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.