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.