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."