Toilers of Babylon: A Novel

"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."