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diff --git a/42974.txt b/42974.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 76da467..0000000 --- a/42974.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14699 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Toilers of Babylon, by B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Toilers of Babylon - A Novel - -Author: B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon - -Release Date: June 18, 2013 [EBook #42974] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOILERS OF BABYLON *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Harvard University) - - - - - - - - - - - -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 _pate 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-a-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 3/4_d_. 3 0-3/4 - Less food for fowl, at the rate of 1/2_d_. per day 1 3-1/2 - _______ - Leaving a net profit of 1 9-1/4 - - -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 1/2_d_ per day. . . . . 15 2-1/2 - Cost of fowl, say . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 0 - ________ - Total. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 2-1/2 - -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 L1 2_s_. 6-1/2_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-a-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. 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