following
+him stealthily, and had never for a moment lost sight of him.
+
+He turned to the left, and reached the Embankment. It was quieter
+there. Blooming Bess followed him. There were few people about, and he
+strolled leisurely along, looking at the river. The principle of evil
+was strong within him. He belonged to that class of men who will
+hesitate at nothing that can be done with safety to protect
+themselves. He was not bold enough for deeds of violence; his nature
+was sufficiently ruthless, and he was not troubled with qualms of
+conscience; but his first consideration had ever been to keep himself
+on the safe side. In his methods he was sly, cunning, deceitful,
+treacherous; but physically he was a coward. He had, however, the
+greatest confidence in his resources. "I shall beat them all yet," he
+thought; and thought, too, what a stroke of fortune it would be if
+sudden death were to overtake those who stood in his path. He had
+passed Waterloo Bridge when he felt a touch upon his arm. He looked
+down and saw Blooming Bess.
+
+"Oh," he said, with no outward show of displeasure.
+
+"Yes," she said, with a smile.
+
+To strangers this simple interchange of greeting would have been
+enigmatical, but these two understood each other, though socially he
+stood so high and she so low.
+
+"Have you been following me?" he asked.
+
+"Of course I have," she replied. "Too good to miss. I'm in luck. I
+say, you _are_ a gentleman, ain't you--a real swell?"
+
+"I am a gentleman, I hope," he said, with perfect sincerity.
+
+"I hope so too. You've got plenty of tin?"
+
+"Very little."
+
+"All right. I'll go off to the other one."
+
+He caught her arm.
+
+"Don't be a fool!"
+
+"That's just what I ain't going to be. Well, you're a nice one, you
+are! Not even a thankee for standing by you as I did."
+
+"You will not be content with thanks," he said, gloomily.
+
+"Not likely. Want something more solid. Now, didn't I stand by you
+like a brick? Just one word from Blooming Bess, and your whole box of
+tricks would have been upset. But I didn't let on, by so much as a
+wink. We took 'em in nicely between us, didn't we? 'You're the sort of
+gentleman,' says I, 'that would pay well for anything that was done
+for him.' 'I am,' says you. I say, if they'd guessed the game we were
+playing there'd have been a rumpus. I want to know your name, and
+where you live."
+
+"You don't," he retorted. "You want money."
+
+"I want that, too; but I want your name and address, and I mean to
+have it. I won't use it against you so long as you square me."
+
+She spoke with so much determination that he gave her what she
+demanded.
+
+"Mr. Parkinson knows the other one," she said; "and if I don't find
+you at home when I want, I'll find him. Have you got a sovereign about
+you?"
+
+Surprised at the moderateness of the request, he gave her a sovereign.
+
+"How's Mary?" she asked.
+
+The question suggested to him a plan which offered greater safety than
+allowing her to go away with money, and perhaps drinking herself into
+dangerous loquacity.
+
+"Would you like to see her?" he asked.
+
+"I wouldn't mind," she replied.
+
+"Come along with me, then," he said. "I'll take you to her."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+
+Mr. Manners experienced a great sense of relief when Mark Inglefield
+had taken his departure. The presence of that person had hampered not
+only his movements, but his will. Now that he was alone, he felt
+himself absolutely free. He exchanged a few words with Mr. Parkinson,
+in which he expressed again his good intentions towards the distracted
+father, and he spoke also to two or three other of the working-men,
+who, when he moved away from them, looked after him with marked favor.
+It chimed with his humor not to be known, and he was pleased that Mr.
+Parkinson had not made free with his name. The reminiscences attaching
+to him, from a working-man's point of view, would have caused him to
+be followed and gazed at with curiosity. The name of Manners was a
+name to conjure with; the great fortune he had made caused him to be
+regarded as a king among the class from which he sprang, and it was to
+his credit that he had amassed his wealth fairly, according to the
+conditions of things. Perhaps in the not far-off future these
+conditions will be changed, and it will be recognized that labor has a
+right to a larger proportion of its profits than at present falls to
+its lot. Meanwhile it may be noted that, despite the private wrong
+which lay at the door of Mr. Manners, and which he was happily stirred
+now to set right, despite the fact that in his business relations he
+had driven hard bargains, his public career was one of which he might
+be justly proud. Hard as were the bargains he had driven, he had not
+ground his workmen down; if they did a fair day's work they received a
+fair day's wage; he had made no attempt to filch them of their just
+due. In contrast with many a hundred employers of labor, who grind the
+men and women they employ down to starvation point, Mr. Manners stood
+forth a shining example. As for his private affairs, they were his,
+and his alone, to settle. Whatever changes for the better may come
+over society in the coming years, the purely human aspect of life will
+never be altered. There will always be private wrongs and private
+injustices; and although it is to be hoped that the general
+inequalities of mankind may be lessened, the frailties of our common
+nature will ever remain the same.
+
+Mr. Manners strolled slowly through streets and narrow ways with
+which, in his youth, he had been familiar, and he derived a sad
+pleasure in renewing his acquaintance with the aspects of life which
+characterized them. He noted the changes which had taken place. Here,
+a well-known street had disappeared; rows of private dwellings had
+been turned into shops; but for the main part things were as they used
+to be. He searched for a certain house in which he had resided as a
+boy, and, finding it, gazed upon its old walls as he would have gazed
+upon the face of an old friend who had long since passed out of his
+life. He recalled himself as he had been in the past, a brisk,
+stirring, hard-working lad, taking pleasure in his work, eager to get
+along in the world, keen for chances of promotion, industriously
+looking about for means to improve himself. Between that time and the
+present was a bridge which memory re-created, and over that bridge he
+walked in pensive thought, animated by tenderer feelings than he had
+experienced for many, many years. Once more he felt an interest in the
+ways and doings of his fellowmen, and it seemed to him as if he had
+long been living a dead life. The crust of selfishness in which he had
+been as it were entombed was melting away, and even in these humble
+thoroughfares the sun was shining more brightly for him. Such a simple
+thing as a geranium blooming in a pot on the window-sill of his old
+home brought an unwonted moisture to his eyes. He knocked at the door,
+conversed with the woman who opened it, ascertained her position,
+listened to what she had to say about her children, wrote down their
+names, and left behind him some small tokens for them from one who
+once was as they were now.
+
+"You shall hear from me again," he said to the surprised woman; and as
+he left her he felt new channels of pleasure and sweetness were
+opening out to him. He was becoming human.
+
+When he started with Mark Inglefield from his home in the west of the
+city, he had formed no plan as to the means by which he should
+approach Kingsley and Nansie; but after some time spent in wandering
+among the thoroughfares and seeking old landmarks, he resolved not to
+present himself to them until evening. It would be a more favorable
+hour for what he purposed to do. Until then he could profitably employ
+himself in ascertaining how they stood in the neighborhood, and
+whether Mr. Parkinson's report of them was correct. It was three
+o'clock in the afternoon before he felt the necessity of eating, and
+then he entered a common eating-house and sat down to a humble meal.
+It was strange how he enjoyed it, and how agreeable he felt this
+renewal of old associations. When he had finished, he took out his
+pocket-book and made some rough calculations. The poverty of the
+neighborhood had impressed itself upon him, and he thought how much
+good the expenditure of money he could well spare would do for the
+children who were growing into men and women. He remembered the want
+of rational enjoyment he had experienced occasionally in his boyhood.
+He had not then many spare hours; but there had come upon him at odd
+times the need for social relaxation. There was only one means of
+satisfying this need--the public-house--and that way, as he knew, led
+to ruin. From what Mr. Parkinson had told him, Nansie was untiring in
+her efforts to ameliorate and smooth the hard lot of the wretched and
+poverty-stricken; and, poor as she was, had succeeded in shedding
+light upon weary hearts. If, in her position, she could do so much,
+how vast was the field before him to do more!
+
+He made his calculations, and was surprised to find, when the figures
+were before him, that he was richer than he had supposed himself to
+be. In former days he was in the habit of making such calculations;
+but for a long while past he had not troubled himself about them--a
+proof how truly valueless his great store of wealth was to him, and
+how scanty was the enjoyment he derived from it. Supposing that Mark
+Inglefield justified and cleared himself in this affair of Mary
+Parkinson--of which, notwithstanding all that had transpired, Mr.
+Manners was not yet completely satisfied--half of his fortune should
+go to the redeeming of his promises to that person in respect of the
+expectations held out to him. The remaining half would be ample for
+the carrying out of schemes as yet unformed, in the execution of
+which, if all went well, Kingsley and Nansie would assist him.
+
+Issuing from the eating-house with a light step, he proceeded to make
+his inquiries respecting his son's family. What he heard made him even
+more humble and remorseful. Every person to whom he spoke had
+affectionate words for them; nothing but good was spoken of them. They
+were not only respected, but beloved.
+
+"If you want to know more about them than I can tell you, sir," said
+one poor woman to whom Nansie had been kind, "go to Dr. Perriera."
+
+Receiving Dr. Perriera's address, Mr. Manners wended thither, and
+found the worthy doctor, who was now a man well advanced in years, in
+his shop. With Dr. Perriera he had a long and pregnant interview. In
+confidence he told the doctor who he was, and Dr. Perriera's heart
+glowed at the better prospect which seemed to present itself to
+friends whom he honored. Forces which had long lain dormant in Mr.
+Manners came into play; always a good judge of character, he
+recognized that he was conversing with a man of sterling worth and
+honor.
+
+"I have been informed," he said, "that you are a doctor of great
+skill. You would have succeeded in more flourishing neighborhoods than
+this."
+
+"I preferred to stay here," said Dr. Perriera. "Elsewhere I should not
+have found the happiness I have enjoyed among these poor people."
+
+"But you would have been rich."
+
+"It would have marred my life," was the simple rejoinder. "You and I
+are on equal ground, about the same age, I judge. We have not many
+years to live. Of what use presently will much money be to you and me?
+Men and women grow into false ideas; most of those who become rich
+become slaves. Gold is their master--a frightful tyrant, destructive,
+as it is chiefly used, of all the teachings of Christianity. But,
+then, Christians are scarce."
+
+Mr. Manners hinted at his unformed schemes, and Dr. Perriera was
+greatly interested.
+
+"What the poor and wretched want," he said, "is light, first for the
+body, afterwards for the soul. Not the light of gin-shops, which are
+poisonously planted by the wealthy at every convenient corner. Sweep
+away the rookeries; purify the gutters; commence at the right end.
+There are darksome spaces round about, in which only vice and crime
+can grow; and they are allowed to remain, defiling and polluting body
+and soul. There is a false, convenient theory, that you cannot make
+people moral by act of Parliament. My dear sir, you can. Cleanliness
+is next to godliness; that is a wiser saying; and governments would be
+better employed in enforcing this than in ninety-nine out of every
+hundred of the acts they waste their time in discussing."
+
+"What do you mean," asked Mr. Manners, "by your remark, commence at the
+right end?"
+
+"Commence with the children," replied Dr. Perriera, "not neglecting
+meanwhile those who are grown up. These children presently will become
+fathers and mothers, and their early teaching bears fruit. It is
+impossible to train anew firmly rooted trees, but they can be gently
+and wisely treated. With saplings it is different."
+
+They remained in conversation until evening fell. Mr. Manners had
+received Kingsley's address, and the two men were standing at the door
+of the doctor's shop when an elderly man and a young girl passed. In
+the elderly man Mr. Manners recognized Mr. Loveday, Nansie's uncle,
+who had once paid him a visit in his grand mansion. But it was the
+girl who chiefly attracted him. Her sweet face, her gentle bearing,
+impressed him, but more than all was he impressed by a likeness which
+caused his heart to beat more quickly. It was a likeness to his son.
+
+Dr. Perriera glanced at Mr. Manners, and called the girl, who, with
+her companion, paused to say a word or two.
+
+"Is your mother well?" asked the doctor.
+
+"Quite well, thank you," replied the girl.
+
+"And your father?"
+
+"Quite well."
+
+"How is business, Mr. Loveday?"
+
+"So-so," said the old book-man. "I can't compete very well with the
+youngsters. Their brazen voices beat me."
+
+He said this quite good-humoredly.
+
+"We must make way for the young," observed the doctor.
+
+"Yes, yes; but the necessity of living is upon the old as well."
+
+"Are you going home now?"
+
+"Yes," said the girl, answering for her uncle. "We have been to see
+the new shop."
+
+"Whose?"
+
+"Timothy Chance's."
+
+She laughed kindly as she spoke the name.
+
+"See," said Mr. Loveday, opening a small parcel he held in his hand,
+"we've been making a purchase there."
+
+What he disclosed to view was half a cooked fowl. Dr. Perriera
+appeared to be greatly interested in this simple food.
+
+"How much did you pay for it?"
+
+"One and four."
+
+"That is cheap. A fat fowl, too."
+
+"Yes. The shop is crowded; people are buying like wildfire. Timothy
+will make a fortune."
+
+"He has pretty well made one already. Sharp fellow, Timothy Chance,
+and a worthy fellow, too."
+
+The girl nodded, and Mr. Loveday observed:
+
+"He is just the same as ever. Not a bit altered. Never forgets old
+friends, and never will forget them. That come-by-chance waif is of
+the right mettle. He is with Nansie now. We are going to see him. Come
+along, Hester."
+
+"Can you guess who that young lady is?" asked Dr. Perriera of Mr.
+Manners.
+
+"I am almost afraid to guess. Tell me."
+
+"Your grandchild. Have you never seen her before?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"If I had a daughter," said Dr. Perriera, "I should esteem it a great
+blessing if she were like Hester Manners. She has all the virtues of
+her mother, all the simplicity and nobility which distinguish her
+father. She has been trained in the right school. I regard it as an
+honor that I am privileged to call myself her friend. Do you wish to
+proceed at once to your son's poor dwelling?"
+
+"I would prefer to see him alone. This friend whom my grandchild spoke
+of is there; I will wait awhile."
+
+"It will be best, perhaps. My place is at your service. If it accords
+with your desire you can remain here, and I will bring your son to
+you."
+
+"I thank you," said Mr. Manners, "and accept your kind offer."
+
+His heart was stirred by hopes and fears. It went out to the sweet
+girl he had seen for the first time; she was of his blood; but had he
+any claim to her affection? How would her parents receive him--her
+parents, to whom she was bound by the strongest links of love, and
+whom he had treated so harshly and unjustly? There was a time when he
+thought he could never bring himself to forgive the son who had
+disappointed his worldly hopes; but now it was he himself who needed
+forgiveness. The happiness of his brief future depended upon the son
+he had wronged; if Kingsley and Nansie rejected him, the anguish of a
+lonely, loveless life would attend him to his last hour.
+
+"I should advise," said Dr. Perriera, "that you wait awhile before the
+interview takes place. Timothy Chance and your son's family are much
+attached to each other, and it will be an act of delicacy not to
+immediately intrude upon them."
+
+"An act of delicacy?" repeated Mr. Manners, looking at Dr. Perriera
+for an explanation.
+
+"I have an idea," said the doctor, "that Timothy Chance has a tender
+feeling for your grandchild. Whether it is reciprocated or not, I
+cannot say. There is a disparity in their ages of fourteen or fifteen
+years, but that should be no obstacle. I hold that in married life the
+man should be some years older than the woman."
+
+"You have hinted that this Timothy Chance is well-to-do."
+
+"He is more than that. He is on the high-road to a fortune. I am
+curious to see the shop he has opened. Will you come? We have time. On
+the road I will relate to you Timothy Chance's story. It is, in its
+way, remarkable."
+
+They started out together, and, with a heart gloomed by the intrusion
+of this friend of his son's family, Mr. Manners listened to the
+doctor's narrative. In Kingsley's eyes his money had never been deemed
+of importance; Kingsley had never stooped or cringed before that
+universal idol. How much less was he likely to do so now that he had
+by his side a friend who could lift him from the state of poverty to
+which the hard father had condemned him? Not purse-strings, but
+heart-strings, would decide the issue of his heart's desire.
+
+Up to the point with which we are familiar there is no need to set
+down here what Dr. Perriera imparted to his companion. We will take up
+the thread from the time of Timothy Chance's last appearance upon the
+scene.
+
+"Timothy has made the best use of his opportunities," said the doctor.
+"From the small beginnings which I have recounted he has risen by slow
+and sure steps to be, I should say, the largest poultry breeder in the
+kingdom. He has farms in half a dozen different places, and it is
+necessary, of course, that at stated intervals he should get rid of
+old stock to make room for new. His contracts are really important
+ones, and he turns over a large amount of money during the year.
+Lately an idea occurred to him, which he is now turning to practical
+account. Instead of selling his old stock to hotels and shopkeepers,
+he believes it will be more profitable to speculate in it himself. As
+a trial, he has opened a shop in the neighborhood here, which I regard
+as a boon to the people. He will send so many fowls there every day,
+and they will be cooked and disposed of to those who can afford to
+buy. I think his idea was inspired by something of a similar nature
+which he saw in France. You can purchase a whole roasted fowl, a half,
+a wing and breast, or a leg. The prices are very moderate, the poultry
+is of good quality, the cooking is sure to be excellent, for Timothy
+is perfect in all his arrangements. Here we are at his trial shop."
+
+It was, indeed, a notable establishment, and, as Hester had said, was
+crowded with customers. The predominating features of the shop were
+light and cleanliness. At the rear of the shop were the stoves at
+which the fowls were roasted, and these were cut up, or arranged
+whole, upon marble slabs. The attendants were all females, and wore
+light print dresses and spotlessly clean white aprons and caps; order
+and system reigned, and the money was rolling in. It was an animated
+scene, made the more agreeable by the pleasant faces and the civility
+which distinguished those who were attending to the customers.
+
+"It will do," said Dr. Perriera, in a tone of approval. "Before the
+year is out Timothy will have a score of such shops in poor
+localities. He is made of the right stuff; his future is assured. Let
+us return now, and I will bring your son to you."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLV.
+
+
+Mr. Manners sat alone in Dr. Perriera's living-room, awaiting the
+arrival of his son. The last twenty-four hours had been the most
+pregnant in his life; in a few minutes his fate would be decided; in a
+few minutes he would know whether the years that remained to him would
+be brightened by love, or made desolate by loneliness--loneliness in
+which reigned a terror and despair he had never yet experienced.
+Hitherto he had been a law unto himself; hitherto he had borne the
+fate he had courted with a stern, implacable spirit, bearing with
+bitter resolve the burden he had inflicted upon himself. There had
+been no resignation in his soul to soften his sufferings, and he had
+not sought the consolation which charity or religion would have shed
+upon him. His heart had been as a sealed box, into which no ray of
+light had entered; all was dark and desolate. He would soon learn
+whether this would continue to be his fate. Some savage comfort had
+come to him in the past from the belief that he was in the right, and
+Kingsley in the wrong, but this would be denied to him now. The
+thought had occasionally intruded itself that Kingsley would come to
+him as a suppliant, begging for mercy and forgiveness; but the
+positions were reversed; it was he, not his son, who was the
+suppliant; it was he, not his son, who pleaded for forgiveness.
+
+Each moment seemed prolonged. "He refuses to come," thought the
+repentant man. "I am to my only child as one who is dead. It is a just
+punishment." It was in accordance with his character that he should
+recognize the justice of the position in which he stood.
+
+When he heard footsteps in Dr. Perriera's shop he rose to his feet and
+looked towards the door as a criminal might, awaiting his sentence.
+The door opened, and Kingsley entered.
+
+His face was radiant; a tender light shone in his eyes.
+
+"Why, father!" cried Kingsley, and opened his arms.
+
+"Thank God!"
+
+He did not speak the words aloud; they were spoken by his grateful
+heart as he pressed his son to his breast. Then he gently released
+himself, and gazed with tearful eyes upon the son he had turned from
+his home.
+
+Kingsley was much altered. His hair was grayer than that of his
+father; his face was worn and thin; but the tender, whimsical spirit
+of old dwelt in his eyes.
+
+At the present moment it was only the sympathetic chords in his nature
+which found expression.
+
+"I knew you would come, father," said Kingsley, and at the tender
+utterance of the word Mr. Manners's heart was stirred by a new-born
+joy; "I always said you would come to us one day. And Nansie, too; she
+never wavered in her belief that we should see you. 'The time will be
+sure to arrive,' she often said to me, 'when we shall be reunited; and
+when your dear father comes to us, we have a home for him.' Yes,
+father, our home is yours. A poor one, but you will not mind that. It
+needs but little for happiness, and we have been happy, very happy."
+
+"Oh, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, "can you, can your good wife forgive
+me?"
+
+"Forgive you, father!" exclaimed Kingsley, in a tone of surprise. "For
+what? You have done nothing but what you thought was right. Indeed,
+the fault has been on our side, for not coming to you. It was our
+duty, and we neglected it. Father, I do not think you know Nansie as
+well as I should wish."
+
+"I do not," said the humbled man. "Oh, Kingsley, that I should ever
+have shut you from my heart!"
+
+"I declare," said Kingsley, putting his hand fondly on his father's
+shoulder, "if any man but you said as much, I should feel inclined to
+quarrel with him. Shut me from your heart! I am sure you have never
+done that. I am sure you have thought of us with tenderness, as we
+have thought of you. Yes, father, in our prayers you have always been
+remembered. And we were content to wait your will, which was ever wise
+and strong. Not like mine--but that is my loss. A man cannot help
+being what he is, and I am afraid that I have been wanting in
+strength." He passed his hand across his forehead, half sadly, half
+humorously. "But I am truly thankful that I have had by my side a
+helpmate who has strewn my life with flowers. Dear Nansie! Ever
+patient, ever hopeful, with her steadfast eyes fixed upon the light
+which you have brought to us now! Then, there is our dear daughter,
+your grandchild, father--ah, what a blessing she is to us! You will
+love Hester. Beautiful as her mother was--and is, father--with a
+nature as sweet and gentle, and as trustful and confiding and pure."
+
+A sudden weakness overcame him here, and with a little, pitiful motion
+of his arms, he sank into a chair.
+
+"Kingsley!" cried Mr. Manners, alarmed. "Kingsley--my dear son!"
+
+"It is nothing, father," said Kingsley, looking up, and pressing his
+father's hand to his lips. "The shock of happiness is so great! I
+scarcely expected it to-night. I was thinking of Nansie. She will be
+so grateful--so grateful!"
+
+"Does she not know?"
+
+"She knows nothing of this sweet joy. Nor did I when Dr. Perriera
+called me from the room. I am glad he told me as we came along. You
+will remain with us a little while?"
+
+"We will never part again, Kingsley, if you and Nansie and Hester will
+have me."
+
+"If we will have you! Why, father, how can you ask that? Nansie will
+be overjoyed, and Hester will go wild with delight and happiness. How
+often has the dear child asked, 'When am I going to see grandfather?'
+Well, now her desire will be gratified. She will see you, and will
+love and honor you, as we have always done, and we always shall do.
+Hush! Is not that Nansie's voice I hear?"
+
+It was, indeed, Nansie who was speaking softly to Dr. Perriera in the
+shop without. Anxious about Kingsley, she had slipped on her hat and
+mantle, and had followed him. In a few hurried words the good doctor
+had told her all, and she was now standing in trembling hope to learn
+the best or worst.
+
+"Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, "if it is your wife outside, go to her,
+and ask her if she will see me. Let her come in alone."
+
+"As you wish, father. I will remain with Dr. Perriera while you speak
+to her."
+
+With a fond look at his father he left the room, and a moment
+afterwards Nansie and Mr. Manners stood face to face. Tearfully and
+wistfully she stood before him. Better than Kingsley did she recognize
+what this meeting might mean to her and her beloved ones. He held out
+his hand, and with a sudden rush of joy she bent her head over it.
+
+Had any barrier remained standing in the proud man's heart, this
+simple action would have effectually destroyed it. He could more
+easily have borne reproachful words, and was ready to acknowledge them
+his due, but this sweet and grateful recognition of a too tardy
+justice almost broke him down. He turned his head humbly aside, and
+said:
+
+"Can you forgive me, Nansie--my daughter?"
+
+"Father!" she cried, and fell sobbing in his arms.
+
+It was a night never to be forgotten. In his heart of hearts Mr.
+Manners breathed a prayer of thankfulness that the flower of
+repentance had blossomed for the living, and not for the dead. Often
+it blossoms too late, and then it is a fateful flower, and leaves a
+curse, and not a blessing, behind it.
+
+But this night was not only to bear the sweet fruit of goodness and
+self-denial; it was to bring forth a fitting punishment of a life of
+cunning and duplicity.
+
+Linked close together, Mr. Manners and his children walked to
+Kingsley's humble rooms, and there the old man received his
+grandchild's kiss. Instinctively he was made to feel that, through all
+this long and bitter separation, no word of complaining had ever
+reached Hester's ears. All the brighter in his eyes shone the
+characters of Kingsley and Nansie, and readily did he acknowledge that
+never was nobility more truly shown. The little room in which they sat
+was a garden of love.
+
+Nor was the old book-man forgotten. He and Mr. Manners, in one firm
+hand-clasp, forged a link which even the grave would not sever.
+
+Timothy Chance was not with them; he had other business to see to.
+What that business was, and to what it led, will now be told.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+
+The clock struck nine when a knock was heard at the door. Hester rose
+and opened it, and Dr. Perriera appeared. He looked round upon the
+happy group and smiled; but when the smile faded they observed an
+unwonted gravity in his face.
+
+"What has happened?" asked Nansie, solicitously. Her sympathetic
+nature was ever on the alert to detect signs of trouble in her
+friends.
+
+"Hester," said Dr. Perriera, "leave us for a moment or two. I wish to
+speak to your parents alone."
+
+The girl retired to the inner room, and shut herself in.
+
+"It is best to keep it from her ears," said Dr. Perriera; he addressed
+Mr. Manners. "You are as much concerned as any here in the news I have
+to impart. I was not present when you and a friend came to the
+neighborhood this morning to see Mr. Parkinson; but, if I am not
+mistaken, you are interested in the misfortune which has fallen upon
+him."
+
+"I am deeply interested in it," replied Mr. Manners, "and have pledged
+myself to sift the unhappy matter to the bottom. But, unfortunately,
+the poor girl has disappeared."
+
+"The truth may be made clear this very night," said Dr. Perriera.
+"Strange news has strangely reached me. May I ask if this is the
+portrait of the friend who accompanied you?"
+
+He handed to Mr. Manners the portrait of Mark Inglefield which Mr.
+Parkinson had shown to him and Mr. Hollingworth on the previous night.
+
+"Yes, it is he," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"I obtained it from Mr. Parkinson," said Dr. Perriera, "and promised
+that I would return it."
+
+"But your reason?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"If you will come with me," replied Dr. Perriera, "all shall be
+explained. No, not you, or you"--Kingsley and Nansie had both risen,
+in token of their willingness to assist him. "Leave the matter in our
+hands. I am at present," he added, glancing at Mr. Manners, "somewhat
+in the dark, and perhaps I have small right to inquire into your
+motives. What chiefly concerns me, as taking what I may call a vital
+interest in the poor people among whom I have passed my life, is that
+a worthy man has been foully wronged, and a weak-minded girl beguiled
+by the arts of a scoundrel. To right this wrong I am willing to make
+some sacrifice, if only in the cause of justice."
+
+While he spoke, Mr. Manners, without thinking, had laid the portrait
+of Mark Inglefield on the table, and Kingsley, looking down,
+recognized it. A sudden paleness came on his face, and Nansie,
+following the direction of his eyes, also looked at the portrait and
+recognized it. For a moment or two no one spoke, and then Kingsley
+whispered a few words to Nansie, and she left the room in silence.
+
+"Before you go with Dr. Perriera," said Kingsley to his father, "there
+is something that must be said. It refers to this man, in whose
+company I now learn you came here this morning."
+
+"Speak, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, extending his hand to his son;
+but Kingsley did not attempt to take it. "Do you doubt me, Kingsley?"
+
+"No, father," said Kingsley, with a certain decision in his voice and
+manner which surprised his listeners, "I do not doubt you; I never
+have, and I never shall. Most earnestly do I hope that we shall never
+be separated again."
+
+"We never shall, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, "if it rests with me.
+You have no reason to trust my word--"
+
+"I have every reason," interrupted Kingsley, impetuously. "You have
+never swerved from it; you have been always just. It is not"--and now
+there was a heightened color in his face as he pointed to the
+portrait--"because this man was my enemy that I regard him with
+horror, but because I have grounds for suspicion that he sought to
+defame the dearest, purest woman that ever drew the breath of heaven.
+For me, he may pass by unscathed, though I would not defile myself by
+touching his hand; but for another, whom I love and honor as an angel
+on earth, I would drag his foul lie to light, and throw it in his
+teeth! I have erred, but never in my life have I done conscious wrong.
+What there is best in me, father, I draw from you." Mr. Manners sighed
+and turned his head. "You never deceived man or woman, and you
+transmitted to me an inheritance of right-doing which has been more
+precious to me than gold. Answer me candidly, father. Did not this man
+traduce my wife?"
+
+"He did; and, Heaven forgive me, I believed him."
+
+"And now?"
+
+"And now," said Mr. Manners, stretching forth his hands, "there is no
+penance I would deem too great to repair the injustice I have
+committed. The man who traduced you and your honored wife is no longer
+my friend. Without you, my son, and Nansie and Hester, I should be
+alone in the world."
+
+This appeal was sufficient for Kingsley, whose manner instantly
+softened. He passed his arm affectionately round his father's
+shoulder.
+
+"After all," he said, "why should we be troubled by the knowledge that
+there are men living who find pleasure in base actions? Let us pity,
+even while we condemn them."
+
+But there was no pity in Mr. Manners's heart towards Mark Inglefield.
+His suspicions were revived by what Dr. Perriera had said, and the
+true nature of the man seemed to be revealed to him.
+
+"You will return to-night, father?" said Kingsley. Mr. Manners looked
+at Dr. Perriera.
+
+"I cannot tell," said the doctor. "It will depend upon what you
+resolve to do."
+
+"Can I find a bed in the neighborhood?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"I can offer you one," replied Dr. Perriera.
+
+"Early or late," said Mr. Manners to Kingsley, "I will return
+to-night."
+
+"We will wait up for you," said Kingsley.
+
+Then Mr. Manners called Nansie and Hester, and, kissing them with much
+affection, departed with Dr. Perriera.
+
+As they walked to the shop Mr. Manners, without reserve, imparted to
+Dr. Perriera the nature of the connection between him and Mark
+Inglefield. The confidence was a great relief to him. Hitherto he had
+taken pride in keeping his private affairs close shut in his heart,
+and now that the floodgates were open a strange feeling of
+satisfaction stole over him. Truly he was no longer alone.
+
+Dr. Perriera did not interrupt him with questions, and when Mr.
+Manners ceased speaking he said: "I will not assist you to prejudge
+the case. You shall hear from Timothy Chance's own lips the story he
+related to me."
+
+"It is he, then," said Mr. Manners, "who has stirred up this matter
+afresh?"
+
+"Timothy," said the doctor, "is one of us. He passed many years of his
+life in these streets, and he is acquainted with nearly every person
+round about. He knew Mary Parkinson as a child, and, sharp business
+man as he is, he is keen in matters of justice."
+
+"Does he know anything of my intimacy with Mr. Inglefield?"
+
+"No; nor does he know that Kingsley is your son. It will be strange
+news to him, and he will rejoice in the good-fortune of the dearest
+friends he has. I bade him await my return in my shop."
+
+Mr. Manners was scarcely prepared to see in Timothy Chance a man who
+won his regard the moment he set eyes upon him. Timothy had grown into
+something more than a respectable man; his appearance was remarkable.
+He was tall and well proportioned, and there was a sincerity and
+straightforwardness in his manner which could not fail to favorably
+impress strangers with whom he came into contact for the first time.
+Being introduced, he and Mr. Manners shook hands with cordiality.
+"Here is a man," thought Mr. Manners, "who, like myself, has carved
+his way upwards." That fact was in itself sufficient to insure
+respect.
+
+"Mr. Chance," said Dr. Perriera--he usually called him by the
+old name Timothy, but on this occasion he considered it would add
+weight to Timothy's character to address him by a more ceremonious
+title--"relate to Mr. Manners what you have told me of Mary Parkinson.
+It may lead to a result you little dream of."
+
+"Will it lead to justice?" asked Timothy.
+
+"It shall," said Mr. Manners.
+
+These two practical men immediately understood each other.
+
+"It saddens me," said Timothy, addressing himself chiefly to Mr.
+Manners, "to see those I have known from childhood on the wrong path.
+Generally these things come home to one, but they appeal to us more
+closely when there is a personal connection. The lot of the poor is
+hard enough, without those who should know better making it harder. I
+do not speak as a class man, but as a man who is desirous to mend
+social grievances. Perhaps by and by I may be able to do something in
+a public way."
+
+"Mr. Chance is ambitious," observed Dr. Perriera.
+
+"Not for myself, nor from vanity, am I so. I have nothing to boast of
+in my parents, for I never saw their faces. I have lifted myself out
+of the evil they might have brought upon me. These things lie deep,
+sir, deeper than most people consider. But that is not to the point.
+This is what I have to say with respect to Mary Parkinson. I have a
+poultry farm in Finchley, and I attend to my business. I am up early
+and late. It happened last night that I had much to look after, and my
+affairs kept me up till the small hours of this morning. Within a
+hundred yards of my farm is a public-house, the Three Tuns. At four
+o'clock this morning I walked from my office into the fresh air,
+before retiring to rest. I do this often; it freshens me up. When I
+was within a few yards of the Three Tuns, my attention was attracted
+to a cab which had just driven up to the door. It was an unusual hour
+for such a thing to occur. A man got out of the cab, and knocked at
+the door, and after some delay it was opened. Exchanging some words
+with the person who answered his summons, he returned to the cab, and
+assisted a woman to alight. I did not catch sight of her face, but I
+saw the man's; it was strange to me. The woman appeared to be in great
+agitation, and it seemed to me that she had been crying. Presently
+they entered the public-house, the door of which was closed upon them.
+I got into conversation with the driver of the cab, and learned that
+he had had a long drive from the east end of London, quite close to
+this spot. He was to drive the gentleman back to London, he said; and
+soon the gentleman came out, entered the cab, and was driven away. I
+don't know why this simple adventure should have made an impression
+upon me, but it did. However, I had other things to think of, and I
+went to bed. I was up early, and in London here, to see to the new
+shop I have opened. I was due in Finchley again this afternoon--I am a
+busy man, you see, sir--and it happened that when I arrived there I
+saw another cab stop at the Three Tuns. But though it was another cab,
+it was the same man who got out of it, and I saw his face very
+clearly. It was not the same woman, though, that jumped out, and I
+knew her well. It was a poor, foolish girl, almost a child in years,
+but a woman in sin, who goes by the name of Blooming Bess. Both the
+man and the girl went into the Three Tuns. My curiosity was aroused;
+my suspicions also. I did not like the face of the man; it was cold,
+heartless, cunning. He had cast looks about him in which I seemed to
+discern evil; he came from a quarter, or at least his companion did,
+with which I was intimately acquainted. We don't live in the world
+without learning, and I have learned something of the ways of
+scoundrels. If chance had put it into my power to unmask one--and I
+had a strange idea that it might be really so--I resolved not to throw
+it away. I hung about the place for some time, and at length bribed a
+servant to tell Blooming Bess secretly that a friend wished to speak
+to her in private. Out she came in a few minutes, and I had talk with
+her, and learned that the woman who had been brought to the Three
+Tuns, in the middle of the night, was no other than Mary Parkinson.
+Blooming Bess is a careless, reckless soul, the sort of girl who might
+have grown into an honest, respectable woman if she had had fair
+chances. She hadn't, and that is why she is what she is. I don't say
+it as a boast that I have helped her out of hunger sometimes, and I
+know she is grateful to me. This afternoon I promised her something
+which I shall fulfil; she shall have the chance that has never yet
+been put in her way of becoming a decent member of society. And upon
+the strength of that promise she told me all I wished to know. It
+seems that the man, whose name she had obtained, had come in the dead
+of night to the street in which Mr. Parkinson lived. He did not know
+the house, and he bribed Blooming Bess to point it out to him. When he
+thought he had got rid of her, he threw a letter up to Mary Parkinson,
+whom he had succeeded in awaking, and she came down to him. They went
+away together, and Blooming Bess saw them drive off in a cab. She had
+kept watch upon his movements. This morning the scoundrel came to the
+neighborhood for the purpose of clearing himself from some kind of
+suspicion which had attached itself to him in relation to Mary
+Parkinson. He came with a friend."
+
+"With me," said Mr. Manners.
+
+"I guessed as much. The scoundrel professed absolute ignorance of the
+whereabouts of Mary Parkinson, and had it not been for what happened
+to me last night, might even now have been regarded as an innocent
+man. I will not lengthen the story. Blooming Bess expressed her
+opinion of the man in terms which he would not have regarded as
+flattering. 'He's promised me I don't know what,' she said, 'to keep
+his secret; but I know the sort of man he is. When he's got all out of
+me he can, he'll throw me away like an old glove--as he'll throw away
+Mary. The fool believes in him even now!' Then she told me that he had
+tried to disguise himself in the night by putting on another suit of
+clothes--I had observed that myself--and that if it hadn't been for
+her, his villainy would have been exposed this morning when he came
+here with you. These are the main lines of the story, and I determined
+to bring the scoundrel to book. I gathered from Blooming Bess that the
+three of them were to remain at the Three Tuns to-night, and were all
+to go away together to some place or other; but where she did not
+know. He refused to tell her when she asked him. However, my intention
+was to take Mr. Parkinson to the Three Tuns to-night, and see what
+could be done. But I have not spoken to him yet of my plan. Dr.
+Perriera, to whom I have told the whole of the story, has persuaded me
+to be guided by him in the affair; he has a wise head and a kind
+heart, and I am satisfied that he will do what is right. The first
+thing he did was to go to Mr. Parkinson and obtain a portrait of the
+scoundrel who has brought Mary to shame. This I recognized as the man
+who brought Mary Parkinson and Blooming Bess to the Three Tuns. Then
+he desired me to wait here until he returned. He _has_ returned, with
+you, sir. That is all I have to say for the present."
+
+"I need no further assurance," said Mr. Manners; "but you may as well
+mention the name which that girl Bess gave you."
+
+"Mr. Mark Inglefield," said Timothy Chance.
+
+"It is enough. You have rendered me a great service, for which I
+cannot be sufficiently grateful. I will go to this man myself
+to-night, and he shall learn from my lips that his knavery and
+villainy have been brought to light. I hold a power over him which I
+can serviceably use."
+
+"Your plan is a good one," said Dr. Perriera. "It would never do to
+take Mr. Parkinson to his daughter. There would be mischief done. He
+has been heard to say a dozen times today, 'If I meet the villain who
+has ruined my daughter, and if he will not make an honest woman of
+her, I will hang for him.' You will not go alone?"
+
+Mr. Manners looked at Timothy Chance inquiringly.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Timothy, "if you will allow me, I will accompany
+you."
+
+"I thank you," said Mr. Manners, and again the two men shook hands.
+
+Then Mr. Manners desired Dr. Perriera to go to Kingsley, and tell him
+that he might not return till morning, and that it would be best not
+to wait up for him. After which, he and Timothy set out on their
+errand.
+
+"I will drive you," said Timothy; "I have a fast-trotting mare that
+will skim over the ground."
+
+The fast-trotting mare being harnessed, they started off at the rate
+of ten miles an hour.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+
+It was closing time at the Three Tuns, and some tipplers were being
+bundled out, much against their will, when Timothy Chance, entering
+with Mr. Manners, called the landlord aside, and had a hurried
+conference with him. The result was satisfactory.
+
+"They are having supper in a private room," said Timothy to Mr.
+Manners, "and the landlord will take us up, unannounced." They
+ascended the stairs, and the landlord, without knocking, throwing open
+the door, Timothy and Mr. Manners entered the room.
+
+Mark Inglefield was sitting at the supper-table; by his side sat Mary
+Parkinson; opposite to them sat Blooming Bess. Mark Inglefield,
+looking up, with angry words on his lips at the intrusion, was about
+to utter them, when, seeing who his visitors were, he fell back as if
+suddenly paralyzed. His face was of a deadly pallor, his limbs
+trembled, he was speechless. Mr. Manners gave him time to recover
+himself, but the detected villain did not speak. He felt that
+retribution had overtaken him.
+
+"I wish to say a word to you," said Mr. Manners, sternly. "Do you
+prefer it should be said here or in private?"
+
+Mark Inglefield, shaking like a man in an ague, rose to his feet and
+staggered to the door.
+
+"In private?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"In private," replied Mark Inglefield, his voice scarcely rising above
+a whisper.
+
+"Remain here," said Mr. Manners to Timothy, "and explain to Miss
+Parkinson why we have come."
+
+Then he followed Mark Inglefield from the room. The landlord was on
+the stairs, and at Mr. Manners's request he conducted the two to
+another room, saying:
+
+"You will not be disturbed."
+
+Summoning all his courage, Mark Inglefield said:
+
+"This is an unexpected honor, sir. Your errand is probably the same as
+mine."
+
+"What may your errand be?" asked Mr. Manners.
+
+"I said this morning," replied Mark Inglefield, striving to believe
+that the game was not yet lost, and that he could still continue to
+deceive the man upon whom he had imposed for so many years, "that I
+would find Mary Parkinson, and endeavor to extract the truth from her.
+With the aid of a detective I succeeded in tracking her here."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Manners, inwardly resolving to ascertain to what
+further lengths in the art of duplicity Mark Inglefield would go; "was
+she surprised to see you?"
+
+"Very," said Mark Inglefield, beginning to gain confidence. "Very much
+surprised."
+
+"She did not know you?"
+
+"How could she, sir? It was a bold plan of mine, but I have hopes that
+it will be attended with the happiest results. To restore an erring
+child to her father's arms is a task of which I am sure you will
+approve."
+
+"I do."
+
+"Perhaps," continued Mark Inglefield (thinking to himself, "What a
+fool I was to exhibit any sign of fear!")--"perhaps to bring her back
+to the path of virtue and make an honest woman of her--this is what I
+hope to achieve. Then I could come to you, and say, 'I have done this
+good action in return for the slander which an enemy dared to breathe
+against me.'"
+
+"It would be a good action. To bring a weak, erring child back to the
+path of virtue, and make an honest woman of her. Is that really your
+wish?"
+
+"What other wish can I have, sir, with respect to Mr. Parkinson? Would
+it not entirely clear me from suspicion?"
+
+Mr. Manners ignored the question. "She did not know you, you say. How
+did you introduce yourself to her? In your own name?"
+
+"Of course. It would have been wrong to use another."
+
+"Did the detective you employed accompany you?"
+
+"He did; else I should hardly have found this out-of-the-way hole--in
+which, sir, I am surprised to see you. But I need not express
+surprise. Your decision of character and kindness of heart are well
+known to me.",
+
+"My decision of character--yes; my kindness of heart--those are
+meaningless words in your experience of me. But the past can be atoned
+for."
+
+"You have nothing to reproach yourself with, sir."
+
+"My conscience answers. But it is not to speak of myself that I have
+come to-night. Is the detective who conducted you here now in the
+house? I should like to speak to him."
+
+"How unfortunate! It is but a few minutes since he left us. Had I
+known--"
+
+"But you did not know."
+
+"No, indeed, sir."
+
+"Did you disclose to Miss Parkinson the nature of your errand?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What was her answer?"
+
+"She was grateful, truly grateful."
+
+"Was it your intention to take her back to her home tonight?"
+
+"Scarcely to-night. Early in the morning, after she was calmer, and
+prepared to meet her father."
+
+"She has a companion with her?"
+
+It was this question which caused Mark Inglefield to suddenly
+recollect that Mr. Manners had seen Blooming Bess earlier in the day.
+Up to this point he had not given her a thought.
+
+"Ah, yes, sir, a companion, who gave us certain information when we
+paid our visit to Mr. Parkinson. It was a happy thought of mine to
+take the poor girl with us; it would inspire Miss Parkinson with
+confidence in me. Besides, sir, it would not have been proper for me
+to visit Miss Parkinson alone."
+
+"Shall I call her down to test the truth of your statements?"
+
+"Surely, sir, you do not doubt me!"
+
+"I ask again, shall I call her down to test the truth of your
+statements?"
+
+"Shall I go up and bring her down to you?"
+
+"In order," said Mr. Manners, "that you may have time to concoct some
+story which you can prevail upon her to adopt, so that I may be the
+further deceived?"
+
+"Sir, you wrong me," stammered Mark Inglefield.
+
+"Mr. Inglefield," said Mr. Manners, "let us throw aside the mask of
+treachery and deceit. The questions I addressed to you were put for a
+purpose. Is it sufficiently explicit to you if I tell you that you
+have betrayed yourself?"
+
+"I do not understand you."
+
+"That is not true. You understand me well enough, though yet you do
+not know all I have resolved upon. It is I, not you, who will take
+Miss Parkinson to her father to-night. It is for you, not for me, to
+make an honest woman of her."
+
+Then, indeed, did Mark Inglefield know that the game was up.
+
+"If you are determined not to believe what I say, sir--"
+
+"Not one word. All your statements are false--in the present, as they
+have been in the past. It was you who stole Miss Parkinson from her
+home last night, and the poor girl who is now with her was bought over
+by you. Be thankful that you are spared a visit from Mr. Parkinson.
+But for me, you would be face to face with him, and would have had to
+answer for your crime. Mr. Inglefield, evil can be atoned for. For the
+evil I have done in the past it shall be my endeavor to atone. It will
+be to your interest to come to the same resolve."
+
+"Can nothing I can say convince you that you are doing me an
+injustice?"
+
+"Nothing. So much has been revealed and made clear to me that only one
+course remains open to you, so far as I am concerned."
+
+"Perhaps," said Mark Inglefield, in a tone which he vainly strove to
+make defiant, "you will explain yourself?"
+
+"I will do so. You will marry the girl you have brought to shame."
+
+"I, sir, I! It is a monstrous idea!"
+
+"Knowing you as I know you now, there is indeed something revolting in
+it--and it may be that she will not give you the opportunity of making
+atonement." Mark Inglefield smiled scornfully. "There is a road,"
+pursued Mr. Manners, "out of evil, and for a little while this road
+will be open to you. Turn your back upon it, and go forth into the
+world, a beggar! Enter it--with a purified heart, if you can--and I
+will make you recompense."
+
+"You will fulfil the expectations you have always held out to me?"
+
+"No. My promise was given to a man of honor, as I believed. I will not
+bring my tongue to utter what you have proved yourself to be. But I
+will give you a competence, which my lawyers shall arrange with you.
+For myself, after this night I will never see you again, nor shall you
+ever again darken my door. There is something more, and it may weigh
+with you. For years past you have transacted certain business matters
+for me. I have not too closely looked into them. Refuse the offer I
+have made to you, and they shall be searched into and examined with
+but one end in view--punishment. Accept it, and all that has passed
+between us in connection with these matters shall be buried forever.
+You will know how best to decide. I give you"--he took out his
+watch--"five minutes to decide. Your fate and future are in your own
+hands."
+
+Then there was silence. With his back turned to Mr. Manners, Mark
+Inglefield debated with himself. He knew that the matters to which Mr.
+Manners referred would not bear investigation, and that he was in
+danger of the criminal dock; he knew that Mr. Manners would show him
+no mercy. He shrugged his shoulders savagely, and said:
+
+"What do you call a competence?"
+
+"It shall be decided between you and my lawyers at three o'clock
+to-morrow afternoon, by which time they will have received my
+instructions. You have barely half a minute to arrive at a decision. I
+am inexorable."
+
+"I accept your offer," said Mark Inglefield.
+
+"You will find Miss Parkinson in her father's home. There must be no
+delay. Farewell."
+
+At nine o'clock the following morning Mr. Manners sat at breakfast
+with Kingsley, Nansie, and Hester. There were no traces of fatigue on
+Mr. Manners's face; on the contrary, it looked fresh and young. A new
+and better life was before him. Mr. Loveday, the good old book-man,
+kept purposely away; he would not intrude upon a meeting which he
+deemed had something sacred in it. And indeed it had. Hearts that
+should never have been separated were united, and love shone within
+the little room.
+
+It was a humble meal, but the sweetest that Mr. Manners had tasted for
+many, many years. Nansie's face was bright, and now and then her lips
+were wreathed in happy smiles, and now and then her eyes were filled
+with tears. And so we leave them. Flowers are blossoming; there is
+good in the future to be done.
+
+It may be, also, in the future, that Hester Manners and Timothy Chance
+may come together for weal or woe. Words have yet to be spoken, but in
+their hearts love has already found its nest. May their lives be as
+sweet and pure as the lives of Kingsley and Nansie! There will be
+manna for the hungry, and light will be shed upon the dark spaces of
+the East.
+
+
+
+                               THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Toilers of Babylon, by 
+B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42974 ***