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I-

H. E. eUARKE Zl 60.

105 king Street West. loroiito.

^"'^' r/'-^-^^^'

HAVE FULL LINES IN

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I
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TOILERS OF BABYLON

7 .

urs.

B. L. FARGEON,

AUTHOR OF

Specialty
ine Gar-
arantee a
noderate
ding pur-
Ibeamply
iding Jbr
talogues,
of Furs

"BELLS OF PENRAVEN,- "LOVE'S HARVEST." "NINE OF HEARTS."
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ronto.

ting Cape

THE NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANT.

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada in the OfBca
of the Minister of Agriculture by the National Pububhimo Compamt,
Toronto, in the year one tbouBand eight hundred and lighty-nine.

I
1
c
\

'.\

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

1ft in the Office

[NO COMPAMT,

nine.

CHAPTER I.

The horse was very old, the caravan very dilapidated. As
it w/as 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 labours 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 woeful, was demonstrative
only through physical compulsion. With drooping head,
lustreless eyes, and labouring 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 tit-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 :

" VVilliam Biowne might have camped on this very spot,

TOILERS OF BAMYr.ON.

Nansie, and drawn its picture. 11 ic rose
derfuL" Then he read from tho hook :

niblaooe ii won*

Here the curious lultiiifj <>f .i licilj;*?,

There, by n pond, tlic trmirnin^ nl iln- srrlge;

Here the fine setting; of \^l•ll-^ll,lllm^J tnrs,

The walks thort- mounting' up li\ vmiuII .Irgreet;

The gravel and ihi' gre<n so r(ju;il lii:,

They, with tlu; rest, draw on your linj{<'ring cyft

Here the sweet snu-lls 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 nrr 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 hack of the
caravan afforded means of getting in and out, and when
the Mian began to speak aloud a young woman is.-.ued 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 com-
mercially empty. In times gone by it had been used for
trading and speculative purposes, by gipsies, by enter-
prising travellers, by vendors 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
httle 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."

. I

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

« il won-

tefl

ick of the

, and when

s.-.ued l"n>in

the top of

» think that

id it might

Id a teapot
r domestic

was com-
n used for
by enter-
dealers in
e, and had
were in
and bore
traveUing
being put
from the

)ose boards
ading over
le she set a
bread and

•y

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 shcc
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 re-
marked :

•' 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."

" 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 affec-
tionate tone. " I have you to thank for all that is good in

me.

but
from

" It is a pleasant hearing, but it cuts both ways,
not your other wishes trouble you ? "

" A little ; but everything will come r ^ht."

"A comfortable philosophy, my atar child;
womanly."

"It was mother's,'* said Nansie. "I caught it
her."

" I know ; and I could never make the dear mother
understand that it was inadequate for the practical i)ur-
poses of life. Eventually we may be satisfied that every-
thing 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 expe-
rience."

" I am human," said Nansie, and she pressed her young
face to his.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" 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 wrs fair and beautiful Though cast
in a delicate mould, she was strong and redolent of health.
Her face was slightly browned, and harmonised 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 sufiicient 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 tonight it will sing again. Have you
finished your tea ? "

" Yes, father."

" Then go again to the post-oflSce, and see if there is a
letter for me. I am growing anxious at not receiving one.
Ycu 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 authorising the delivery of any
letters which might be lying in the post-office for her father.

Godalminr:, the town for which she was bound, was
within a mile, and she stepped out briskly. But when «5he

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

responding
child, you

perplexing

nd did not

hough cast
it of health.
1 with her
was bright
irely forty-
;, patiently
umble life,
ore in the
; they had

harnessed

slowly and

jrned back

shadow of
e from the
le right of
farers, and

had fixed
up to this

intly, "did

her father.
Have you

there is a
living one.
put

them

md
wn

restmg
to his,
n carrying
ery of any
her father.
>ound, was
t when «?he

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 pro-
ceeded on her errand. Her thoughts may be thus fash-
ioned 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 L.oth.
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 m the Godalming post-
office, making her inquiry.

"Mr. James Loveday," said the female clerk, looking at
the order handed to her by Naasie — 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-c*

" That's a curious way to spell Nancy," said the clerk.
** No, there are none."

Nansie lingered.

" Or for Manners ? " she asked, with singular timiaity
and bashfulness.

" Mrs. or Miss ? " inquired the clerk.

" Nansie s face and neck ere scarlet as she replied:
"Mrs." ^

" None for that name," said the clerk.

She lingered still, and said, with a kind of pathetic im-
ploring : "Would a telegram be received here if ad-
dressed to the post-office till called for ? "

"Yes."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ff '

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 symputhisingly. There
was a love note in her voice, u»id 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 si fence or solitude. But it
can scarcely be called sleep ; I am conscious of all that is
going on aiound 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 con-
versation.

" You saw your uncle once, Nansie. Have you a recol-
lection of him ? "

" H4|[dly 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 ofif VVhitechapel ;
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."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

inswer. Is

f the office,

igly. There
■i girl had a

hand, and
ange to her,
,rk. When,
her father's

ler.

tly now, on

ide. But it

Df all that is
ter in her
and took
eph ; I was

remained a
:d the con-

jrou a recol-

been when
our or five,
and I took
eet meats, I
Dllection of
hitechapel ;

)oke to you

)ry, Nansie,

She stopped the current of his speech.

" Father, these last three or four weeks you have dropped
hints which make me very anxious ; thty weigh heavily
upon me. I know you are not well, but you harp upon it
as if it was a serious illness. Tell me, father."

They were sitting side by side now, and he was smooth-
ing her hair with his hand.

" I am far from well, Nansie."

She interrupted him again, and now spoke with tre-
mulous impetuosity.

" You should take advice. You should go to a doctor."

" There are reasons why I do not do so. P'irst, I have
no money. P'iguratively speaking, twopence In' penny is
all my fortune. To be exact, twenty threi: shillings re-
presents my worldly wealth. 1 am afraid I have been un-
^;ise, 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 my-
self that is 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 that my own dear
Nansie ! "

"There was another reason," said Nansie, gravely.

"There was another reason," said Mr. Loveday, appre-
hensively. " I am coming to it. It would have been use-
less 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 ? Ves, 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 man-
hood, 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 sa d : " That is not the lea^^on
I mean. The^re is another."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" 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 perrnit me. I have cause to reproach myself. Had I
been a carpenter or a bootmaker I might have been bettei
able to fulfil my duties."

" No one can reproach you, 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, and I did
not wish to harass you."

" Your endeavours to obtain another situation were un-
successful ; 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 1 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 realise 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
favourable 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 feel-
ings , 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.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

)u, Nansie,
nces would
ilf. Had I
been bettei

/e you with

all events,
phere of a
on. From
med to be

the sudden

h you were

I upon the

the time,

, and I did

n were un-
i governess
ere almost
IS ignorant
ou. Then
; then and
I in which
icover that
lose father

had come
to afford a

unhealthy
3u wish to

ri her feel-
lot see the
luring this
n: "I am

■ " For the distraction of an unhealthy fancy," he re-
sumed, "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 nf»t
wrong, dear child, in saying it unites us?"

" No, my dear father, it unites us now and ever.'Q

" 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 re-
proach, " it is old. You have told me that before."

" It is always new to me, father. And there is some-
thing 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 keep
ing from me."

"If I said I had, it would bt 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."

" It will not take me long Your mother, my dear
Nansie, had two ardent lovers, your father and your
uncle."

" That was sad."

"There 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, was to
blame for it. In youfh 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 colkges. 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 enter-
tainment. When he died he left each of us a little money.

TOILERS OF BABYLON,

not more than a hundred pounds apiece, with which we
were to seek our fortunes. Wc 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, ana 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 side ; he failed and I succeeded. Your
mother was a sweet and beautiful lady, ?nd 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 awhile 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 deter-
mination, 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
rejjlied to one of my letters. It was only when you and
your mother returned from the visit you paid him that I
iearnt he kept a bookshop in the East of London. I see
his handwriting now for the first time in tv. jnty 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
realised. 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

which we
er, and in
ir mother,
am afraid
lis visions
Bohemian
d by force
tunes with
other, but
ed. Your
I won her

i'er tongue
I won mv

tteries, but
nan. My
have given
He would
When was
with deter-
him. He
;rs, and so

After my
; he never
1 you and
lim that I
)n. I see
2ars. Your

possessed
it I should
1 he would
fast in his
n towards
mr mother
ilf, in your
of flowers
a woman's
your dear
id be won
I were not
ised to be
n 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 aflFair."

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 honourable, honest, (earnest love, child.
You understand that ? "

" I understand it.''

" 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 tongiM

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?"

" 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 api)ealed to him. I said, if any-
thing 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 nee to the beds, lather. 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

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

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 bed-
rooms was a window with a douljle sash, opening up and
down.

The beds were soon ready, and then Nansie called her
father. He ascended the steps, and puUing 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, kiss-
ing 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
Chink 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
muM; 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 lis-
tened 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 heard to throb wild with joy.

"Nansie!"

She glided to the window and raised the lower sash.

** Kingsley I " she whispered, musically, in reply.

" You are here, my darling I I have found you I*

" Hush ! Speak softly, or you will awake my father.
What a time to come ! How good you aie I "

" I received your letter and telegram, and could not resL

TOILEIW OF BABYLON.

y primitive
partments.
ed, and, in
he sleeping
these bed-
ing up and

called her
n up after
e thus in a
re entering
se was safe,
Then, kiss-
t. He slept
only means

Loveday's
-dog to his
,' the open
ad much to
:umstances,
s her body,
^e did not

she closed
slept for an
, and again
e she could
aps she was
,nd she lis-

mate j and
irs, as of a
s old horse.

listened at
She heard
ly sleeping.

whispering

joy.

:r sash.

my father,
lid 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 disai .ear before tiien ? "

" 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 sh^cvc. He, standing on the
spoke of the wheel, took her hand and 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?"

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" I have a bed at Godalming ; but I am in no humour
for sleep."

'Be reasonable, Kingsley, if you love me." She leant
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 for ever and ever. Good-night, my love I"

*• Good night, my heart ! To-morrow at sunrise. Mind
— not a moment later 1 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 asle«p,
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 3wcet 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 gipsy 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

TOILERS 01' HAHYLON.

> humour

She leant
:. " Now

I. There,
jnt?"
lylove!"
se. Mind
V yet."
hrew them
dark she
leir silver

essing the

)otfall, and
fell asle«p,

had fallen,
draw out
of spring

ces, and in
trunks of

iny hedges

lemselves ;

rere slowly
strangely-

monwealth

juttercups.

n, not yet

e fragrance

e night
"I never

onse. " It
; were here

and was inclined to do so, he could give you several
reasons. You can guess some of them, Kingslcy."

"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
harboured a bad one ; and you must remember he does
not know our secret yet. I love and honour 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 a 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 — tc 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," said Nansie, with a delicious
laugh, nestling close to him; "it has really been delight-
ful."

"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 1 " she said, hiding her face or his
shoulder.

W TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" 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 • Dt be
fortunate — in money, I mean ; I am content with every-
thing 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 creej) 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 distin
guislied. 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 earl\
morning was so beautiful. The flowers, the dew — it i.-
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

TOILKKS OK HAHVLON.

re could I

your father

ind willing,
ho will give
s our places
Nansie; the
[her. Why
d I • Dt be
with evcry-
i my age he
is now. A
ames. And
e widening,
and occupy
ill presently
on't despair.
: ennobles a
jlf worthy of
truly distin
1. Ask the
iny one else.

ig fondly at

le said, nor
t his speech
husiastically,
is hair ; and
lere was no
jnfidence in
lid she had

our side, my
St morning 1
! You arc
ia the early
dew — it i-
he earth was

i. It is you

\. ho are the poet. But I have written verses, too. The
fellows say poetry doesn't pay, and you mu^t not encourage
me. We must be sensible and worldly. What some of
the fellows used to say was that I wa? prone to be discur-
sive, but they were not jud^^es. Between you and me, they
were a little jealous because I could talk. Well, the ^'lit
of oratory is not a bad one — I don't say I have it, but I
am seiUo. > 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 .ilways fond of hearing me
talk. He ha-. <jften said: 'i'alk 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 ? " 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 humoured, because everything
depends upon him. He is rather proud ; he has a right to
be so, being a self-made man. And ob tinate ; 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 I '
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 learnt 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 working men,' he says,
'bricklayers, stonemasons, carpenters, anything. They
work a certain number of hours per day for a certain

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

number of shillings per week. So manage that from their
labour you reap a profit of half an hour a day out of each
mnn. That is a profit of five hundred hours per day for
the organiser. At eight working hours per day you thus
put, roughly speaking, into your pocket the earnings ot
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 appear-
ance. 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 em-
barrassment.

" 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," she said, archly, "was made last
night when the iilg,htingale was singing."

He allowed his eyes to rest for a brief space upon hers,
and he saw truth and innocence so clearly depicted therein
chat 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

from their
)ut of each
Dcr day for
,' you thus
earnings ot
ly in which
als, foreign
as many as
e. And all
t us talk of
'hat is the

m in deep

issarily, my

Thorough

-leave it to

ire made by
'ces, and at
I his appear-
t finding his
when she
certain em-
ir. Loveday

cident," he

ippointment

nd where ? "
whispered :

made last

; upon hers,
cted therein
weight had
nee of his
against the

man who, in the father's opinion, was playing upon her
feelings.

"Go and j)repare breakfast, Nansie," said Mr. Loveday.
"I will join you presently."

"And Kingr,ley ? " she asked. " He will also come ? "

" We shall sec, 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
honour.

" lint then," continued Mr, Loveday, "a father is often
just'^'ied 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 tu 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 incon-
siderate. 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 temporise 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

TOILERS OF BABVLuN'.

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 endeavoured 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 know-
ledge of the world. In what other words would you
describe the behaviour- of a young man of fashion — you
see I do you justice "

"You do me a gross injustice," interrupted Kingsley, "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 ot your
set."

"Upon my honour, 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 1 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."

" I may have equal justice on my side."

"There can be no (question of ecjuality in this matter."

" Pardon me, sir," said Kingsley — hurt as he was, his
beiring 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
diflficult 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

oked before
anner of a
;nted itself.

his speech,
ir, and the
jrtheless he
; duty. "I
some know-

wouM you
ashion — you

Lingsley, " as
ire we have

of a young
t with a pure
Lve surprised
ce upon it."
iffcctions are

'onsequences
hion ot your

warmly, " I
The attitude
;, and though
that 1 should

, is an utterly
admit, but I

is matter."
5 he was, his
deferential,
le affections."
help adding :
;n us."
ence.

rs. It is not
tween a lover
records of a
hen her hv,art

is touched by the new love." He spoke now plaintively,
and he noted the sympathising look in Kingsley'b face. It
inspired hmi 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 sni ling eyes.

"You ask why? Surely you can yourself supply the
answer. There is between you a disparity which renders
it im^jossible that any good can spring from such an
affection."

" No, no, sir ; not impossible. Pardon me for inter-
rupting 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 spoilt 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 And now, 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

22 TOILERS OF BABYLON.

write to her, and in that way help her in the task that lies
before her, the task of forgetfulness."

"A hard task."

" 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 1 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 butter-
fly 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 eciual 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 nov/, sir," said Kingsley, in a
tone both light and earnest. " No, do not take it amiss
that I make ihis 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 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 speak-
ing 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 unfrecjuently been called a radical, and
a radical is a personage. What I am endeavouring to ex-
press is that I have feelings, and that I should prefer
rather to be happy than miserable. There is nothing un-
reasonable in that, I hope."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

sk that lies

:omplished,
lance saves

. had been
above rae."
mo his old

better you
: is a butter-
thing of the
[f, as I was

in worldly
and I asked

knov;ing so
hould know
I as to your

iatisfactory,"

ngsley, in a
ike it amiss
a moment,
side in this
feelings, or
ith them. I
disposition,
e — almost as
in a caravan
any distinct
that I lack
desirable in
n not speak-
iCgative way,
may tell you,
radical, and
)uring to ex-
lould prefer
nothing un-

As he paused for a reply, Mr. Loveday, somewhat mysti-
fied, 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, 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 sccm 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 Kingsle/s
voice and manner, and Mr. Lo\ eday led the way to the
caravan. Breakfast was laid, and Nansie, busy within the
dwelling-house on wheels, cried out in the cheerfuUest ol
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.'

r'ff-

TOILERS OF iiABYLON.

"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, futher, 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 ? **

" I do not know."

" Father," said Nansie — her arms were round his neck,
and her face half hidden on his breast — " Kingsley and I
are married."

" Married I " cried Mr. Loveday, in a tone of wonder.

" Yes, dear, married. Kingsley thought it best to wait
until his father, who has been for some time abroad, re-
turned home before we made it known ; but I am glad that
you know it earlier — glad and happy, my dear father. I
wjote 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 labour a mo-
ment 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

;yes, happy
.nd took his

ht I had a

)mise not to
s permission
ed, her lips

ind his neck,
ingsley and I

of wonder.
t best to wait
ne abroad, re-
I am glad that
iear father. I
father; I was
)ut so— and he
I was awake,
outside and 1
that is how we
Jive us, father,

oveday, holding
and pressed it
seeing you and
ive a protector ?

cried Kingsley
to labour a mo-

" murmured the
ley. "When (io
kcd the question

his face became grave. He saw the difficulties in their
way.

*' He has arrived, sir. I haa a letter from him yester-
day, and I am going to him, to confess all. It was partly
that, and partly because of Nansie's letter, but chiefly be-
cause I could not exist without seeing her before I went to
my father, which brought me here. But, sir, my father is
not the (juestion."

•' VV at is, then, Kingsley ? " asked Mr. Loveday, still
very grave.

"The (luestion is, whether you are going to ask me to
stay to breakfast with you."

Mr. Loveilay brightened ; there was something conta-
gious in the young man's gay spirits.

" I invite you, Kingsley," he said.

" Thank you, sir ; I am famished, Nansie."

Standing ui)on 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,
cjuoting from his favourite poet, said :

.... See the spring
Is the earth enamelling,
And the birds on every tree
Greet the mom with melody.

And Nansie, going slowly into the caravan, thought that
life was very sweet and the world very beautiful.

CHAPTER IV.

i On the evening of the following day, Kingsley arrived at
his father's house in London. It was situated in the centre
'Of fa-hion, and had been built by the rich contractor him-
^'self on 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.

1/ ' M

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

It was a wonderful career, commencing with nothing and
marching into millions. A jjoor boy, doubly orphaned and
thrown upon the world before he could stand upright, with-
out 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 prize-fighter 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 in-
come ; 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 of 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
fightin<5 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 know-
ledge dawned upon him afterwards, when he began to
make successes, when he began to gauge men and under-
stand 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 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

lothing and
phaned and
)right, with-
his feet, he
vhen he was
IS stockings,
iven at that
i among his
man could
2 laid low;
iS with Val
ad he cared
e-fighter the
onded belts
imong men.
n large type ;
aassador; he
princely in-
broad back,
inces at him.
;ellect, and a

tastes were
reat strength,
upon needed
did not love
he knew that
which defied
lat he had a
^hich were to
This know-
he began to
n and under-
even as a boy
and he found
fear was ; he
ders, carrying
y heights and
hese qualities
cs, and he was
perilous. All
his enormous

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 labour.

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 estab-
lished 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 ascer-
tained, 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
in a given time than comrades less strong ana capable than
himself, it was simply that he did his work honestly with-
out 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 nis
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 Manner's
made itself manifest. He worked himself, of course, and
thereby saved one man's labour ; this went into his own
pocket Indeed, being stirred and excited by this higher
flight into life's struggles, he worked harder than had bet n
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 pawn-
broker's house ; and this extra money also went into h s
pocket. Then, again, in the selection of men out 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 anotht- r.
Thus, when the contract was finished, he was a great many
days to the good, and he found that he was richer by

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 satisfac-
tion, 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 [>ounds.
It was wonderful how his money accumulated ; il 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 infringe-
ment 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 stupen-
dous 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 retnarkable
person, 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 bis wealth ; but he had tact enough to understand that

r .
1

TOILLRS OF BABYLON.

jntinued to

argain that
i in a poor
nd pursued
than ever,
iy's satisfac-
> was master

of triumphs,
ind pounds.
5d; it grew
I working for
[', taskmaster,
vord and his
ig from those
east infringe-
uras no longer
VIr. Manners,
irt of a Tom
ng man, and
rein. He did
is success, but
arded his own
fulness which
lin profit. He
siness dealings
as too stupen-
ingland alone
to expend its
•acts, and laid
ing the clouds,
of commerce.
J of Manners,
ery part of the

ed young, his
his first patron,
e a remarkable
ers received the
rty years of s^e,
jsition also grew
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 occa-
sions he was listened to with respect and deference, and his
words had weight ; he trod upon no man's corns by ex-
pressing 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
fiigure in fashionable assemblies, towering abve all, and
moving like a mountain through the packed crowd of male
and female exquisites. He only moved when he had occa-
sion; 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 invalu-
able. This art Mr. Manners possessed, so that, taking him
' for all in all, he was no charlatan, trading upon false
J pretences.

' The day previous to that upon which Kingsley entered
his father's house, with the intention of making a clean
j. 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.

I
I

TOILERS OF BABYLOV.

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
oth( r.

" 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 tonight, 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 thu. night, and that, if he found
a favourable 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
lo bed. And then, with fond and constant love and untold

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

but after the

»dded at each

side wiU be

ut exactly as 1
ictory. I wi^^
t have a long

r."

s mother, went

as to take out

d kiss it. He

! morning, and

ut to bed. As

he could not

ets of paper to

yed himself to

he usual lover's

;(L There was

evidence of an

Lhe sweetest ot

pn the following

Is father were to

hat, if he found

[vantage of it to

had any good

, before he went

love and untold

kisses, he was for ever and ever her faithful lover and so
C'», and so on. Very precious and comforting are these
lover's 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 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."

" Yes, and it pleases me. A step nearer to India. That
k 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 busi-
ness of yours, when you are a statesman. About the
gangers ? What did you read ? "

'* There were pestilent morasses to be bridged over or cut
through, and there was great loss of life."
j< " Quite correct ; the mortality was serious ; fortunately I
•mployed native labour."

" But it was human life, father, whether Russian or
Xnglish."

" Quite true again, Kingsley."
f "Holding views as I do," said Kingsley, "there appears
fD me something anomalous — that is putting it very mildly
«»f-in this last operation of yours."

i Mr. Manners smiled good-huraouredly, and nodded his
ijjpad in pleasant approval

_4i

8fi TOILERS OP BABYLON.

*'Goon, Kingsley."

" For instance, tlie matter of Russia's near 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
buUtts.*'

" 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 conversa-
tion such as this, 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 be-
come 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 aloot
from every other country, and to live as it were, shut up in
a box. I can't express myself as well as you, but I daresay
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 gaily.
*' 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 labourer I employed did
There was no more necessity for them to know our language
than for me to know theirs. The point was that there wai
work to do, and that it must be done within the stipulated

TOILEHS Ob BABYLON.

.proach to
i not that

;w millions
of our best

; right. Of
ar with the

md railways

e a conversa-
r anything to
Desn't matter
come what I
->m the ranks,
[generally be-
nor another,
But into this
us import a
g is wrong in
^u* itself aloot
re, shut up in
but I daresa)

you, father,"

They respect
Id quite gaily.

one word ot
I saw some
-ws with them.

„at I think 1
■ae of the great
[employed did'
Iw our language

that there wa:
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 have remained there a day ; the Russian
shrugged his shoulders and took the risk. Now, Kingsley,
we will proceed to matters more immediately concerning
•furselves."

" With pleasure."

"As between father and son there should be as few
-ecrets as possible. You have some knowledge of my
-areer ; 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 unreswvedly upon his
story, and spoke of matters in respect of his successful
struggles wich which the reader is already familiar. It was
not all new to Kingsley, but he listened patiently and ad-
miringly.

" I think I have made it plain to you," 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
mis^ied 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.
Every shoemaker to his last, and I shall stick to mine, and
make more money. If I entered Parliament, which I could
do without diflficulty, I should have to sit mumchance, and
play a silent part, unless something in my own particular
fine 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 speakei
the matter would be different ; I could carry all before me,
though I am ignorant of Greek and Latin. When I \yas a
lad I did not have what you call afnbition : I took a pride
i& making sensible contracts which would bring me i« a
jfrofit, and I crept along steadily, never dreaming that I
•hould ever reach my present position. But the case is
rftered now, and I have a real ambition — not directly for

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

myself, but for you. I have no expectation that you will
disappoint me."

" I will endeavour 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, con-
siderably 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, minci 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 / could ever
become Prime Minister."

"It is not every man who would speak so plainly and
disparagingly of himself."

" Perhaj>s not, but I happen to know the leru,;)" of my
tether ; I happen to know what I am fitted for a: ' , liat I
am not. I don't want you to suppose that I am inciung 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 > ou a gentleman. That is
what other fathers have done, whose beginnmgs 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 beco*ne illustrious, and I shall be con-
teBt to look on and say : * This is my doing ; this is my
work.' We will show these old lords what new blood can
do."

"Why, father," said Kingsley, laughing despite the

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

hat you will

e richest men

ling more ; I

L want people

of the Prime

[Cingsley, con-

) to, and with
d you that it
iservative, or a
If you are
r»at Radicalism
^ou."

t a man with a
accomplish. I
on. I can talk
d in fairly good
jrseverance, but
me to make a
I should make
e / could ever

: so plainly and

le len^O^ of my
for a: ■'■■ viiat I
I am liic.i'ang a
my place ; you
ctly satisfied. 1
stead of making
lemaii. That is
mmgs have been
jringing up, m)'
•sley, shall found
I shall be con-
■ing; this is my
It new blood can

ling 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 'n 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

i which, for convenience, we will say your mother and I

, do not count"

t ** My connections ! " exclaimed Kingsley. " Apart from

- you and my mother ! "

1 "Quite so. There are families of the highest rank
i who would not shrink from admitting you, upon the closest

terms, into their circle. Some are tottering, and fear the

2 fall. Old estates are mortgaged up to their value, and
f every year makes their position worse. We, with our full
t purses, step in and set them right, and bury the ghosts

which haunt them. There is nothing low and common

t 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 yoiL The first

^ thing you must do is to marry."

* '-Sir!"

^ "And to marry well. I have authority for saying that

iyou 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 settle-

iments upon her, Kingsley, whic'* would satisfy the most

^fexacting of duchesses. The fiimily has influence, great

influence, socially and politically. Married to her, with

el^ur talents, your future is assured, if you have only a fair

■■!|

I !

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 com-
pliance ; 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 — 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 in-
directly sounded, and I spoke the truth. Listen, Kingsley/
and Mr. Manners' more serious tone increased Kingsley's
discomfort. " I said I have set my heart upon the pro
jects 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 tc
power. There are few men who would not jump at the
proposition I have made, which, plainly explained, mean!

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

lart upon it,

aid Kingsley,
ither had cut

ve. You will

did not know
n to speak,
said Kingsley.

»s."

:oint," said Mr.
he young lady's
t till you see her,
you will do your
pt a blind com-
bes open, and if
must be a poor

in affair like this

3 is most deeply

and mercenary

calmly, " if the
cnows nothing."

It has been in-
.isten, Kingsley,
eased Kingsley's
■t upon the pro
ture. I have set
-I have set all my
d, and wiU be m;
ou will come into
iave any idea of,
[e you will rise tc
not jump at the
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 j 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 accpiaintcd with a per:>on
of the name of Loveday."

" I have the honour 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. v

" 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 bt 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
Aatement 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

3 fused to give me a promise ; I refuse to give you one. I
ight well take offence at the imputation that I have paid
It^py to watch you.'*

* " I withdraw the imputatioiK father."

* "The suspicion was in itself an offence. I have allowed
^u to go your way, Kingsley, in the belief and hope that
wur way and mine were one, and that you would do
fcthing to disgrace me."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" I have done nothing to disgrace yoiL**

"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," 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 extrava
gant, 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."

"If I am not mistaken — and in figures I seldom aiii— ^I
paid your debts for you on three occasions."

" It is true."

" And always cheerfully."

" Always."

" 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 endeavoured to make your life
easy and pleasurable,' and to do my duty by^ou. 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," said Kingsley, "that I should have been
content to work as you did."

" Not as I did, because we started from different stand
points. Pounds, shillings, and pence were of great impor-
tance 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

rOILERS OF BABYLON.

ing man you
; you a most

grateful," said
father's wrath.
Nansie's sake
lyed when he
i be no longer
lis usual calm

repeated Mr.

not demur to
il and extrava
2. as you are in
m you mixed,
rerlooked — and

ind you cleared

; seldom ani— ^I

it to myself by
would have you
, make your life
^ by -you. Nor
areer as a young
satisfied, and 1

ould have been

different stand
of great impor-
ery jealously, i
1 do, but I know
in buy in a large
ed to you. to'
LIS to me. There

ar^ 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
honourably and straightforwardly."

"All through my life," 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 favour 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 ? " 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 Mr. Loveday, who is described to me
as a person of no character and whom you describe as a
gentleman."

" He IS one, 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 wt 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

-1

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

in this iivstance I cannot do so. It would be stretching the
limits too far."

" We will not argue it out, father."

" Very well. But Mr. Lovcday 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 p<irson
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 momeni,
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 agita-
tion 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 experi-
ences learnt 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

tOlLKRS OF BABYLON.

retching the

tvel alone in
lughter with

set his teeth
with him."

This young
gning p^TSon
-because you

rting up with

some months
marriage, and
>r a moment,
order to give
rather. To go
It matter with

gsley, in great

)iting no agita-
ices of my own
miliar with the
; of my experi-
e abhor them,
low when such
m to destroy a
ied out in his
ngsley. Before
lope that some
ion which has
[ was wrong ; it

an enemy

itterance of the

veen father and

excitement, and

lere is only one

to-called friend who could have supplied you with the
information — my cousin, Mark Inglcfield."

Mr. Manners was silent.

** Was it he ?" asked Kingsley.

Still Mr. Manners was silent.

" I judge from your silence 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 lit as
a sacred confidence ? "

It was Kingsle/s turn now to consider. He was con*
vinced that Mark Inglefield was his enemy, and by giving
his father the desired promise of a sacred confidence, he
i rwould be shutting himself off from all chance of reprisal
On the other hand, he might be mistaken ; and his father
jmight also refuse to continue the interview, which Kingsley
jfelt 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 confi-
tdence, father ? "

" I insist upon it," said Mr. Manners, coldly.

"I willed it so."

" You are right," said Mr. Manners. " I received the
information from your cousin, Mark Inglefield."

" As I expected. I must now relate to you the circum-
stances of my acquaintance with Mr. Loveday and his
tdaughter, and the manner in which my cousin Mark
comes into connection with it."

" I will listen to you," said Mr. Manners. " Our con-
•versation has assumed a complexion which may be pro-
ductive 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 loiA sight of another
•thing. Mark Inglefield is your mother's nephew, and
^therefore your cousin. That I have given him the ad-

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

> 11

vantage 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," said Kingsley, " but a
pure reputation is at stake, and I may fail in my en-
deavour. 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 sus-
pected that his vapourings about her were those of a base
man, of one who was dead to honour. 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 v/hen he indulged in
the outpourings of his coarse vanity were now confirmed.
I followed up the introduction by courting Misi^ Loveday's
intimacy, and she grew to refipect 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

I sent you
r. I should
nephew and
ance him in

of it. He
refore speak
w the exact

a case like

jsley, " but a
i in my en-
id, who first

me of her,
io not know
lis boastings,

1 a doubt of
together and
oisterousness
i enough — of
appened that
ice me, and I
t)efore I sus-
ose of a base
true man is

nee to a lady
loubts I had
i indulged in
3W confirmed,
[iss Loveday's
ely upon me.
1 her. Never

was a proud
) protect her
e to him, in a
idignation was
; enemies. I
i was far too
i the habit of
now discover,
wed no anger
e warned me ;
mal when he

too deeply in

love and too happy to harbour suspicion against one who
had no real cause for enmity against me. Nor did I con-
sider 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 rumour."

" And that step, Kingsley ? " asked Mr. Manners.

** I married her. She is my wife."

"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 con-
firms 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 fat? I to you and may
shatter hopes upon which I have set great store. 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

difference of opinion between us as a difficulty which
may be overcome without much difficulty, if you are
reasonable."

"It is not a difTerence 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, were cog-
nisant."

" 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 (luestion 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 life-
long obligation without consulting me ? "

" It was wrong, said Kingsley, with contrition. " I
have only the excuse to make that I ed 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 co(nes
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."

"Certainly."

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

r >

iculty which
if you are

lid Kingsley,
Q too serious
ly, '* it is a
u, were cog-

Ir. Manners,
iilars which I

nie certain

1 the manner
istion of the
ned different
;ally married,
me, a father
acting a Ufe-

itrition. " I
her and was

^le deliberate
with a full
condoned by
air the fault,
which c<)[nes
lave forgiven

lid Kingsley,

will be as

that I have

ill I must see

his thoughts
)eauty of her
ong-suffering,
a sacrifice for
so that these
dence which,
dly under the

TOILERS OF BABYLON. IS

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 hfe-long anguish, and
would wrack 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 mi^'ht at
his persuasion, remove herself for ever not only from the
presence but from the knowledge of the man she loved and
had vowed to love while life remained. Poor, heljiless,
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 I 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
Ind despondent, but bright and sweet, and full of innocent,
joyous life ; and in that image he saw a sunshine of happi-
ness 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 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 con-
templation. 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?"
isked Mr. Manners.

" I have."

"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
loo hastily decided. You owe me some kind of obedience,
■ome kind of duty."

" I acknowledge it. In all that becomes me to yield you
•hall have no cause of complaint against me."

...^•MIIMiHaiiMH

mrKtAin-rry .^i.,»««i«M(iMMW

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" 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 Ingle-
field, 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 any other purpose. Are you content,
Kmgsley?"

" 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
passed."

" It is a hard request, 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 im-
press 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 con-
versation."

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.

ause before the
week, and give
. Its issues are
easonable."
lingsle}', after a

lOILfiRS OF SABYLON.

>in, Mark Ingle-

I for the purpose

your — the young
Lre you content,

imall measure of

my request that

ntil the week is

u.»

n, but one thing
necessary to im-
tune by my own
e. Comply with
ippose them, and
ijoy. To ihis I
ill drop the coii-

the week's delay,
his father would
d to him that it

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 any-
thing 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 labours during these days. He wished his
son to become sensible of what he would lose if he per-
sisted 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 .Tiost fashionable neighbourhoods; 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 doit"

TOILEFtS OF BABYLOH.

I I

Kingsley knew what he meRnt 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 :

" Mv 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 times to write to you
md think of you, but indeed you are never out of my
:houghts. 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 day long I have been thinking of you. * Now
he is in the train,' I said, ' now he is so much nearei
London, now he is in London, now he is at home ano
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 oi
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, fathei
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 cherfuUy and hopefully, am I not ? And
yet my father has been uneasy in his minid to-day. He has
been eaking a great deal oi your father, and he fears that
he wnl not approve of our marriage. *For your sake,
Nansie,' father said, '7 "' \ Kingsley's father was a poor
man.' Kingsley de? , i ^ ish that too; but then youi
father was once as pov -j we are, and perhaps that will
make a difference. I hope with all my heart I have not
done yon wrong by marrying you ; but how could I help it,
loving you as J did and do« and how could I help it when

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

d " if all goes
his thoughts
letter arrived
e was not less
added that he

)ened Nansie's
only for her

le room in the
around is still
:o write to you
;ver out of my
e made up my
le nightingale,
1 the way I am
>f you. * Now
much nearei
> at home ano
ot decide that,
im with you in
I am sure ol
Kingsley is at
t home ? My
e without you.

close to me ;
en this caravan
e people, fathei
should be with
so ; it will not

1 I not ? And
)-day. He has
id he fears that
?'or your sake,
her was a poor
but then youi
;rhaps that will
eart I have not
could I help it,

I help it when

yon 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 it 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 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 ao 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 I have •ritten ' 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
favourite 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 or
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 favourite saying that
father does not consider wisdom, 'everything will come

.-'=,r'-r- — *»*r>'.''''=r

fiO

TOILBBS Oif BABYLON.

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 sus*
pense. Oh, hark I The nightingale 1 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.
Browne ' l

And I was reading of it in 'William

•• • But the nightingale i* th' dark
Singing, v/oke the mountain lark :

She records her love.
The sun hath not with his beams
Gilded vet our crystal streams,

' sing from the sea ;
Mists do crown the mountain topi^
And each pretty m3rrtle drops ;
'Tisbut newly day.'

"There, my dear love, I have copied it exactly, apos-
trophes and all, and it seems to bring me nearer to you.
How wonderful is the gift of poetry 1 * '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, ICingsIey, 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. lie held my hand, and sometimes hs
gripped it hard. It was because he was in pain, but he
would not have it sa 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

jn't know why,
ise is dreadful,
g seems in sus-
is an omen of
sounds, for all
ill of sweetness
it in *WilUam

(»»

t exactly, apos-
e nearer to you.
but newly day.'
will come right,
kisses. I send
which soon will

!y, what joy and
; ! Your letters
at ever could be
ling so kind to
you after such a
:he best of men.
I tell you ? My
ough he has not
ng, watching the
id sometimes ha
IS in pain, but he
luse he loved me
le spoke, oh, so
le sunset of life,
d contented if he
th Kingsley, dear
e with Kingsley.'
ord, Kingsley ; I
* He is the man
said, and then he

spoilt 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 dc^ not know you as I da 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
favourable opportunity before you spoke to him of me. Ah,
f poor me ! What a worry I am! But I will make it all up to
f 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 art 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 Na'isie

" Oh, Kingsley, my dear husband, how shall I tell you ?
My hand trem')les so that I can scarcely write the words.
My father, my dear, dear father is dead 1

" I look at the words I have written, and they seem to
mov 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, b^ he does not
answer me. His spirit is with God. But surely with me,
too, surely with me i Oh, Kingsley, I feel as if my heart
Were breaking !

" I do not know when his spirit passed away. We sat up
iate last night, and he seemed in his usual health, but weak.
He made no complaint, bat 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 1
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 iuve and
his heartfelt wishes for a bright and happy life. ' With me,
father,' I whispered. 'Yes, my daughter, with you,' he
imswered. '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 micrht h?"^^

fTl

I I

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 * Kansie, child,' or
* My dear Nansie.' 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 con-
sciousness 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 ki.ow that his last dear conver-
sation with me left me better than I had been, and
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 Godalning, 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,

" Nansib."

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

*«8

mn voice, and
ad never done
insie, child,' or
leard what he
fe is a breath,'
irelcomed with

life. Happy
Id with a con-
sllow-creature.'
vain thirstings
yr hidden from
to keep shining

I cannot now
5t dear conver-
lad been, and
for his gentle

to bed, and I
, but he called
» sit by his side,
lorning, and all
nes opening his
5aid, ' Kiss me,
len he bade me
him, Kingsley,
isual hour this
rred. Ah, how
and he did not
speak. Then,
id on his heart ;
lear father had

do, and the last
jf my time. I
: shall be if you
shall go after
se address you
Cingsley, and do
a in the world.

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 ou' Ihe last
page of Nansie's letter, but his father thrust it arac.

" 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 for ever. I shall have no longer a son, and for ever-
more you and I are strangers."

" It is cruel — it is pitiful, but I must go."

" You understand the consequences of your disobe
dience ? "

" 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 fare again. From this moment I do not know you."

ig wife,

" Nansib."

-^ n
I

■■ ■■,-^. - .-..^^^^ --■*-,-.--..^ . ^ A^ »*^k-Ykii

XOILBBS OF BABYLOXi

CHAPTER VIII.

There are extant numerous clippings from famous writers
which, coming " trippingly off the tongue," have grown into
popular favour and are generally accepted as the essetice 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 i
likelihood of living for many years ; he is dying, with the
certainty of death in the course of a few days. So he sayi

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

famous writers
ive grown into
the essence of
old and logical
proverbs belie
may be classed
re are few men
; great majority
e into another
irtling changes
men grow rich,
gh slip into the
he reversals of
»ich makes life
the gulf which
omething to be
sxistence would
raking moment

course of our
Iready narrated
e scene changes
se locality being

The proprietor
isie's uncle, and
e's kaleidoscope
which fell from
e had purchased

change. Some
, I live, with t
i dying, with the
lys. So he sayi

fn 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
lournfulness to himself, aroused him from his reverie.
" It does matter," he ssid. " We arc not exactly
Buraber."

He was a man of middle age, a bachelor, and he con-

lucted his business alone, without assistance of any kind,

taking down his shutters in the morning and putting them

fup again at night, arranging the books on his shelves within

Tknd on the stall without, and knowing where to lay his

•4»and, almost blindfold, upon any volume which he or a

{customer required. In this lonely mode of carrying on his

'^rade there were inconveniences which were beginning to

tell upon him. The toilers round about were not as a rule

ilessed with libraries of any value, and although he was

'Always ready to purchase any odd lots that were brought to

b":Ti, he picked up very little stock in this way. The

4reater portion of his treasures was bought at book auctions
1 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
q{ 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 assis-
tance. He employed a charwoman twice a week, for half a
day on each occasion, to clean his place and set it in

4rder ; his breakfasts, teas, and suppers he prepared himself
ith his own hands, and when he did not purchase his
dinner at a convenient cookshop, it was sent in to him by
lirs. Peeper, keeper of a wardrobe shop in Church Alley.
He looked older than he was, and had too eaHy acquired a
'itoop from poring over books ; he had blue eyes, large and
^'Ihapely hands, and features furrowed with lines of thought-
■fblness. When he was not called away to attend an auction
or upon other business, he would be seen sitting at his
fpunter, or upon the floor, sorting books and making lists
"' them, or standing at his door in slippers, wearing a loose
ressing-gown and a plain skull-cap, and with a pair of
jctacles resting generally above his eyebrows. His
imputation extended far beyond the immediate cast in
f hich his shop was situated. In the course of his career it

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

haa oeen his good fortune to light upon rare books in th(
odd lots he had picked up at auction, and book-hunten
from afar would come to look over his stock of treasures,
On the day of his introduction to the reader he had beer.
much exercised. There was the letter from his brother, ic
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 foi
years, and who was now upstairs making a noise which
annoyed him, had, during the last few weeks, generally
made her appearance in a state of inebriation. He hac
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 sudder
crash in the room above caused him to start to his fee:
with an angry exclamation. He calmed himself instantly
having a great power of self-control, and going to the stair
case, called out :

" What is the matter, Mrs. Chizlet ? "

"Only the wash'and basin, sir," replied a voice fron
above.

" Oh," he said.

" And the jug, sir."

« Oh."

" And the soap-dish, sir."

" Oh."

Then there was a |)ause, and an ominous stillness

" Have you broken anything else ? " he asked.

" I didn't break 'em sir," was the reply. " It was tb(
«it."

" There's no cat in the house. Come down."

" In a minute, s.', when I've recovered myself."

He waited the minute, and down «ame the woman, wit:
a vacant smile on her face, and a number of pieces c
broken crockery in her hands, which she let fall with a s:..J
on the floor of the shop.

"The cat, eh?"

** Yes sir, the cat."

" Where did it come from ? The sky ? What is tha
sticking out of your pocket ? The skeleton of the cat
No. A bottle. Empty, of course."

" Yes, sir, worse luck." ,

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

are books in tht
nd book-hunters
3ck of treasures
ier he had beer,
[n his brother, ic
we are fam-.liar
id old me merits
less worries were
ad employed foi
g a noise whicl
weeks, generally
riation. He hac
d evil departure.
an improvement
books, a sudder
I start to his fee
himself instantly
going to the staii

led a voice fros

us stillness

I asked.

;ply. " It was th(

down."
i myself."
e the woman, wit:
mber of pieces c
et fall with a si. J

y? What istha
ekton of the cat

**Mrs. Chizlet," said Mr. Loveday, gravely, "last Friday
fou 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 cliarwoman
with a silly smile.

And having received her half-day's wage, she departed
^ntentedly, and made her way to the nearest public-house.

Mr. Joseph Loveday gazed disconsolately around ; it was
|K)t the broken crockery that annoyed him, it was the dis-
trrangement of domestic custom. Having discharged the
floman who had served him so long, it was a settled thi"g
^t she would never be employed by him again. Where
QDuld he find another who would serve him more faith
ftlUy ? 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 impor-
tint disasters of life, but from its pins and needles that we
dfaw our acutest miseries. Everything had been going
wtong with Mr. Loveday lately. Durmg 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 success-
in catching him he would have hesitated to prosecute
1, because of the loss of time it would entail. Then,

rs. Peeper, proprietor of the wardrobe shop, who

isionally cooked his dinners for him, had been behaving

lly, keeping him waiting an hour or more, and placing

fore him food so villainously cooked that he could not
it. Some change was decidedly necessary to restore
tMb harmony of his days. As he was debating with himself
irfwhat way the change could be made, he raised his eyes
ai^ saw through the window a lad standing at the stall
odiside, turning over the leaves of a book. The aje of this
fali was twelve, and his name was Timothy Chance.

T I might do worse," thought Mr. Loveday.

^•iTie drawback was that Timothy was a bundle of rags.

Jle was turning over the leaves of the book he had lifted
at* haphazard from the stall, but he was not reading it

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

Every now and then he directed a furtive glance towards
the interior of the shop, in the hope, without obtruding;
himself, of attracting favourable 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 :

"Why, Timothy I"

" Yes, sir," said the lad, looking up with a cheeiful 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 TX.

Poor a';.' rugged as he was, the lad's bearing was dis-
guised by a bright manliness which could scarcely fail to
win favc'iv. The circumstances of his young life were
singular, and deserve 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 made 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 ihe comer of Church Alley,
stood the pawnbroker hiniseli in ? * tafe of perturbation,
taking a few steps this way and a few that in an uncertain,
un'lecided 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 H
among his neighbours, who tacitly and willingly acknow-
ledged him to be a man of su[)erior stamp. ,j

**Ah, Mr. Loveday," said the pawnbroker, laying hi)

T0ILKK3 OF BABYLON.

lance towar(is
)ut obtrudinij
langing on his
sitting therein
ed to the shop

you

see a woman

cheeiful smile,
"here 1 am,

, and entered,
n the floor, he
1 classic story a
tale, wherein
rumpets, it may
rimothy Chance

ind on the bookseller's arm, "did
funning away as you came along ? "

" Not that I noticed," re|)lied 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

riwnbroker, scratching his head, " the most ex-tru-or-din-ary.
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
nbon the counter, in one of the divisions used by persons
imo came to ])ledge their goods or redeem them, lay an old
rilRwl containing, as was evidenced by a gentle and regular
Irtheaving, an animate object.

"f" What do you think of this ? " exclaimed the pawn-
bioker, unfolding the shawl.

If* A very fine baby," said Mr. Loveday, " though I don't
pifetend to be a judge — and fast asleep."

^" Proving," added the pawnbroker, " that it's been well
ttilffed."

"Stuffed!"

••Had plenty to drink— got its belly full That's the

artfulness of it."

V..W — . if The baby's artfulness?" inquired Mr. Loveday, much

tmons, he entered notified.

ned into Church .#No_of t^g j^ick that's been played upon me. Put

)f taking through comfortably to sleep, satisfied, so that it shouldn't exc.ie

e folk made their gjAjjcion by lz much as a whimper."

lerefore Saturday ,|Bm explain," said Mr. Loveday, as much in the dark

.ight. In front ol ^ ]^^^ a j^ j^ y^^^ ^^^^ p ,,

of Church Alley, ^ j^q gjj. » replied the pawnbroker, energetically, " it is
; of perturbation, j^^* *^ ^ . 5 /,

It in an uncertain, f 'f hen how comes it here ? "

Ljp, and the days Jfrhat'swhat I'd like to know. If you'll believe me, Mr.
pon Mr. Loveday, Lofeday, I'll tell you all about it, that is, as much as I
one of authority j^^ myself."

wiUingly acknovf-^ i^QC ^q^,^^.^ j.jj believe you," said Mr. Loveday, his
_p. infi|-est growinir fast,

broker, laying hb ^ii^y^ .^,jj ^n commenced the pawnbroker, excidedly.

bearing was dis-
d scarcely fail to
young life were

this day on

ore

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" 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. Fron; door
left ajar, because it's a hot night, ana the gas has been
flaring away. My wife and the children all asleep upstairs ;
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 pecu-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 supj)er and making up
my accounts. Ever \ thing very quiet, nothing wrong, as far
as I can see. Til 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, Six, 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, ana get up to come to the door for a whiff oi
tobacco and fresh air. I've got to pass through the shop tu
get to the street door, and as I come up to this counter
here, this bundle stares me in the face. * Hallo ! ' says I,
* here's something been overlooked ; ' and I takes hold oi
the bundle, and starts back as if I was shot. I feel some
thing moving inside. I come up to it again, and open it,
and there's this baby staring me m the face — no, not staring
me in the face, because it's fast asleep; but there's thi:
bab). 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 wa:
sitting in the back room I didn't hear a sound, but it mm:
have been then that the door was pushed softly open, aiii;
this — this t/iiMg put on the counter. If I catch the wouuii
who (lid it I'll make it warm for her."

"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Loveday, "it is done fur-
joke."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

; exactly here
; back there.
I, you know.
Fron; door
gas has been
sleep upstairs ;
of supper on
g off abruptly,
nost pe-cu-li-ar

ay, calmly.
re have a bit of
hts, the busiest
vill have it, she
she goes to bed
and making up
ng wrong, as far
-day, that when
ircels are cleared
ers, not as much
f my supper and
Three ha'pence

right side. 1 put
pocket the key,
oor for a whiff ot
rough the shop tu
p to this counter
Hallo!' says I
d I takes hold ot
lot. I feel sonie
gain, and open it,
e— no, not starini
but there's thi:

;ome here? Who
t? While I wai
sound, but it mu>
d softly open, aiK
' catch the wouu..

"it is done fori

" 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 ivould lend money on a baby ! "

" Truly," observed Mr. Loveday, with grim suggestive-
ness, " flesh and blood is not at a premium in this neigh-
bourhood."

*' 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 street."

In his heart of hearts, the pawnbroker, although not in

tthe 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

lill 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 course 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
|»rish. 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 some-
thing about it."

" What ! " cried the unhappy pawnbroker, " I should
liave the house pulled over my ears."'

Mr Loveday shrugged his shoulders. Not that he was
IHdifTerent ; the adventure was so novel that it interested
Um ; 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 pre-
Hjntly. Wait awhile."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

u ♦ T shall RO crazy if I'" '^ '
..I must, I »W°t' ^f Ldsmokeapili »ithm«-"

alone wiih it. Do ^-^^^ ! f'^e" you company for half a»
.. I don't smoke, but 1 "/^'=' / „,„ be solved.

hour Before that time ^^^""l^^^ JxoA there were no

*■ But though they *>"«i"P " hey '*=". ^°' '^^ f^f .L
further developments. The.c they .^ ^^ ^^^^,_ ,„ep.ng

in silence, and there la,

soundly and Pjf f J^^^.y ,ose and said he must go. Th.

,::jX^^-r'^. no one to care 10,
' "Vou'reasmgem.n you^.,^»^ W look

but yo"j;^f/uU?newithyouandg.ve.tabed-

after. Take it home -^ ^^ laughmg, 1 <= .

" No, no," said '»'^- >" ' ^ woman— perhaps , «

think of such a thmg Jj^ I «" „ „y ho"se The ch.ld

dark lantern on the sleep ng ^^; J

.. 1 don't see what I ^^"..^'j^^ ,he pawnoroker.
.. t „ive it into custody, "'^"^ , „^iiceman.
■ ..What's the charge?" ^^f^-^^^X Finally the pol.c

s^"-"?'i rtlte!rd^re^ ~- -":

Mr. Loveday also weiu " . ' responsibility.
^rx-r^r^thV-ll^rrglfiaid V .oveda. o»^

nrefhe^caffi C{^-J^ rS^-
When lie pawnbroker had pas^^^^ , ^st

^A tVipn entered into a seribim^ ,, ^ ^^^^ c

""^o^m^^y hours have Pas^e^. ^^^J?,',^',, ,bat the P.;

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

6«

,y if I'm Ht
pe with me.
ny for half an

solved."
c there were no

the most part
shawl, sleeping

must go. T'^e

one to care for
cny own to look
a bed."

ins "I couiant
Jl.perhaps ; or
.ouse. ^ The child

t hand."

a policeman's toot

called him in am
w the lig^t of l^i^

wnbroker.
iceman. .

Finally the polic;
^broker, before ,
d call down his nM

pawnbroker was k

isibility. ,

r. Loveday, to

,-,ng further had be-
,sed a disturbed
e was in the wor.

,e or the baby v^-
Tay calmed herd;.

.iteration of thee
<;aid " Since thtL
tikely that the 1.;

,0 intention of ^^'
weeks, the mat"

ang must be d^

A)llC

fuggest that a woman be sought who, for three or four
shillings a week, will undertake the care of the chil i. I
don't mind bearing half the expense if you will \c ,r the
other half."

The benevolent offer was eagerly accepted by the pawn-
broker, whose only anxiety now was to get the baby out of
bis house. Before the evening a poor woman was found
who consented to take charge of the helpless bundle '^^
humanity. Having come into the neighbourhood by »,
mysterious chance, the child was called Chance, to which,
when or how could not afterwards be recalled, the Christian
name of Timothy was prefixed. Endeavours were made to
iolve the mystery of his birth, but, in the absence of the
ilightest clue, nothing was discovered. For four years
Mr. Loveday and the pawnbroker paid the expenses of the
child's bringing up between them ; then, somehow, Timothy
Chance began to take care of himself, nursing babies
bigger than himself for mothers whose quivers were too
foil, 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
•tjrength, and willingness, and even in those early days he
developed a surprising independence which served him in
giKjd stead. As he grew in years, the task of obtaining
shelter and food became less difficult; he throve where
others would have starved ; if he could not get crumb he
put up with crus^ ; 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
neighbourhood, went hopping in the season, attaching him-
self 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 suc-
ceeded in a good and worthy way, and the partnership of
his boyish frame with a cheerful, willing spirit, was a pass-
port wherever he went, and would have carried him all
ovtt 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,
ai^ not by himself understood; but there they were,
working in his fertile healthy brain, to ripen and bear fruit
one day perhai^s. Such, imperfectly limned, was Timothy
Chance as he stood before Mr. Loveday the bookseller.

■^■■■■- ■■

-vr .--' -..'f^m

TOILERS OF HAJn'LON.

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
ind I'm stronger than ever."

" Ah, that's what you mean by doing well ? ''

" Yes, sir, and I'm willinger — I mean, more willing thar
ever.

At this slip of language and its correction, Mr. I^ovedav
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 :
school."

" Oh, in a school. Doing what ? Studying ? "

" A little sir," said Timothy, modestly ; " but I wasn
engaged for that."

" For what, then ? "

" Garden work, knife-cleaning, boot-cleaning, running ^
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, Timoth
Yon speak more correctly than you did."

Timothy was silent, but his face flushed with pleasure.

*' How did you get into the school ? "

TOILRRS OF BABYLON.

** 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 mcrning."

" Carried a watch, eh ? "

" No, sir, I was passing a church. But I didn't pass it.
I stoj^ped."

" 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 1
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 Doctor Porter. I went into a
baker's shop, and asked if they knew Doctor Porter, and
they said he kept a school a little way off. I asked them
to show nie 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 Doctor Porter himself ; he was
in the grounds in front of the school-house, 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 vgry |)artitular
letter, and had some money in it. The boy was sent out to
p<|st 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
stqxy, sir, he put a lot of questions to me, and seemed
'aning, runnmg ^ pleased with me, and he sent the fighting boy away and
to.?k me on in his place to do the rough work."

" How much a week, Timothy ? " intjuired Mr. Love-

in?

. plenty to eat

l^" ■ u
lore willing thar

)n, Mr. Lovedav
iook at the lad

Timothy."

,f the time in

• "but I. wa^n

in you, Timotb
;d with pleasure.

5' Two shillings and my keep."
?* You slept there?"

^ Yes, sir."
' And out of the two shillings *S week for some months

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 louk
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. Doctor 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 garden."

" Miss Emily is the Doctor's daughter ? "

" Yeo, 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 singini
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 Icsi
than no time, and ran out of the room. Sure enough, th ,
house was on fire. Miss Emily was crying for her mother,
and Doctor Portei was running about like a madman. I
raced to Mrs. Porttr's room, and helped to get her out, anc
then we stood and watched the fire burning up the house
There wasn't a drop of water except what we could get froi:
the pump, and that came out with a dribble. A fire-engim

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

;re without a

iretty bad, the
save as much
a new suit the
r garden work,
ras very happy.
a many young
; he wasn't w«-ll
lady, not as old
: I used to look
her flowers, and
lessons. I can

[Jo on with your

)f history, and a
c for me, but it
ed, and his face
It night to study,
seemed always to
-d me, too, a bit,
ped me as well.
w suit of clothes,
g on swimmingly

d hard night of it.
lething I wanted

been asleep, but
in with a singmi

I can't describe
- 1 ' I'm prt"!
oid clothes in les:

Sure enough, tb^
ng for her mother,
k^e a madman. 1
to get her out, anc
ing up the house

we could get f roii
ble. A fire-engiiv^

came up when it was too late. By that time the house was
la 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
Jof clothes went too, but I didn't think of that ; I was too
sorry for Miss Emily and her mother and father. We had
t dreadful time, and when daylight came, thejwhole house
and everything in it was a heap of ashes. Some fri;nds

fok Doctor Porter and his wife and Miss Emily away, and
hung about, almost dazed out of my senses. I saved one
thing, though — this fowl here, and the basket. The next
day I saw Doctor PorLer. ' My lad,' he said, * I owe you a
Peek's wages ; here's your florin ; I'm a ruined man, and
rou must look out for another situation.* He spoke nothing
^ut the truth, sir ; he was ruined ; he wasn't insured for a
jnny. I wouldn't take the florin ; I told him about this
>wl that I'd saved, and I asked him to let me have that
instead. * Take it and welcome,' he said, * and your florin

r».' But I wouldn't. I wanted badly to see Miss Emily
tell her how sorry I was, and to wish her good-bye, but
l^octor Porter had sent her off I don't know where, so I
raid to come away without seeing her. That's the whole
•tpry, 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
ijfistful look at the bookseller.

"Take this book in your hand. Open it anywhere. Now

"^'frimothy opened the book, and with great fluency read
fn|m the top of the page.

1 hat will do," said Mr. Loveday. " You can write,
say. Sit down there ; here's paper, here's a pen. Now
Jte what I say. 'The world is filled with fools and
tl^glers, and a few ci.^ver men. A small proportion of
tH|se clever men grow r'ch, because they are that way in-
cljed ; the majority die poor, because they are not entirely
^did-minded. The fools and bunglers grow so, in a small
nipsure from inheritance, in a large measure from indolence

a lack of judicious training.' Give it to me.'

e examined the paper carefully.

Ah! Writing tolerably good. Not a bad

style J
5*

' '

! I ' :■■

' .)

68 TOILERS OF BABYLON.

provement will come by industry. I think you have that,
Timothy Chance."

" I think I have, sir."

"Three mistakes in spelling. Bunglers is not spelt
b u n g e 1. Inheritance is not spelt without an h and
with two e's in the last syllable. Judicious is not spelt
jew. 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 thiee and sixpence ; three
I sell for waste-piper, 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 thmgs, 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, at your elbow." Now, although these
words betokened a certain confidence and were spoken wit!:
certain boldness, there was a tremor in Timothy's voice
as he uttered them. The conversation between him anc
Mr. Loveday had been strangely in
his earnest desire to be taken into Mr.
He had been upheld by this hope as
Essex after the school-house had been
he had hurried back to London
would have done without it.

Mr. Loveday ruminated; Timothy Chance waite.
anxiously.

accordance wit:
Loveday's service
he tramped fro::
burnt down, an
more swiftly than b

ale
lu(

abil

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

have that,

, not spelt
an h and
is not spelt
etic, eh ? "

a parcel of
)cnce; three
each, five at
3r a shilling.

lid Timothy.
St things, but
aack five and

will bring in

reckon them.

1 only gave me

a sharp boy to

hat particularlf

although these
ere spoken witi.
Timothy's voic^
5tween him an:
ccordance wit:
oveday's service
tramped fror
arnt down, an
swiftly than r,

Chance waite

"I'm rather a peculiar fellow, Timothy," said Mr
I.oveday, presently ; " not at all unpleasant out of business,
unless you (juarrel with my social crotchets, and very strict
in business matters, however trifling. That fowl of yours is
beginning to crow."

"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 h.-^id master; I haven't tried my hand in that line
much, a-; I've always attended to my shop myself, but I will
rot d' ny that I'm half incMncd to engage a lad."

*' Make it a whole mind, sir, and engage mo."

Timothy's occasionally apt replies tickled and pleased
Mr. Loviday; 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
diy's acccunts satisfactorily made up, before the next day
commences,' it would have to be. That fowl of yours is
dowing louder, Timothy. No shirking of work by the
eijcuse 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
ak)ng smoothly. There might be a little time in the evening
f<ir study and read'ng; there might be sundry pleasant inter-
ludes which one can't think of right off. Eh, Timothy ? "
.."Yes, sir."

ii" You had it in your mind ? "
/I did, sir."

y** But," said Mr. Loveday, glancing at the lad, " there is
one more important question — the question of respect-
ability."

."There's nothing against me, sir. You may inquire of
eyirybody I've worked for."

tammm

SSBsnPM'',

. I

F ■

TOJLEItS OV HAHYLON.

" I mean the (luestion of a respectable appearance.
Now, Timothy, you will not have the assurance to a>sert
that you present a respectable apjjearancc ? "

"Cluck ! cluck 1 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

'* IJut they are burnt. Spilt milk, you know. The loii:^
and the short of it is, if you can obtain a decent suit ot
clothes, I'll give you a trial, Timothy."

"Cluck! cluck! cluck! Cluck! cluck! cluck!" from
the basket. A jubilant, noisy, triumphant flourish ot
trumi)ets, to force upon the world the knowledge of a
great event. Timothy knelt down, put his hand in the
baske% and drew forth a new-laid egg.

" 'I'he world' mine oyster, which I with knife will ope."
But si'.rclj that iviiife 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, therein 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 presin:
day, is shorn of its doubtful glories. The alley was a si :
in the main thoroughfare, running parallel with it, abou:
sixty yards in length, and containing thirty-four tenement ,
sixteen of which were private dwellings and eighteen places
of business. In the flourishing west it would have b.cr.
converted into an arcade, and dignified with an imposing
name drawn from royal or martial records ; in the toil in:
east it was simply what it professed to be — an alley, ver
narrow, very shabby, and generally very dark. When wmtt:
fogs lay thick upon the mighty city they reached perfectic:
by the time they floated to Church Alley and settled there

TOILKUS oy BABYLON.

a|)pcarancc.
ce to a>scrt

le basket. ^
his ragged

burnt," he

f. The loM-i
iecent suit ot

luck!" from

flourish ot

wledge of ;i

hand in the

nife will ope."
s it did at the

s second-hand
,st squalid part
ble patches, in
hens in savage
ideed, in close
it, lying to tlic
1, in the present
; alley was a si :
1 with it, abou;
-four tenement ,
1 eighteen plai^^^
^ould have bjcr.
ith an imposin:
[s ; in the toilir.:
e— an alley, ver
rk. When wintc;
cached perfect^:
tnd 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 llicre and set earlier, and in freezing time it was
a vtry heaven of slides days after surrounding sj)ace was
thawing. The ex|)lanation of these unusual phenomena
maybe 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 «"state
had husbanded his inches with a shrewd eye to the greatest
possible number of rents to be S(iueezed out of them, and
it must be ( onfessed that his efforts were crowned with
complete success.

"Full many a flower is born to b.ush unseen," and this
applies to weeds as well as howers. Persons not acquainted
with the intricacies of the neighbourhood 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 pawn-
broker's shop and a public-house. These four establish-
ments may be said to have been the archways to the para-
dise 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 pawnbrokers' shops arc as the
very brtath 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 conviction that these instil, tions
are planted there especially for their behoof. Brewers and
.distillers grov fat upon vice, and go smilingly through the
world, conveniently bUnd to the fact t/iat'the richer they
grow the more crowded become the ranks of those
wretched ones from whose midst our prisons arc filled,
•pd whose lives are a standing rii)ioach to humanity and
civilisation. It is not the fair use, but the gross abuse, of
' ■|i system which is here deplored. The axe should be laid
$0 it, despite the Moloch called vested interests, which is

TOJLKRS OF BABYLON.

set up at the least remonstrance to frighten the timiH.
Let there be beer shops and public-houses within limits,
but it is an 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 one or the other. To
contend, in respect of these h()t-i)cds of vice, that the law
of supply follows the law of demand, is an unblushint^
falsehood ; they arc distinctly forced upon the peo|)le hy
the very men who fatten upon the degradation, and who
are often to be heard u{)on j)ublic platforms deploring the
evils of which they are the creators. The sermons these
moralists preach — to win votes, or to prove themselves
(jualified for public office, or to air their spurious philan-
thropy — are the bitterest of mockeries.

Between the particular pul)lic-ho;ises and pawnbrokers'
shops which flanked Church Alley were dotted other notable
I)laces of business. To wit, Mr. Joseph Loveday's second-
hand book-shop, to which we have been already introduced,
a sweet stuff shop, a cook-shop, a wardrobe shop,
and a printcr's-office, in which the master wciked
at case and press as his own journeyman. To the
small boys and girls in the vicinity of Church Alley
these sho])s were a great attraction, and they patronised
them generously. The wardrobe-shop, which, like the book
shoj), dealt only in second-hand goods, was as alluring to
the grown-up folk of the female sex as it was to the yoimg-
sters, and longing were the eyes cast upon the faded sdks
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 miiiht have won a name as a writer of fiction had her
steps I C-n 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 VV — s." The legend
would go the rounds, and girls and women would flock to
t'uze at the dress which had once adorned the figure ot 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 — eking — m P — 1 — ce ; " at another time a flounced ixtii-

T0lLT.-:8 OF BABYLON.

;n the timifl.
within limits,
sanctions and
cs of the east)
he other. To
e, that the law
an unbUishing
the people l)y
ition, and who
s deploring the
sermons these
)ve themselves
purious philan-

id pawnbrokers'
id other notable
iveday's second-
;ady introduced,
vardrobe shop,
master wcikcd
nan. To the
• Church Alky
they patronised
,ch, like the book
as as alluring to
;as to the young-
1 the faded sdks
A shrewd, wise
ereof, a woman
and temptations
attainments, too,
)f fiction had her
op-window would
Uin dress, with a
^ring, and to this
om the wardrobe
-s." The legend
j,n would flock to
ed the figure ot a
:s. Peeper would
oes, boots and silk
as "Direct from
,e a flounced petii-

• coat from a duchess ; at other times hats, feathers, L.Ioves,
trimmings, capes, and various item.s of vanity, whi( h 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 jarts in dreams, changing char
•women 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
n.vlerate prices, and, moreover, payment taken at so much
^r week.

Then there was the printer, Mr. Edenborou^'h. In his
window were displayed specimens of chrap pr'ntin;:^, cards,
bill-heads, 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,
'#hich, with three pairs of cases of small pica, comprised
his treasures in metal ; there was also a rack of large wood
'tetter 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
Irith that swaying motion of his body which the spectators
did not know was the sign of an inferior workman, tor the
•kilful and expert compositor, the one who has genuinely
Clamed his reputation as a "whip," keei)S his body still as
his hands travel over *^ ■ ~ase; they stared the harder when
they saw him lork up thi -;hase in which the card or hand-
ilill was inserte--. , and thty stared the harder still when he
worked irk-roll;i and pi -is, and pulled ofT impressions of
the job in h.ir.d. He \v; ^ rather proud of his audience, and
lOade no aucn.piL U> u,, perse them; their admiration was a
tribute, and it sweetened his labours.

Then there was the cook-shoj), in which, at stated hours
of the day, hot dishes made their apjjearance, smoking. A
'gireat attraction, these ; tantalising, perhaps, but at all events
the youngsters had the smell for nothing. Sometimes a
Stray ha'penny from the juvenile throni; found its way into
the cook-shop till. Thereafter would ensue, in some con-
venient nook, such a feast as Caligula never enjoyed.
•^Then there was Mr. Sly, the projjrietor of the sweet-stuff
•hop. Such mysteries of sweetness, sticky or otherwise,
bnt generally sticky, were in his window, that the children,

74 TOILERS OF BABYLON

once they got there, had the greatest difficulty in tearing
themselves away. Ha'pence and farthings— .he latter largely
predominating — burnt holes in the pockets of snial'.
breeches, and invariably, unless the plum-duff of the cook-
shop stopped the way, were swept into Mr. Sly's till. There
was in this man's establishment a strange and overwhehiiin,'
temptation which lured the children on, and filled then
now with visions of ineffable happiness, and now with the
certainty of dark despair. In a little room at the back
of his sho]) 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 easies:
imaginable, and will be understood by the words "double
or quits," a system which, in its results, was painfully com
prehensible to the young reprobates who patronised it. a
case in point occurred at the precise time that Mr. Loveda
and Timothy Chance were talking together, and what ensue;
may be rccepted as an illustration of Mr. Sly's method a
conducting that part of his business.

A juvenile of the male sex had come unexpectedly iut
possession of a farthing. It had not been given him " to b
good ; " he had picked it up in Church Alley. He looked
at it first in wonder and delight at his good luck, then ht
flourished it triumphantly. Forthwith he was surrounded.
and far and wide the news spread that " Billy Forester hac
picked up a farden." This caused the meeting to be :
numerous one. Before proceeding to discuss how it shoulc
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 t
it!"

" What are you gom' to do with it ? " was asked in ;
chorus.

" Spend it," said Billy.

" In course he is. The farden's Billy's, and he's goin' t.
spend it. We'll all 'ave a lick."

Then ensued a discussion upon ways and means.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ilty in tearing
le latter largely
:ets of sraal'.
ff of the cook
ily's till. Tbcie

overwhelming
ind filled thm
i now with I hi;
Dm at the bad
,f as a •' dolly, "
lette board, the
m a corkscrew
ily settled in its
e was the easies;

words "double
,s painfully coiii
itronised it. -^
hat Mr. Loveda

and what ensuci

Sly's method a

jnexpectedly int:
given him "to be
ey. He looked
od luck, then h.
2 was surrounded,
;illy Forester hac
meeting to be :
cuss how it shoulc
3ver.
acey.

means to stick t
" was asked in ;

,, and he's goin' '■
■and means.

"I think," said Billy, "I'll spend it in burnt almonds."

This caused dismay. A farthing's worth of burnt
aiinonds among so many, Billy by right taking the lion's
share, would go a very little v ay ; the majority of Billy's
comrades would not get even "j. "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 agin. Then we'll all 'ave
a taste."

Why they called Mr. Sly " old Sly " cannot be explained,
the vendor of sweet-stuff being comparatively a young man ;
but it b, a way poor children have.

Billy Forester was at heart a gambler.

" ril 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
temjjtlng to the juveniles. It was sui)posed by many that
Mr. Sly would be beheaded if the Government caught him
at it.

" All light," said Mr. Sly, " you and me, Billy. Now,
dear out, every one of yer, or I'll shut up shop. You can
wait outside for Bil'y."

He hustled them out like a flock of sheep, and they
' ^Aistered 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, yo.i,"'said Bill.

"'Ere goes, then." Down the screw turret went the
njfcrble, spinning round and round, and when it landed
m. Sly called, "Eight. Rather a low number that,
B%."

TOILERS OF BABYLOJf.

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 hi=^ 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 debatintj; what to do
when the voice of Mephistopheles fell u[)on 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 agin." 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, ex-
ultantly.

"That makes a penn'orth," said Mr. Sly, despondently,
"Make it tuppence or hothink. 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 agin," 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, treml^ling from excitement.

" I told yer yer would, and yer'll win agin if yer noi
chicken 'earted. Fourpence or nothink? What do yc:
say ? "

"I say yes," replied Billy in a loud tone; he was tastin.
for the first time the delirious excitement of gambling an:
winning largely, and his blood was in a ferment. " Four
pence or nothink. 'Ere goes."

There did go the marble, and landed in twenty-one
Mr. Sly was not- more fortunate than before. His nunibc
was seven. His face grew darker and darker.

" Fourpenn'orth ! " cried Billy. " Hooray ! "

" Try agin," urged Mephistoi)heles. " Eight-penn'or; ^
or nothink ! Why, yer in sech luck that yer'd break ti. ^
Bank of England. There's no standing agin yer. I

foi
pa
if
to I
th«

tw;

th<

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

a for luck, desperate, I am. I shouldn't wonder if yer was to break

half-penny's
d choose, at
tick, barley-
other sweet
what to do

is ear.

a penn'orth.

ng had said,

face, Mr. Sly
aten, Billy."
jeing fourteen,
iaid Billy, ex-

despondently.
win.

he fatal marble,

rret. „

Cwenty-three.

ening. "l^o^^-^

))

xcitement.
agin if yer noi
What do yt:

^ he was tastir.;
if gambling an

;rment.

Few

i in twenty-one

)re. His numbc

ker.

ray 1

" Eight-penn or.

t yer'd break t|

g agin yer. I

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. Fie screamed out the fact at
ithe 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 B;liy 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 excite-
ment, 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, jest like
you, and he won nine times runnin'. It's nothink much at
fust^ — a fardi a ha'penny, a penny. It's noiu 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-'oake, a pound
of. burnt almonds, a pound of barley-sugar, three pound oi"
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
wi^y to make a forchen."

The recital of the catalogue of trea-ures was too much
for Billy, and the marble being insidiously sl;|)pcd 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 c^uivering nerves, dropped it down
the corkscrew turret.

** Three I" shouted Mr. Sly. **But I might git one or
t^O. 'Ere goes. Seventeen ! Nothink."

Billy was sobered. Kumed and chapfallen he preceded
Mr. Sly into the shop, and thence emerged into the alley,
wh(Bre he related his misfortune, while Mr. Sly, standing at
th« door, wiped his heated brow, and called out :

MMteaUMB

ajUj

TOILERS OV BABYLON.

"Ne er say die, Billy. Better liic'c next time." ^
But B;lly was n;jt to be consoled. His companions,
disgusted witii his bad luck and disappointed in their ex
l)ectations, Itll off from him one by one, and he v/as left
(|uite alone. A few minutes ago he was a personage, now
he was nobody, lie felt the fall.

CHAPTER XII.

Timothy Chanck went from Mr. Loveday's shop with the
warm new-laid egg in liis hand. By the permission of the
bookseller he left his one possession, the fowl rescued from
the burning school-house, 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 lav
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 ir.
you."

Nearly everybody within hail of Church Alley who \va«
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. Tht
name of this friend was Teddy Meadows, a lad about th:
same age as himself, and of about the same build. Tlu
liking for each other which existed between these lads mi^;!!;
have ripened into a firm and lasting bond of friendship i:
their manhood, had circumstances been favourable It ha;
commenced with a timely service which Timothy had rcr
dered Teddy some years ago. Teddy, although as tall
Timothy, was of a weakly constitution, and suffered fro:.
lameness. One day, while creasing the VVhitecha])el Roac
he fell under the feet of a hoDjC vvhcl was drawing a loadi
hay-cart, and had it not beeii for Tirx: )f!.-y rushing forwar.
and dragging him av.ay, he wov Id prulvbly have recoivei

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

:ompanions,
in their ex
he .vas left
sonage, no^v

shop with the
iiission of the
rescued froiu
.oveday saying

I shall claim

"It won't lav
ovv. It's a biui

, laugh, and to
There's stuff in

Alley who was
ised to see him.
It he had not an
)f his willing and
im to do a gooc
,e especial fricnc
2p regard. 'Hi^

a lad about tlv.
Ivme build. Hk

these lads m':-:"'

of frienaship ir.
vourable. l^^
Timothy had ren
though as tall :■:
.nd suffered tror.

hitechapel Roai
. drawing a lo.uU

y rushing forwai
,!y have receive

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 tlic bond between him
and Teddy was commenced. TcvMy's father was a car-
penter, and being a steady man and a cajjable, was success-
ful in obtaining pretty steady work. He had a fairly com-
fortable home, and, without being able to put by much
money for a rainy day, kept his fatnily in comfort. TI,eir
one sorrow was Teddy's lameness and his weak constitu'lon.

It was to Teddy's house that Timothy wendeJ 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' 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 dres^.cd.

"I've been in the country," said Timothy, "but the
gentleman I worked for was burnt ou*^ 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 conunent upon it. From a young lad to a grown
man with a family it might savour 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
Hell again. " He'll be glad to see you. He has often
Ipoken of you, especially lately. My poor boy ! " He almost
l^roke 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,
fateful for the note of symijathy in the lad's voice, and then
fimothy saw that his eyts wxrc filled with tears.

TOILERS OF BAl ''LON,

" 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 him-
self further, Mr. Meadows hurried away to his work.

Timothy walked slowly on, greatly shocked by the sorrow-
ful news. Mr. Meadows' 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 realised
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 ([uickened his steps, and soon reached Mr. Meadows'
house. He was about to knock at the street door, when it
op.. ned, and a gentleman came from the house, saying to
Mrs. Meadows,' who stood on the doorstep:

" Remember — a new-laid egg."

Timothy started, and looked after the doctor. Then he
went up to Mrs. Meadows.

*' Oh, Tim I " 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-iaid — only half an hour
ago."

"God bless you !" said Mrs. Meadows. "Come in, my
dear. Teddy will be so glad to see you I "

T0ILER8 OP BABYLON.

, unable to
idows; not

id be laid a

nd see him.

o trust him-

vork.

^ the sorrow-

oted that he

death.

,f sorrow was

iicnt realised

lying in such

ou^ht only of

Mr. Meadows'

door, when it

,use, saying to

:tor. Then he

^r poor boy is

d Timothy in a

L little wine, the
, till his father

said Timothy,
nly half an hour

»' Come in, my

CHAPTER XIII.

Lv all his after life Timothy never forgot that night he spent
with 'Icddy. It left upon him an abiding impression for
good, and if in his manhood he stepped out of his way to do
a kii.dncss, he would sometimes think that he was urged to
it by the spirit of his dear friend.

Tt 1 ly was more than glad to see him ; he said it was the

' one tiling he had been wishing for before he and then

he stop])ed, and looked at his friend with a half-wistful, half-
whimsical expression on his face.

*' Before you what, Teddy ? " asked Timothy, a great lu..
rising in his throat.

" Before I go to another place," replied Teddy.

"Where?"

" Ah ! now you ask a question, Tim." He pause
kwhile, and added : "But somewhere. You've been tall
ing 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
lietter ; no boy could. My dear, good mother, too, she
Urill feel it. They told you I was dying, didn't they?"

The mournful look in Timothy's eyes was an eloquent
inswer.

" It's true, Tim ; I knew it before they did, before even

tthe doctor did. Long ago I knew I should never live to
a man. I don't know whether I'm sorry or glad. There's
akespeare and Sir Walter Scott — I say, isn't * Ivanhoe '
iqplendid ? "

,, "I don't know, Teddy. I never read it. But what
*lbout Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott?"
"They're dead, aren't they?"
" Of course they are."

i ,

: ;i

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

"There it is, you see. It comes to the same thing. The
only dilTerence 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 (juite so; it's new, a lot of it — at least to me."

" Comes from reading, I suppose, and thinking a lot,
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
new Lrd.

" Did he, now? Lift me up, Tim, please."

Timothy raised the dying lad, and supported him
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. Wlicn
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!:;
his friend, " because you've eaten it."

"But intentionally ?"

" No, Teddy, not intentionally."

" It's funny you should have hud one, though, just when
the doctor ordered it for me. Perhaps you're in the c;,'-
business now ? "

This caused Timothy to laugh and Teddy to smile.

" I'm not in the egg business yet," said Timothy. " Hot
I got it is part of a story."

" Your story, I can guess. You've been away a Ion; jd
time. Tell me everything about yourself, and everythin. t\
that has hajjpened — 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 \f
a pleasure for me to lie and listen."

TOILERS OJ BABYLON.

thing. The
rom ? **

»»

st to me.
unking a lot,

Lh a tumbler
5 beaten up.
: said; "it is

ported him in
g slowly,
ine strong."
d his mother;

nd for a liulc
nbrace. Wlicn

, Tim ? "
more cheerfully,
ewed strength ir.

lOUgh, just wber,
ou're in the c^.

dy to smile.
Timothy. " Ho^

sen away a Ion:
f, and everythm:

Ith a grave - H;
Tim. It wuU

It is not so unconmon as may be supposed to chance
upon a lad in Tedd/'s station in life able to express him-
self so well. Looking round upon the familiar faces in the
gallery of art and literature, and recognising in this one
and that one portraits of earnest workers, the fruit of
whose labours have imparted intellectual pleasure to hun-
dreds of thousands of men and women, one cannot fail to be
Itruck by the fact that it is not from the ranks of the
rich and powerful that the majority of these bright stars
I.ave 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 stam[) 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 1 ira. 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 cjuietly 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
atTimothy with tears in her eyes, and whisper :

^* Thank God, he only sleeps I "
^ *^Ah ! in these vigils of love, kept through day and night
m 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 justu e we
seek in wig or gown — would he dispensed more e(iually.
%t length the story was finished, and Teddy, awake, but
* 6*

«lMM

{ I

TOILiOILS Ol' 1{,\I{YI/»N.

J. rowing wiukcr and weaker, kiy and thought over it. I lis
voice now sometimes waiukred away, and the sense of hi.-,
words was bhirred by the api^roaching cliange, but for the
most part he held himself in control, and spoke intelligently,
with a lull 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 teach-
ing. You must read ' Ivanhoe.' "

"I will, '['eddy."

" 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 &liut my eyes and see them — oh, such
crowds of them, disappearing and coming up again.
There was little Alice Goldsmid ; she was my sweet-
heart" — he was wandering now — "and she died a loin',
long time ago. I shall see her. She wore a white dress
and a blue necklace. Is that you, father ? "

" \es, my boy," replied Mr. Meadows, who, with his
wife, had jus: entered the room ; " do you feel better? "

"Much butter; oh, so much better! Give me your
hand, father." He took it and held it to his Ups. "Did
you hear about Timothy and his new-laid egg ?"

" Mother has told me aboui it, my boy."

" Is mother here ? "

"Yes, my dearest."

A sudden strt ngth animated Teddy's frame.

" I could almost sit up alone," he said ; and he strove to
rise.

" You had better lie and resi, 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, fathir, and thank you for all your
goodness to me. It she. . never be forgotten — ne^xr,
Please help me up."

They humoured him, and propped him up with pillows,
Timothy was now sitting at the foot of the bed, and ilie

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

er it. His
jnsc of hi^
,ut for iIk;
itelligcnily,

)1, Tim."
mtwd teach-

Cricket on
over them.

flowers, and
ni— oh, svi'-h
g up again,
s my swcel-
died a loni;,
1 white dress

^ho, with his
I better ? "
}ive me your
s lips. " Did
?"

id he strove to

lid his father.
" that mightn't
iid thiiik of it 1
i^ould give me

sure, my boy."
ou for all your
^rgotten — never.

up with pillows.
he bed, and the

dying lad's parents one on each side at the head. Their
hands were clasped at his !)ack, 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 ex|)ression he had observed upon his
first entrance into the sick-roo:i-:. rhe tears which welled
into the mother's eyes at mention of a will — a strange fancy
« to enter the brain of one so younj^ — almost blinded her.
Mr. Meadows' eyes were tearless, but he suffered none the
less.

" First, though, I must say good-bye to Harry, Joe, and
' Nellie."

These were Teddy's brothers and sisters, all younger than
he.

"Good-bye!" murmured the mother. "Oh, my poor
>^ bov, 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 ine

' perhaps for a long, long time. No, don't take your arm

away, father ; I like it where it is, and mother's." He

tu'-ned to each of them, and received their lovini? kiss.

'. " Tim will go and bring them up. And, Tim, don't say

anything to them about my dying; it might frighten them,

Hiand they wouldn't understand. Tell them that Teddy

,y wants to kiss them good-night. Not good-bye, Tim, good-

*t*^ night."

Timothy went downstairs and brought the youngsters
Uf up, telling them to be very quiet, as brother Teddy's head
faclicd badly.

"Lift them up, Tim," said Teddy. " (iood ui-lii,
' '■'Harry. "

"Good night, Teddy," said Harry. "Won't you L;<;t
i!«well soon, and have larks ? "

"You shall have plenty of fun, Harry. Say God hicsi
you, Teddy."

" God bless you, Teddy."
';?< "And God bless you, Harry, and mind you must be a
'''IJood boy."
" " I will, I wilV said the little fellow.

And so with Joe and NcUic, who kissed and bade their
^^^rother good night, and gave him God's blessing.

-,%.

<^,

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

{./

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1.0

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2.5

1.8

1.25 liu 1 lA

►

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTIR.N.Y. 14580

'716) 872-4503

'\ I

; ' 1 ■•' '

I >

*i I

T0ILKB8 OF BABYLON.

• A anther "whispered Teddy," if *'y

In obedience to their rnotheT^s d«ec ^^

kneU at the bedside and f^ *^''Eelf mutely joimng m
the sorrovins parents, »"^Jf„"^/MrrMeadows' heads were
{he simple '"PP^'^'Castr but Tir^^'hy's eyes were fixed
howed upon their breasts, dui through hiro as

^:rTeSdys face, and a ^ =^ « ^ ^..ds, " Now 1 lay
he noticed the dymg lad s lips tor ^^ j^^

me down to sleep ; I pray ^^^jeep into Timothy s heart.

rolcmnity "^ f ^^^ ■^to"ght^' '»' the last time, fo.
" He says that praye^ "^ ,, =

the last time. Poor Teddy 1 ,^ken quietly

*'The prayers bein| -«• *^^^^^^^^ t^eir figures until -e
rr d-^on^htr l^n Hs hd^roppe. and ^o c

fnr the words he wished to utter. ^ j^ ^ man.

Mrs. Meadows sighed. Shewas ^^^^^^^,„,,^, ,

Kd'SSfedrTW praises of her p.,.

■-^f-Md now, father, about my will. Vou won't mind, «

^"V/n'o. my bov, we will ^o -nj'hing ^h^ w.sh^; ^^^, ,„
'•Thank you, father. But tirsi, u b.

«°^. Vo^vV: r^hl to do anything, Teddy. Only say <vh.
'''^•;„ my books mine, father? "asked Teddy.

•' Yes, my boy," ,, «ot— forty-seven, soi i

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

iy, "if they

the children
id, Timothy,
ely joining m
/s' beads were
eswere fixed
jough him as
"Now I lay
Ueep." The
mothy's heart.
; last time, for

2 taken quietly
figures until the
ed, and no one
His voice Nva^
gather strength

en he is a man.
« I want to be

' father.

;;? And Nellie

i think."
Dm woman ; but
w that quite wek
ses of her prctt

1 won't mind, vi

li wish."
about what i \

Only say ^v^:

Teddy.

-forty-seven, sd'
Timothy to I'^V

there are."
heknowstbeya!

only as a lemembrance, 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
shan't be here ; but think I give it to you theny

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 rhould like divided between Harry,
Joe, and Nellie. That will be fourteen each. You will
i know which to choose for them. Father, are my clothes
imine?"

" 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
luch 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.

J " Has he told you that he can get a good situation if he
has a decent suit cf clothes to go in ? "
-4, " No, Teddy ; but I am glad to hear it."
• "He'll tell you all about it another time — not now, be-
ieause my breath is going. Would you believe that the,
>nly thing in the world he can call his own is a fowl ? Such
wonderful layer ! That is how it was he was able to
ring the new-laid egg to me. I should like Timothy to
ive my best trousers, my best coat and waistcoat, my best
lirt — no, two shirts — and my best boots."
" He shall have them, Teddy."

"Thank you, father. He isn't to wait for them, you
low, because it is no7v he wants them. It would do me a
[cat deal of good if I could see Thnothy in them with my

eyes."

I Mrs. Meadows rose, and selecting the clothes mentioned

Teddy, told Timothy to go into her room and put thwi

. " If the dear Lord in His mercy should spare us this

)w," she thought, *' my darling boy can have new ones.

[ow thankful, how grateful I shall be if this blessing is

ited me 1 "

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

III: ':;

, ' (■ ■ '

I'M li,

! ■{■

Timothy was absent from the sick-room for a mucli
II nger time than was necessary for him to throw off his ragged
garments and get into Teddy's clothes. It was not out oi
vanity, but of delicacy he did this, for he did not have the
heart to look at himself in his better raiment. His youti;
life had been already full of adventures, and many of then
sorrowful ones, but this was the most mournful of them aE
Ideas with re ; ct to Teddy's clothes were stirring in h
brain as well as in that of the mother sitting by the bedsid;
of her dying son. " If Teddy takes a turn for the better
I can easily get into my rags again.". He consoled himst
with this idea, and he did up his tattered garments into;
tidy bundle . ready for the better emergency. He praye:
that his dear friend might live. There would be little hop
then of his obtaining the situation which was ofiFered to hir.
but shrewd and clever as he was he was void of that kir
of selfishness, the gratification of which entails misfortune
upon others. "If I can't get into Mr. Loveday's shop,"li ^
thought, " I shall get something else to do, I dare say. '
shall manage to rub along somehow." He heartily desire
to obtain service with Mr. Lovediy, but not at the exper
of the life of the best friend he ever had. He remaine
from the sick-room so long that Mrs. Meadows had
come and beg him to return to it.

" Teddy is asking for you," she said. " Oh, my dear, ;
is sinking fast, I am afraid ! "

" I hope you don't think it wrong of me to do this," sa
Timothy, looking down upon Teddy's clothes.

" Wrong my dear ? No, indeed not. It is to please e
dear boy — and you shall keep them even if he does i

well. But I fear — I fear Oh, my dear, he is i

sweetest lad that ever drew breath ! Never an angry wc
from his lips, never, never — and I have spoken cross to i
often and often. He never answered me, never once. ^
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, i!
Meadows," said' Timothy, to whom came at this junc; J
an impressiveness of manner which spoke well for a r
manliness of spirit in the future when he should tii
arrived at manhood's estate ; " if Teddy knew it he wv^
be very grieved — it would hurt him badly. You t
nothing to vex yourself about, / know, who never y

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

m for a mucli
3W off his ragi^ed
;t was not out o;
did not have the
ent. His youn.
id many of then
rnful of them al
re stirring in h
ng by the bedsid
irn for the bettc:
; consoled himse.
>d garments into;
ncy. He pray^:
ould be little hop
was offered to hin
5 void of that kir
entails misfortunt
.oveday's shop, t
) do, I dare say.
de. heartily desir:
not at the exper
.ad. He remaint
Meadows had

"Oh, my dear,:

me to do this," si
clothes.

It is to please o
even if he does ;

my dear, he is i
Never an angry wj
» spoken cross tot

me, never once. •■
)unished tor it •

)eak in that way, ^J
oame at this )unc.
spoke well for a
vhen he should
,ddy knew it he^
im badly. You^
WW, who never t

other to love" — and here Timothy's voice shook. He was
iware of the strange mystery attached to his being thrust, a
ranger, upon the care of strangers, and at this solemn
me it forced itself upon him with a new significance.
" Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Meadows, " I am corry for

** I know," continued Timothy, " from Teddy's own dear
)8 how good and loving you have been to him-

" Has he told you so — has my dear boy told you so ? "
I tt Over and over again ; and he has said that he could
Ijpver repay you and his father for your goodness to him."
" That came out of his own kind heart, always thinking
others, never of himself."
I" It is true, Mrs. Meadows. He said once to me, *I
ih you had a home like mine, and a mother and father
mine.' "
' The dear lad — the dear, dear lad ! It makes il all the
der 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,
we shall always be glad to see you here. Remember
, my dear."

I will Mrs. Meadows, and thank you."
he mother wiped the tears from her eyes, but as fast as
wiped them away they flowed afresh,
he moment he entered the room Timothy saw the
dVUige that had come over Teddy. But Teddy could still
Sfftfk in a faint, weak voice, and his eyes brightened as they
iMed on Timothy.

■^How nice you look!" he murmured. "Do they fit
y<m? " Timothy nodded. " Bend down, Timothy. That's
." He kissed Timothy. " If you get along, as you're
to do, you muit pay me for them."
How can I do that, Teddy dear ? " asked Timothy in
'er.

y helping some poor boy, and trying to get him out of
ouble."

s you have got me out of mine. I promise, Teddy,
ully."

think," said Teddy, surldenly raising himself up in
nd speaking in a thin, clear voice, "that everything is
autiful. Good night. I am very happy. God bless
im ! "

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

hl|ii

i: it!

t I I

"God bless you, Teddy !*
" Mother, father, put your arms round me.**
Close, close be it 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 suflering ; for all through these
memorable hours, which formed for them a sad and loving
memory till they themselves received the summons tu
eternity, a smile rested on his lips. It was there when a
linnet in a cage downstairs 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 for ever and a day
the mystery of life and death, never for one moment ceas.n,'
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-pencc a
week and board and lodging. Satisfaction given, a rise o;
sixpence a week at the end of six months ; satisfaction sull
given, and all going along comfortably, a rise of another j^
sixpence at the end of twelve months. What do yoa
say ? " o^j

" 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." «>|

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

g fainter,
nther see
5, for the
t;rvals the
t a time,
know, but
tiis fingers,
, they were
n out. 1»
em that he
^ed that he
•ough ihesc
[ and loving
ummons to
[lere when a
Avilter in the
• sounds ; he
God and the

Mr. Loveday

:\e

bookseller

^ver and a day
oment ceas^u,^
eregg. Shall

et it cheap. ^
hteen-pencc a

given, a rise ot
atisfaction sull

ise of anotlKT
What do r^^

Timothy.
)thy?"

,ds are not so

CHAPTER XIV.

ft. return to Nansie and Kingsley. They were still in
Jodalming. Nansie's father was buried, a quiet funeral,
rith only Nansie and Kingsley as mourners; the horse
id caravan were sold, and the loving couple who were
^ow to commence the battle of life in real, right-down
rnest, had taken lodgings for a week or two, pending
le serious question as to what they should do.
fnlil after the funeral Nansie had no heart to write to
ir uncle in London. She had thought of acquainting
with the death of his brother, and asking him
icthcr he would wish to attend the funeral, but the
kowledge of the estrangement of the brothers during
father's lifetime, and a feeling of loyalty towards her
Hither who, in this estrangement, had been, in her belief,

thly treated, caused her to postpone the writing of
letter till the last sad offices were fulfilled. There
inillt another reason. She feared that her uncle was a
inbi of hard disposition, and that his resentment against
brother might find an outlet over the grave of the
father she loved so well. An inharmonious note
Inging from an unkind nature, and which might have
detected even when the dear remains were consigned
jheir last resting-place, would have been too painful to
|to bear, and would, besides, have been a desecration.
" refore it was that many days passed by before Nansie
lunicated to her uncle the news of his brother's

of!

we^

jeanwhile Kingsley was busy thinking about the settling
fe affairs. He had some belongings and a little money,
|t was necessary that I.! - debts should be paid.
iVe will commence quite free, Nansie," he said, " then
jail know where we are, and how we stand."
[t will be best, Kingsley," said Nansie.
fa will wipe out the past, my dear," said Kingsley,

f \l

i H' V

•' t

I *

I'i

toilk:^'^ of babyix)N.

1 u

^ 1 * Thit will cost nothing,

^ -.u a new slate, in^*^ "'"

follow." ^. . ., „id Nansie. with a bright look; .

champagne, which I cou^^j^^^^ ^bottk of Ba ^
;P;&e-and bread and ^^ee^^^^^ I eve. -a. *.

S!i.'i

TOILEES OF BABYLON.

cost notbin^;,

Cci
He

foi

le had marnea
u\d 'nave bea
>d itself,
ed regret,
jg sufficient

That was pifr
His life hitheit
oubles of monej
iberal allowanct
vays were nou

Unsie, my deaj
is 'never troub.
,s the plan we ».

, bright look ; "

Ss^arm round Ij

will be prepare

fear ina.

e
ave

any

was nothing in comparisoo. I would look at my chums,

id my chums would look at itie, and we would all agree thai
\e never ate and drank anything with such a relish. It was

le. We'll take long walks together, Nansie, you and I, and
i will say the same. I must leave you to*morrow morning,

^u know, my dear, for a couple of days to settle up all my
debts. There's the stable bill — I shall have to sell my

)rse — and the jeweller's bill "

"Kingsley, dear," sa-d Nansie, interrupting him.
**»*Yes, Nansie."

*' This watch and chain was bought of the jeweller, was

lot?"

>he pointed to a pretty watch and chain she was wearing,
which, with a locket, he had given to her on the morning
th|y had disclosed to Nansie's father the secret of their
nipiage.

* Yes, my dear," he said, gaily.

J And wa& not paid for when you gave it to mc ? "

*And was not paid for," he repeated in the same gay
tone, " when I gave it to you. But," he added, " it will be
belbre I return."

** Don't you think, Kingsley, dear, that it would be best
foe you to ask the jeweller to take it back ? It will make

1 Theie is on'?,;
that is you-*

""^^eet face, andt

__I love to see!

always be-so i;

^'t possible or i^t

t o T aurie is aV>

is a charm m cW

t There's p^^.^

rump steak.

am in-rea\ly,

a bottle of

walks 1 used

^dozen miles an

call for bitter-if

-. i Was there Ift^
leese. J^ **" , „»
,t meal 1 ever ^at

. a

Basi

lo|
nii
-ir.

account lighter.

^hat ? " he cried. " Rob you of my own gift ! Not
. Nansie. Well that is an idea to get into your head !
|fou call yourself practical I "

think it would be right, my dear, and I can do very
Iwithout it."

id / think it would be wrong, and I am certain you

MOf do very wtli without it. And the locket, too —
[Nansie, it has my portrait in it ! "
^should like to keep the locket," said Nansie, opening
' gazing fondly at the handsome, smiling face of her

ind husband,
[should think you would, indeed. Let me look at it.

( my Vw jrd, it flatters me."
does not," said Nansie, energetically. " You are a

feal better-looking than the picture."

' lughed.

)w it is you who are flattering ; and, of course, you

y joking when you ask me to take the watch and

Jack. Don't mention it again, there's a good girl

I . 1

i ■

■ !

■ S V. \

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

9* , ,. ^ tjverv lady has her

I, „ives me an -co-fortaWe ^eeUng. ^^^^^ , V
I'a^h and chain. a"dY,^»)fj; ,e. us taUc about ■

^ ' ^ 1 • « iipr hand and

'■'-SVr r,e that" said Kmgsk-y..W'';^8lf^„ri ma.

kJiing " ^P-« '' '='*''"=' " '

^^Tdo^'l want d»"°f/;et""most unselfish Me *

vouknow. A a™ I ,m

•* An*^ lace ?

r.XrSfri':^U is.- je said> a tone of vexa.on, a
-n/^ htstA"! asi^ed the jeweUe. to,
lovely ring, and sucB a . , . , « ^aid Nan>

*rv'„l"ot get them now. Kmgsley? sa.d

"""IVtu: dear father -y'''^ ^^.i^^/i^aTe.;

<l»»l'7.i Slli^rtw things, than you. ^^I ~^'^ J, ,v
men

i - m

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

dy has ^et
f 1 saw you
Lboul H. 1
,ow haU the

look ai ih;;

for n\y^^»-
[ have never

her

wedilinj

her band and
»«but 1 ^^^^'^

,\f\sh VitUe v^li;
Confess, Nansit
K4o subterfuge.
musWi dcce.

of vexation, n:
the jeweUer to t
ey?»»said Nani

hat vexes n^e.
^\ Vd beba^
isreattyalosv
,\d have bad tt

myself."

Ling ^iP * ,
atber used

to ^

positive^ ^^^ J;
ler eyes, and lore

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 con-
sider is not yesterday, but to-morrow."

" Yes, dear," said Nansie, hailing this more sensible
turn, " that is what we have to consider."
' " And we wili consider it, dearest, in a practical, logical

fenner." Ninsie, despite her anxiety, could not help
iling at this. "I am sure I am thinking of it all the
ight long."
If thir were so it must have been in his dreams, for he
an exceptionally sound sleeper, as Nansie well knew,
rjason of her own mind being really disturbed by
©lights of the future.

" What will have to be decided is what I am fit for and
hat I can do, and the thing then is," and Kingsley looked
|j|k?asantly around, as though he were addressing an
lidience, "to go and do it. Yes," he repeated, "to go
lg|d do It. You cannot deny, Nansie, my darling, that that
ii the practical way to go about it."
ii" Yes, Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, with fond admira-

" that is the practical way."
W' To buy another caravan," pursued Kingsley, " and a
e, and to fit it up comfortably with chairs, and tables,
beds, an easy-chair for you, my dear, and one for me ;
aflp a little library of books, and a piano — because there is
nilhing so pleasant on a beautiful evening in the woods,
n the birds have settled in their nests and all nature is
ed and still, preparing by needful repose for the joyous
lof to-morrow, there is nothing, I say, so pleasant as to
'y the side of a dear little wife while she plays the airs

loves best but I am afraid there would not be room

piano."

am afraid not, dear," said Nansie, humouring him

t is a pity. If it were too warm — being summer, my

Nansie — to sit inside the caravan, we might move the

into the open, where you could charm the birds

their nests. They could not resist the temptation of

g out to listen to the concert, and perhaps join in.

that would form a pretty picture. A gifted fellow

almost write verses on it. But it is not to be

|ht of Nansie, is it? — ^I mean the piano, not the

1 1

. I

11'

It > i;

i ' »

• «

[)& J ," said Nansie, into

.> I think you ""»>' i„„ it s-ltly, 'hat I „..

'^"'"^ *>" 'Idt hS ''ent.c,n« a may b^. ^ .^„„. a..,

it goes, and 1 ^^^^^LJ so WuuUy ^^^^^ "^^ ^vbich accon^
go to ^ *"'* .ra. for v,e could so -'an,^^^^ , ,.,,ae U

is torfly poHf >e/° J, sliH. to a caj^^^^^s to halt i.

go to a church, ot^ ^ ^^^(^ »° ="/;"e «ete a lit'l« to

?as.ly be ""'"*'? ^ithedral to*", and >f *^ j, ^^^^,, «:

the niRht neat a catneu ^^ „ot jo "",,„.„— sttaivi<

S:,.1n'g off the "ext day,.t^, h .^Su s-ng a matte' U^ ^

time bemg o"' °*"^g„, and m d>sc"ssmb „,. ^t haw' „

things happen, n>y o J„ every.aspeet ^ ^„,,„

only fair to >o*f J„cert to be g'Tf '" * ^t six or sev< ^

ihaUe hear of a c°n^^ „ots the ho^^^^^^^^ „_and „

twenty tr.iles away. ^^ ^^^ be overw perhai- • j,

miles an hour-that « ^j^^ tovm o^ ^'^J j ;„ „, s«* ,

arrive in time Ij^ lalte tickets. Wed'" ^^,<^,,, and j^,

l^xss through It, f^ „, p,ett e^ » pie^ant walk ; ,,,

lailandwhite tie, you 7^^^ evenmg, a P ^„a v. i,,

we start arm-in-arm. concert which we ^ ^,,j ^^

mile, a n>o^t beaut »' ^^^ "^."Se colours in la-;'oi

the walk home, «^»^^„,ofexq«.«tef^^^hatlcalV

wWich had
-e. and ^^'

is not \>'^»"
piano. M^^

;^Tous in ^;
^hich acconv
to check It 01

TOI Mills i)\f nMlVI/>H.

but «

)u\*i

0, then -,
Well, wc

.as to haU te:

were a »'^*'
,ucb matter, oc

hall a doxen
♦ aiv or sevc
- .^ « it-and »

t^jasT"-

11=

oveineao, "
colour* m to^-;
■. ♦ ,c what 1 ^'^'^

» 5,ee.ng«)« ^^^

say
e upon

tbat V
our

vveNV

kn■e^» V°» *"„:.

lure

your

y are the loveliest eycH, my lu'.irt, that ever shone kindly
iipo»i man. * Here,' said I to myself— Oh, you have no
|U)tion how I thought of you when I was alone 1 I used
to walk up and down my room, speaking to you and listen-
ing for your answers , there are silent voices, you know,
Vansic — * Here,' said I to myself, • here is the sweetest and
•urest spirit that ever was embodied in woman. Here is
one whose com|)anionship through life would mak^:: earth a
lipaven '—exactly as you expressed M just now, my love —
%nd to win whom would be the most precious blessing
^ich could fall to a fellow's lot. I love her, I love her, I
live her ! '"

Jl"Oh, Kinjsley ! " murmured Nansie, laying her face on
■|r husband's breast. His sincerity and simple earnestness
•^iirhatever the worldly practical value of the words he was
ring — carried her away into his land of dreams, and
ly they were words so sweet and loving that no woman
dillld listen to them unmoved.

**And if it be my happiness to win her," continued
Biigsley, •• I will prove myself worthy of her."

•Ifansie thought of the sacrifice of wealth and position he
iuA made for her, a sacrifice not grudgingly but cheerfully
intHe, and in the making of which he did not arrogate to
luibelf any undue or unusual merit, and she murmured, as
shw-pressed him fondly to her : *' You have proved yourself
than worthy, my dearest dear. It is I, it is I who
to prove myself worthy of y v\."
i^flKThat is not so," he said, graveiy, but still holding the
' d of his dreams ; " it is the wo:iian who stands ujion
igher level ; it is the man who must lift himself up to
" e is a true man. Yes, my darling, even when I first
ou I used to think of you in the way I have des
Why, my dear, your face was ever before me ;
little trick of expression with which you are sweetly
was repeated a hundred and a hundred times when I
ne and nobody nigh. And let me tell you, dear
ou exercised an influence for good over me which I
t well make clear to you. 'Why, Kingsley, old
* the chums used to say, ' we expected you to our
party last night, and you never turned up. What
e over you?' I wasn't going to tell them what it
t kept me away. Not likely. The majority of
there, living the life we did, wouldn't understand it,

TOILKUS OF BABYLON

and it iisn't a thing you can beat into a fellow's head — it
must come to him, as it came to me, I'm thankful to say.''

" Was there J^ver a man," thought Nansie, " who could
say such sweet things as my Kingslcy 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, th^t 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 house-keeping. 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 if ! 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 th^ caravan watertight. 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 patri-
archs,' it sounds oldish — long white beards, and all that
sort of thiiig."

" 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."
** J suppose so — I mean, of course, they r^ust be,"

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ead— it
3 say."
o could

ne?"
have no
banners,
ig off at
fays pick

pick up
'^ou have
-although

credit of
lite aside,
ing about
nt either.
>w ! You
Well, but
— no rent

lot forget,
through."
There are
It that I've
tight. We
you know,
every man
: the patri-
ind all that

link 1 have
e must have
iley. "You

's how I like

" How, Kingsley, dear ? "

" Ah, how ? " 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 piaiiO, 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 endeavour," 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 aboat 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.

, Kingsley."
1st be."

»r,

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 fairy-
land reveal themselves at every turn. Small forests of
straight and stately trees are there, full of solemn visions,
liiting one's thoughts he .venwards 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

11 i

: I-

100

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

. 'M

* T

i'j

upon the rustic bridge and looked down in silence, and
love, and worship.

" In the method of my education, my dear Nmsie," said
Kingsley, as they walked from the bridge into the stillness
of the woods, " I recognise 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 con-
sciousness 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 Viss, 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 oft 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 jaere 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

TOir.ERS OF BABYLON.

101

vith his
ness in
lections
im con-
able to
IS to me
. Shall

Lingsley,
\e world
ly I love

my heart

makes it
} for me,
ut of my
aakes me
to know
e without

education,

^s whether
t now. I
King really
•ant me in
a scholar
er all, the
aid make a

re thinking

sion of me,
>e seriously

troubled. But to go on. I seem not to be able, except in
words, to express myself or do myself justice. For instance,
1 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
ife 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 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 j 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 stick-
ing 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 thai there are a thousand things to

102

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

il: ir'i;;:i f

distract my attention. For instance, thoughts. Such as
this : that it would be a happy lot if you and I could wander
for ever 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
^e are regularly accustomed. Change produces beauty.
You are making me think, you see, and I am almost pre-
tending 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 colours with which nature adorns the world in
the holiday time of the year. Is not autumn charming,
with its moons and sunsets and changing colours ? And
what can be prettier and more suggestive of fairy fancies
than winter in its gaib of snow and icicle ? There are
plenty of Dad 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 learnt 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ins

5uch as

wander

this and

am not

t ! Our
orry or

LCtion of

she was

that we
ter than
5 always
beautiful,
ise of the
air, as we
i to which
s beauty,
most pre-

when you
ation you
IS a theme

not full of
ere always
If it were
} the days
e beautiful
e world in
, charming,
urs? And
airy fancies

There are
e brightest,

the more,
arnt a great
e created a

few words,
id them."
se and good
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.

" 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 hap >y as your father. He did harm to
no man. His life was « 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 is 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 in-
fluence, 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, Nancy ? "

"Yes," she replied, "but you must not reproach yourself,
my dear."

104

TOILERS OF BABYTON.

" 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 ot
the result, not the slightest. But I don't think it is any-
thing to lament that I seem to find a resemblance in your
father's character and mine."

*' 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 Nancy 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 so*netimes took a humorous and sometimes a pitiful
turn, " 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
her Nansie could not help smiling,
looked at his hands, and stretchr

all that is in the future. I was going to remark on an ob-
servation 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 im-
mortality. My love for you will abide in me for ever. Ah,
Kingsley, do not misunderstand me, or misinterpret what I
said ! "

" I do not," he said, folding her in his arms and em-
bracing her ; " I could never have loved any other than you,
I can never love another. So you see, my dear, you tre

now, and for the life ot
" And what tools ? " He
J out his arms. *' Well,

T0ILEH6 0)f fiABYLON.

165

re she
I have
)ubt ot
is any-
n your

am a
:e with

rnestly.

trength.

I fail.

fingers
\ in him
a pitiful
iportant
er do to
St. The
n to do,
consider

Could

le life ot
Is?" He
*«Well,
)n an ob-
emember
lat struck

^e $tands
beauty of
5 constant
dth in im-
:ver. Ah,
ret what I

i and em-

than you,

r, you are

not quite logical There « one thing in which we ihould
find no beauty in change."

They strolled through the woods, exchanging fond en-
dearment, 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 tjben."

Some few minutes afterwards Nansie spokf U> Kingsley
of his mother.

" When your affairs are settled," she 8iud, " do you not
think that she would help you to make a itgirt in lif^ ? You
seldom speak of your mother, Kingsley/^

" I think a great deal of her and of my father," said Kings-
ley, " 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 thought it would distress you.
Between my mother and me, my dear, there was never any
close tie. We had not those hon)e ties which I think must
be necessary to bind parents and diildren together. Since
I M^s a young child, I have s^ays 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 oftc;n accompany him.
Then you must understand that my parents are as one.
What my father says is law, af)d my mother obey . his in-
structions implicitly. She is entirely and completey under
his control, and has the blindest worship of him. She can-
not 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 njy 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 sh , shook her head and would not listen,
saying continually. 'I know all; your father ha^ told me

106

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

Il u '1

\ 1

everything.' I half bd'eve 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, dear,
since your dear father's funeral I have written to my
mother."

" Yes, Kingsley," said Nansie, looking anxiously at hinu

" 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 ex-
perienced at the news. The intelligence did not, indeed,
cr' lie within him any profound impression. He and his
bvol^er had been se))arated 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

107

to me,
there
dear,

to my

,t him.

know I
:ve was

to my

ired for
?. is no
I dare-
It it is a
o more

;y soon
an open

ble!"

r a long
e?"

y, heard

; to him,

f he ex-

indeed,

and his

and the

ood had

;ther. It

it could

ish cares

evidence

dies gradually away. That "absence makes the heart grow
fonder " is as false as are nine out of ten of other senti-
mental proverbs.

"Timothy," said Mr. Loveday to his new assistant, who
was proving himself a perfect treasure, " when little Teddy
died you were 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 n\\ 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."

" [ 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 con-
siderable 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 results 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 was bent upon making
everything go on smoothly around him. Heaven only
knows where Timothy picked up all he knew ; it was likely

TOILERS OP B.vBYLOir.

!! ,

|,w 1 i .,,1

the outcome of a willing, cheerful, practical spirit^ and of
one who knew how to profit by observation ; but Timothy,
who had never learnt 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 iiot 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 arfairs. 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
api)ieciated, no waste. It could not be but that Mr. Love-
day noted with gratefulness this improvement in hia sur-
roundings, 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 endeavouring to prove that I am not
quite a monster, and 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

TOILBRS OF BABYLON.

109

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 deceive myself into be-
lieving that they are true. I should have gone down, and
perhaps with something of the full heart which I am en-
deavouring 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 grow-
ing 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 re.isons, 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 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
endeavour honestly to be kind to you, and if you inherit
any of your father's amiable qualities, I have no doi\bt 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, Kings-
ley, I scarcely knew in what light to regard him."

" He says something to that effect in his letter," re-
marked Kingsley, " which seems to be honestly and sin-
cerely written."

" I think so, too," said Nansie.

'*£ot you see," said Kingsley, "in his offer of a home—

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

which is very kind j 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 ts 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. vVell, 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 sup-
posed."

"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 couid mean it, because it would rei)resent something
tangible in the way of an income, perhaps ; and that is
what we want, Nansie, d n'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 j 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-k-brac. I was as-
tonished when we came to look through them. And
pictures, too. I was surprised how ever I came to
buy them ; but money always burnt in my pockets, Nansie.

lOiLKItd (iF aUBVi^ON

When it was there it had to be spent. Do you know a
greater pleasure, my dear, than sptiuhn;,' money? ''

*' It is a pleasant occupation, Kiii^ilcy. when one has it
to spare."

•'Of course, that."

" Do nie a great favour, dear."

" I will. Just say what it is."

"Tell me everything you did while you were away,
w'tho-.t— without "

iv'Mgsley laughed gaily and took up her words.

" Without flymg off into side pa'.hs, eh? K.eop to the
main road. Is that the great favour?"

♦'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 on 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 recognise 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 £^o. 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 favour. Well, I commenced by going
tlirough my property and being surprised. Then I went

112

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

1K •?

to the tradesmen to whom I owed money, and said : * Make
our your bills and send them in.' One or two inquired if
I was going to pay. I said, 'Of course — what else?*
When they heard that — I refer to those who, to my aston-
ishment, appfeared 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
enveloj)es. Then I went to an auctioneer, and gave him
mstructions 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 «<;/ 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, Kmgsley!"

*' It was vexing, but there it was, and there was no help for
it. I went about my affairs in a 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 bjen 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
[ despair ? Not at all. Said I to myself, said I — 'by the
»vay, Nansie, I once came across an old novel with just
that title ; an odd one, isn't itP—said I to myself, said I, iu
A^ork, to work I Something must be done, for my dear
Nansie's sake."

"How proud I am of you, Kingsley I"

TOILERS OF BABYriOK

115

" Thank you, dear. So what did I do ? I can sketch a
little in colours, 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 in-
fluential, 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
water-colours, drawing-paper, pencils, brushes, a nice little
outfit for thirty-eight shillings, and, Nansie, I set to work.
Upon my honour, 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"

you

" Why, Kingsley," said Nansie, in a delighted tone,
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," ex-
claimed 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
shopkeeper. * Done,' said I, and 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 twopence for my
picture, and that I had accepted it He stared harder
than ever and handed me the two-pence. It is the first
money I ever earnt 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 discoverd it,
turn the key on it."

114

TOn.ERS OP BABYLON.

;r:

Nansie gazed at him sadly. lie was speaking with ani-
mation, 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 con-
fession. 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 rep^y 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 ac-
cepted. 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, aud said :

" No\K we will talk of something else."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

115.

CHAPTER XVII.

Nansib 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 pro-
vir ng 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 contempla-
tion 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 sati«;fied 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 Cijual
truth to your opinion of me."

•116

TOILERS OK lUBYLON.

" Not at all,*' said Kingslcy, with fond seriousness, "you
stand away and apart from me — highei, ; ohler, m(»re
(:a|)a!)Ie. I will not listen to any eontradii lion, my dear,
when I am discussing j'ou. The fact is, I have already
a])plied the test."

" In what way, Kingsley ? " asked Nansie.

She was learning that it was best to humour him in
certain moods, which it seemed impossible for him to
avoid.

" In this. 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 yo'i.
It is one virtue I may fairly claim, for nothing which is in-
spired 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 (jues-
tioned 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 name of woman ? ' The answer is : * She is all, and
more than all, you believe 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. 1 do not wish to disturb you, my
dear, but I fear a terrible disappointm-^ut 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 for 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 ac [uaintance one day. As to being unjust to
niNscif, 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
Qt a young English gentleman, '

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

117

"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 icisscd 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 arms 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
gaiety ; 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 fore-finger, " 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 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 hiinselt

■

lis

TOTLKRS OF BABYLON.

otherwise, 't 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
■/\r\, 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 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 sutificiently 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 for ever ; 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, un-
measurable. It illumines every surrounding object ; it
makes the commonest things precious. How beautiful the
present is to you and 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 hand-
somest 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

110

love for me and mine for you more perfect and complete ?
There is an immeasurable distance between what 1 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
endeavour not to underrate myself, nor to prove that I am
more than ordinarily selfish. Thtre — 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 G'. . without any distinct idea in my mind ;
I thought that something might happen, and I was dis-
appointed. 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, en
gravers, 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 humoured, irresponsible being he had ever been,
and was doing his best with his whimsical talk to make
Nansie forget the serious position ia which they were
placed.

% 1;!

lao

lOILE&S OB BABYLON.

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 unex|)ected windfall of fortune. There are
others who are so well armed for difficulties, that the en-
countering 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 u|)on 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 fash oned 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 l.ving fowl which he had rescued from the fire in the
school house, 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 back-yard, and for the sake of clean-
liness it could not be kept in the house. There wtre,
however, plenty of back-yards in the immediate vicinity of
Church Alley, and to the proprietor of one of these

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

121

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 dis-
covered 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 VVhitechripel back-yard, 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 :

ai rent-paid eggs at i}d

Less, fv>d for fowl, at the rate of ^. per day

Leaving a net profit of

t. d.
X 9i

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 ot
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 popu-
lation 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 are compelled to import to
satisfy the demand, amounting not to scores but to hundreds
of millions. Timothy's eyes dilated. One daring enthu-
siast 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, [arliaps, was
too extravagant, but the fact remained, and appeared incon-

18f

TOILERS OF lUBYLON.

trovertible, that money was to be made out of eggs. Here
was plain proof — one shilling and nine pence farthing made
out of one hen in a single month.

" Let me see," mused Timothy, " how this turns out in
the year."

Down went the figures.

' a ■

Cost of food, 365 days at ^A. per day
Cost of fowl, say ....

8. d.

IS 2*

3 o

29 2i

For a moment he forgot the rent, but he remembered it
before he went to the credit side, and he reckoned it at a
penny a week, which made the total expenses ;^i 2s. 6^d.

'i'imothy was aware that he could not reckon upon an
e;;^ 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 only
brings in 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 1
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 prettv 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 bis troubling himself just at present.

" Mr. Loveday," said he to his employer, "if a specula-
tion 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?"

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

191

*' 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, patriot-
ically 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 oi 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 Hamburghs, sir, that's the breed for eggs."

" Dorkings, I should say," suggested Mr. Loveday.

" Black Hamburghs will beat them, sir," said Timothy,
confidently ; and Mr. Loveday, feeling that he was on un
safe ground, wisely held his tongue.

Timothy had saved between five and six shillings out ot
his wages, and he expended the whole of his savings in
putting up a rough fowl-house, and in the addition of a
black Hamburgh 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 en-
deavour not to make mistakes."

" We shall have you Chancellor of the Exchequer in

124

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 em-
ployer two new-laid eggs in one day.

m ■

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 whicfi
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 yonng woman, neatly and
plainly dressed, entered Church Alley, and with timid, hesi-
tating 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 ex-
plaining 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 ^reat, 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.

TOILKRS OP BABYLON.

125

ones
nails

He was transfixed. Twenty and odd years of his life were
suddenly engulphed 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 en-
chantment. All consciousness of the present time had
vanished. The past came buck 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 recognised you, uncle,
by your likeness to my dear father."

"And I recognised 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.
Vou don't know the ways of women, uncle."

" How should I," he said, rejoining her, "having so small
an acquaintance with them ? "

" But you sa'd I was welcome," 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, unde.**

l'2'i

TOILERS OF BABYJ.ON'.

If;,;
if '

If :-

, P; 1

" 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, inicle."

" I see. Wantini/ me ? "

"I — I think so. You shall jud'^e."

" You speak in a voice of dou'jt. I>isten to me, Nansic.
1 may call you so ? "

" Surely, surely. It gives me pleasure."

" Listen, then. If there is anything in my vo'ce or
manner to cause you uneasiness, account for it by the fact
that 1 know little of women, as you yourself said. It is
sometimes my way — not always, and seldom unless I am
somewhat sha'^cn. If you had informed me that you were
coming I should have been pr^'pared. I should not then
have thought, when my eyes fell upf>n 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, unci ."
'" I am a dunderhead. Timothy !"

No ^efiii in Eastern tales ever appeared more promptly at
a summons.

"Yes, sir."

" Make soir.e tea ; the best — quick I "

Timothy glanced at Nansie, nodded, and vanished.

" That is my assistant," said Mr Loveday ; " a treasure.
A man, a boy, a giri, a woman, rolled into one. He can sew
on buttons."

Nansie laughed, and Mr. Loveday gasped,
n't mind mc," he said in explanation,
ike your moihcr's. You see, Nansie, until
xustomed to you, I shall find myself driven

past.

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

iJt

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 caine into his eyes.

" There," he muttered, "you see how it is. This 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. Gome along."

There was not only tea on the table, there was a cihop,
beautifully cooked, and bread and butter, on a clean ■^wrhite
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 colour is coming
back into your face. Have you come from the couritpy ?"

"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 n6t lide? 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."

1-^

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

li i

" I was not sure of returning there."

"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 shilliiv^js and eightpence would* have

kept you till to-morrow, and then You have some of

my brother's thoughtless spirit in you."

" Say rather, uncle, 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 yc i are to
speak the truth, the v/hole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Are you ready ? "

" Yes."

" 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 ain
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."

" Of course not — you aie a woman. But languages n«>w
French perhaps ? '*

" Yes, uncle."

" And German ? *

"Yes, uncle."

" Ah, a Crichton in petticoats. Any others ? "

" Those are all the languages I can speak."

" And enough too, Nansie."

"Yes."

" 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."

TOILERS OF BMnrON.

12'.)

"Better and better. I thought I was about to learn some
thing. 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 ; until his father's return from abroad."

" Of course — family reasons."

"Yes."

" The usual story. What difference would it have made
jf you had been married with your father's consent and
knowledge ? There would have been less duplicity in the
a(Tair."

" 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 unmmdful my brother might
have been in worldly matters, he was a gentleman and a man
of fine instincts. You marr'.ed a man beneath you."

"You are wrong. 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

1.10

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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."

" 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."

" 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 Nancy, 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."

'♦ Where do they live ? "

** Here, in London. You have heard of them, I dare say,
uncle. Kingsley's father is the great contractor, Mr.
Manner .'*

Mr. Loveday started. " Manners, the great contractor I
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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

tSl

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 ne\ r swerves from a resolution he
has made. There is no hope of turning him. Was it not
noble conduct, uncle, on Kingsle/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 igno-
rant 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 — 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 Nancy, " 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 ; Kingsley has been so worried and
troubled that it would have been unkind for me to press

: !

133

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

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 I That looks
ugly."

" Kingsley did nothing wrong. He hoped by remaining
near his father that a favourable 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 c^me 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 soi 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 natu-
rally 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 have done 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

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

1.33

talks most beautifully. And I have spoilt it all, and have
ruined a great career. I would not dare to say so to Kings-
ley ; 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
lour months required a kind of secretary and companion,
and that Kingsley could secure the situation if he cartd 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 ra sc
a little money, a very little, uncle, jlist enough to defray h s
expenses to Paris and to leave me a few shillings. So la a
evening, when we parted, it was agreed that I should conic
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.

1C4

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

tii

p< «

CHAPTER XX.

From that day a new life commenced for Mr. Loveday. It
was not that there was any great improvement m the ordi-
nary 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 thai) 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
gl mce 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 >^hich her circumstances rele-
gated 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. Every-
thing she did was done quietly, without the least fuss or
noise ; no slamming of doors to jar the nerves, nothing to
disturb oi 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 favourable to her view. Inwardly he said : " What all
women could nof 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.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

135

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
symjjathy nnd friendship. Before Nansie's appearance Mr.
T.ovcday'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. Lovcday could have given an
intelligible exjjlanation 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 imi)roved
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 candle-
sticks and all the metal-work 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 re
fusing 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 doi j.tic duties.

The evenings were liie most delightful, as has been
Stated. Then, the day's labour 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 in-
different 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 justifieil
himself master, and gave odds. An evening seldom passed

(* *

138

TOILERS OF UABIXON.

without a reading from a favourite author, Nansie's sweet,
'. ympathctic 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
^,athered 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 bed-
room always, and generally at night when the others were
asleep. 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 counter-
balance to the unhappiness she would otherwise have ex-
perienced.

" 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 sub-
stantial 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 bhndness 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 coun-
try 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 1 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 any-

TOILERS OF lUBYLON.

187

thing than grave when Nansie read aloud to him extracts
from her husband's lexers.

" 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. I think he
must be traveUing simply for pleasure."

" Which is not a simple matter, Nansie," observed Mr.
Loveday, "when a man runs after it. Nansie, what are
your husband's duties in his employment ? "

" He does not say, uncle."

" 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,
"everyone 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 honour-
able 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 whoni 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 *n say "

118

TOILEUS OF BABYLON.

*• Ves, uncle, I have something more to say. That was
your feeling for :aie at first; but since then — I say it
humbly and gratefully — I have been happy in the belief
that I have learnt 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 1 am enabled to bear
Kingsley's absence — I hope and pray it will not l)e 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 honour, 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 honouarble, noble-hearted man ? "

" Undoubtedly. He has a worthy champion in his
wife."

"Ah, but it would distress me immeasurably 'il that
you believe he needs a champion, or I a defenucr. 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 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
honour 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," rei^^ed Nansie,
adding, with what her husband would have told her was
feminine logic, '* but you must not condemn Kinsgley."

" I will not. I will apply ordinary tests. Two or three
weeks ago you commenced to read to me something in one
of your husband's letters, and you suddenly stopped and

TOILERS OF BAUYLON.

aa»

did not continue. It was about money. Am I wrong In
supp(jsin^ that what you were about to read was in reply
to soinctliing you had written in a letter to your husband? "

'* You arc not wrong, uncle."

" Plainly, you asked him whether he could not send you
a little money?"

"Yes."

"And that was his reply. I can jud^c what it was."

"Uncle, he had none to send. He is entirely dependent
upon Mr. Seymour.

" Who is not hberal ? "

"Yes, uncle."

" Who is not only not liberal, but unjust ? "

" But that is not Kingsloy'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 excjuisite 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 ex-
pression 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
nust not blame my dear husband."

" I will not — strongly. Only I should like you to con«
sider 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
lone of tender playfulness, " when I did find you, and when
you proved yourself to be the best of men ? It would be
a 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

140

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,lf

111

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 arii
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 mysti-
fied.

" 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 v/e 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 svooning — "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 in the stillness of her room, when her uncle supposed
her to be abed, her fingers were busy in their labour of
tenderest love.

XUUitfKS OF BABYLON.

141

the

„ »

CHAPTER XXI.

The event which occurred in Mr. Loveday's house in
(Church Alley, and which caused him perhaps the greatest
exc'tcment 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 7. can scarcely believe I am liVii^g
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

112

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

'R '

rii

Mr. Seymour straightforwardly to pay you what lic must
owe you ? It must be a good sum by this time. But
perhaps it is wrong of me to sp.y to you, whj^ 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 aljout
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, Iviiigs-
ley, 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 under-
stand 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 conside-
rate, 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
colour 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 bab' you as almost one

person ; I cannot think of one t '.'. .u the other, it is im-
possible to separate you; so that Wh-;u I say that baby is the
greatest blessing that was ever given to me, I mean you as
well as our darling. . . .

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

li:)

•*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 sonic babies are, and
when she eries (which is really not cjften) it is a good
healthy cry, which makes unt Ic say that her lungs are in fine
condition. . . .

" I have been reading over what I have vv'ritten, and I
stoj^ped at the part wlnre I spjak of b:iby presently being
able to walk and talk. Long !)c."')re that, my dear Kingsley,
I hope that you will be wiih us, and tliat we may lie 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 extraordinaiy lad. and uncle
ha; a great opinion of him. Putting his duties in Uiicle'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 line
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 j)roceeding.s.
He made me laugh by saying : * If fowls won't lay they
must be made to lay ' ; and lie 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 makmg a profit every month. He is now drawing out
plans for con..truct:ng a movable fowl-house, in compart-

144

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ments, each compartment accommodating eight fowls, and
capable of being taken down and put up again in a wonder-
fully 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 be'" ^ very fortunate, there is
much to be grateful for. Rememt)er 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,
imf)erfectly 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 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 for ever blossokning 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."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

145

CHAPTER XXTI.

lear

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 h' .da 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 '•'^iceived 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.

"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. 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, .^^ill 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

i '

TOILERS OP B\BYLON.

1^ ;

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.
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
and. 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 mu t 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 ; m 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 wowld 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
endeavoured 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 dependant in my
relations with Mr. Seymour ; he received me as an equal and
when we first met there was no question raised as to a salary,
and there has been none since. 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 i& a humiliation to
me to ask the c^uestion, 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 for ever."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

147

his

Then the letter went on, and was conchided with expres*
sions 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.
Lovcday.

" I know that, dear uncle ; but is it as it should be ? If
Kingsley were only here ! "

" Weil, my dear, we must do what we can. You would
like to send him sufficient money to bring hiin 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. Un-
fortunately, funds are rather low just now, but I win 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 mc. 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 1 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 1 "

While he was gone Nansie wrote her letter, and baby
being asleep, ran out to post it. It was long since sht.' had
felt so happy and light-hearted. Kingsley was coming back ;
her beloved husband woild soon be with them, (-rave

troubles had already entered into her life, but they seemed

lO*

148

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

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 i)ut 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 ever more I You see,
baby, papa is never going away again ; never ! never I "

The room in which she sat was the first floor front, look-
ing 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 downstairs, 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 I 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.

Sudddenly she started to her feet with a look of alarm.
She smelt fire. Snatching up her baby she ran into the
rooms in which fires had been burning, but all wa«J safe
there, and she saw no cause for alarm. She was standing
in the sitting-room looking about in her endeavour to
account for the smell, when a cry of " Fire ! " from the ad-
joining 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. B . tied this way and that, and pi ess-

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

149

ing 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, thar 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 climb-
ing 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 agita-
tion, 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
i;*», in answer, said that they were right in preventing him

" What good could I do ? " he said. " I should only be
a hindrance. 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 neighbour 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 burnt out stock and block, and shall have no business
left In which case, Timothy, you will lose a situation."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

It 'I I

" 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 il've
been burnt out ot 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 fc 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 land-
lady 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 compli-
ment, won't you, my dear ? "

Nansie nodded with a cheerful smile, and the landlady,

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

411

having leant 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 b<e salvage," said Mr. Love-
day, 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. Lovedav.
" 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 lound 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

Did you write to your

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, i)revent my doing what I wished.
We will not let anything hang over; it will be wisest
to speak of what is in our minds,
husband ? "

"Yes, uncle."

" Is your letter posted ? **

"Yes."

"Well, it cannot be recalled,
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 learnt something of your chaiac-

If you will give me his

102

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ter since you came to me, and I give you credit for
possessing courage."

" I am not easily daunted, uncle. We are all of us
learnmg lessons as we p ss through life."

"They come in diiTerent shapes to different persons, and
those are wise who can i)rofit by experience. Some per ions
are overwhelmed by visitations of trouble ; to some they
impart new strength and vigour. 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 whdt we ha\e 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 t!v" on- on each side of it. It is a
mercy the whole alley isn't down."

"It is, and I am glad for luose who have escaped."

" Don't go withov/ a up of tea, Mr. Loveday," said the
landlady, " I've brought up one for you. I thought you
would prefer it in your owr room, my dear," she said
addressing Nansie, " there's such a lot of gossiping going on
downstairs. Ah, that's sensible of you " — as Mr. Loveday
took the cup of tea she poured out for him — " there's no-
thing like keeping up your strength. You must think of
that, my dear, because of your baby. Half the neighbour-
hood 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 oc
curred, 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 bat drink. There's 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 :* "

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

1A8

'* 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, every-
thing's sure to come right ! "

CHAPTER XXni.

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 a 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 favour ; he might be a
smaller contractor, or an inventor, or anything that was
respectable

164

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

it ' >

■ il

" I have ventured to visit you, sir," said Mr. Loveday,
" without fiffit 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 recognise, 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 recognised 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 simpiy because there are coinci-
dences, and I mate it a rule to avoid mistakes. If you
come from rny 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."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

156

to
to

ler
ler

"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 j but
presently he frowned ; it was as though the honour 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 ? '*

" My brother knew nothing whatever of it until it was
too late to interfere. The young people acted for them-
selves, without consulting a single person. It was a secret
marriage."

" Exactly. Come to the precise object of your visit."

" The lamentable severance of the affectionate relations
which existed between you and your son hag been pro-
ductive of much suffering. The young people have been
driven hard — so hard that in the endeavour made by your
son to obtain some sort of position v/hich would hold out
the hope of his being able to support her, they wi re cor
pelled to separate. Your son went abroad and left his
wife here in England, doubly orphaned, friendless, penni-
less, and unprotected. She api)ealed to me for shelter and
temporary support, and I received her willingly, gladly. I
will not indulge in sentiment, but it is due to my niece that
I should declare in your i-resence that a sweeter, purer,
more lovable woman does not breathe the breath of life.
She is a lady, well educated, gentle, and refined ; and what-

156

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

ever 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 disapijointed 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 unal de
to send his wife the smallest remittance. Until to-day this
has be ?n of no importance, as I was in a position to dis-
charge the obligation I took U[)on myself when I received
her into my home. Your son's affairs abroad became so
desperate that it was decided yesterday between my niece
and myself to send him money to bring him iiome, in order
that he might make another effort here to obtain a liveli-
hood. I am speaking quite plainly, sir, and without orna-
ment 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
itatement. I was not insured, and nothing was saved. I
am a beggar."

"It is, after all, then," said Mr. M mners, with a certain
air ot triunqih, " on your own behalf that you are making
this appeal to me."

*'No. sir," replied Mr. Loveday, "I want nothing for

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

JV;

Irtain
Iking

myself; I shall rub along somehow, and hope to lifi my
head once more above adverse circumstance. My a >i)eal
is on behalf of your son's wife. I am unable to i'l.il the
promise I made to furnish her with the small sum rccjuired
to bring your son home. I asi< 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 s(m'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."

[oney
)und
my
my
I

for

168

TOILEIiS OF BABYLON.

I i

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. Con-
fident 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. Gold»n apples only fall to those who have already
won fortune's favours. 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 in-
viting 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 labour over, he found himself the richer by nineteen
pence.

" Come now," he said to Nansie, gaily, " 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 civilised 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

169

, he
in-
the
to
aid
vely
The
;een

ung
\vs ;
md

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 wT)uld 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 weak-
ened her, and weeks passed before she was btrong 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 by 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 1 "

" If I had but a magic ring," thought Mr. Loveday, but
he said no word a,loud.

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 oSL H#

160

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

did not dare to speak to Nansie of this ; the almost certain
result would have been to part them for ever. 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' 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 im-
passively first at her, then a* the door, and she left the
house.

What a grand, stately house it was ! 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 nevei
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 ?

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

161

lan
:'art

in
ick
ke?

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 ipore ; " would he accept the atone-
ment ? 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 hfr. Kingsley had thrown in his lot with her
tor 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 rich man's house. She was deter-
mined 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 tc 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
iz

163

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

fj i:

t' ■ «

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.
" The last time your son 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 des-
troyed 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 satisfac-
tory thought that he had got something out of me."

" You do my uncle great injustice, sir. He is noble and
generous, and I honour him with my whole heart."

" Yes, yes," said Mr. Manners, and there was a deepei
sternness in his voice, "it is only among the class to which
you and he belong, and into which you have dragged my
son, that honour and nobility are to be found. I have had
experience of it Once more, finish your errand."

TOILERS OF BABYLON. i^

II I have nothing more to say, sir. I fear to anger you."
money!"' ^"'^°'^ '" '^^""'"S "^^ ^^ '° beg for

!! a"^^^^ "°*' ^'''- ^ ^'^^ "o such purpose."
And would not accept it if I offered it ? "

thJi'TT'' ""'^u *i"t^«ay that, sir. We are so poor that
he pride I once had is broken. Pardon me if I say that I
thmJc you have no mtention of offering it"

"I have none." **

She bowed, and crossed to the opposite side of the road :
acls^^^^^^^^^^ '^' ^°"^ ^ ^^^^" y^^^ «he heard his voice,'

"It is in my mind to say something to you "

Had hpr^H-^f *° ^''?/''^ t?"?^^" ^°P^- "^d he relented ?
Had her distress softened his heart towards her ? A glance
at^ his face dispelled the hope. There was in it no s^n of

"Accompany me to my house," he said

.JT^^^""^^ ^"."^ surprised she walked by his side in silence,
and they entered the mansion together

.nm Jh^.r^l'^ P'?^?^^^ *:^^'" '^'^ ^'- M^""ers, " to have
some better knowledge than you at present possess of the

c^rl'^'^/^r''.^' 5?.^'* disobedience and unfilial conduct, my
son has forfeited. '

If*

THILERS OF BABYLON

ii^i

CHAPTER XXV.

He conducted her through some of the principal apart-
ments, which liad been furnished and decorated in princely
style. The pictures, the sculptures, the bric-ii brae were of
the choicest character. Her feet sank in the thick, soft
caipets, and her heart fa'nted within her as she followed Mr.
Manners through the sumptuously appointed rooms. He
paused before one, and throwing open the door, said :

" You may enter ; it was my son's bedroom."

She obeyed him, a rusl >f 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 downstairs, 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 aii that
you have seen, with means sufficient to keep it up ton 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 1 am speaking to you now. Doubtless

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

166

my son has informed you that by my own unaided exer-
tions I have raised myself to what I am." She bowed her
head. " The pkasure of success was great, and was
precious to me, not .so much for wealth itself, but for a
future I had m ped 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 labour. 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 woura have risen to be a power
in the land. You have destro"ed 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 have
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 , )U,
it will be well for you to know that there is not the re-
motest possibility of such an expectation being realised.
Do you understand ? "

She did not reply in words; the fear that she mii;ht
further anger him kept her silent ; she made a motion
which he inter]; cted into assent, and accepting it so,
continued :

" Assuming, on the otho' hand, that you did not weicjh
the consequences of your conduct, and t!.at 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."

> (

166

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

1^ ('.

" 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 pro-
position.

".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.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

167

It was an indication to Nansie, and she obeyed it and
stood before iiim.

"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 silent — and returns iiome, perhaps you will inform him
of the proposition you have made to me and of the manner
in wh'ch 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 breack 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 learnt from
him that he had not heard from Kingsley.

" Did he speak kindly to you ? " asked Mr. Loveday.

" No J 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 for ever. Uncle, is it my
fancy that you are looking strangely at me ? "

"Your fancy, my dear," replied Mr. Loveday, with a
&mile which he endeavoured to make cheerful. " Why

should I look strangely at y^
Manners has unnerved you, '
"Yes," said Nar. e,' *it
returns he must not know ot
make him angry f^d uncoTti

**I shall not

w** «Jk<*i*t»j^

? Your interview with Mr.

i -(ust be so. When Kingsley
; ly visit to his father. It will

..table."

dear," said Mr. Loveday.

'!!

168

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

CHAPTER XXVI.

I- '' !

When Kingsley rettirns ! NansJe suppressed a sigh as she
utte/ed the words ; but the unspoken thoUij;ht 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 know-
ledge 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 oii 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 un-
exijlained. 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 ot
Seymour, who was accompanied by Mr. Manners, v/ho is
supposed to have been travelling with a Mr. Seymour as a
kind of companion or secretary. These two are the only
Englibh namf^s in the list given of killed and wounded. Mr.
Manners is seriously injured, and lies now in a j)recarious
state which precludes the possibility of any information
being obtained from him which v\ould enable the authcvjties
to communicate with his relatives or the relatives of Mr.
Seymour."

It was this paragraph which caused Mr. Loveday so much

TOTLFRS OF BABYLON.

160

anxiety. There could be no mistake that the Mr. Manners
referred to was Nansie's husband, and he could not
immediately make up his mind as to what was best to be done.
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
he 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
d(jne by making the disclosure to Nansie ; 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
he determined to keep the matter to himself ; at least foi
the present.

The hard battle of Hfe 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 ha\e forgotten her, and that he could be
systematically neglecting her, was in her faithful, chivalrous
heart impoasible. All that she could do was to wait, al-
though 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 labours, 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 i's Nansie ! "

The fiulses of her heart seemed to stop. It was her
lusband's voice, and so overcome was she by -this sudden

170

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

;n-

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 seemg the speaker, she felt herself
drawn to the heart of the one nian 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 forgettulness. 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 un-
misiuliable air of poverty. His cloMies were worn thread-
bare, 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 conscious-
ness of tf.cse signs, and seemed to be at peace and in
harmony with himself and all around him.

" Are you well ? " asked Nansie, solicitously.

" Well, my. love ? I was never better in my life, and now

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

171

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 — ra})id journeys —
accidents even, but dreams, all of them, Nansie. They
must be dreams, or I could fix them with greater certainty.
Now, you kn( ay old way, my dear ; when anything was
troubling me 1 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. That is the way we will
go thror jii 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

173

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 dreamt 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's is v^ery sweet, Nansie, like you. I am sure her
eyes are the colour of yours."

"No, darling, she has your eyes."

" And your heart, Nansie. Happy little one, happy little
c.ie ! 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 bad; her tears, and quickly placed bread upon
the table, which he ate ravenously at lirst, smiling at her
gratefully the while. Very soon she had prei)ared 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 Kirgott n it,
because he has not one yet; we call hic *haby,' y.m
know."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

173

"Yes, yes," he said, "'hahy,' 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
wlKii she is a hajipy 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 intro-
duce confusion into our Uttle 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 I)e 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 Nan^ie, 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,"

)on

Iher

hot

lim.

lyes

it,
u

174

TOILERS OF BABYLOM.

CHAPTER XXVlt

An hour later, when Mr. Loveday returned home, Nansie,
who had been listening for his footsteps, went out to meet
him. P>en in the dark he, with love s keen sight, observed
that something of a pleasant nature had occurred.

" Good news, Nansie ? "

"Speak low, uncle. Yea, good news. He has come
home."

"Kingsley?"

" Yes, uncle. He is asleep with the baby by his side.
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 purcliases, 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 dis-
cover 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 labouring under an impression that he has
been away from 'as but a very short time. 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. We can
take care of him, we can nurse him back to strength and
health."

" How kind you are, uncle ! Never thinking of your-
self ! "

" Nonsense, my dear, nonsense I It is entirely of myself

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

175

tliat 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 I "

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 plea-
santer, what could be brighter and more full of promise ?
Here, for the first time, we meet, and I recognise in you a
friend. Believe me, sir, when I say a friend, it is said once
and for ever; it is meant once and for ever. I am no
butterfly, eh, Nansie ? "

" No, dear Kmgsley," 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 Lad 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

176

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

moment — as it does now ; for looking at her, I am re-
minded 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 debts which it is i^ood never
to repay, and this is one. It is sometimes most ungracious
to deliberately cancel an obli;4ation."

" 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
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 con-
vinced me of his condition. 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 rue

TOILER-! OF r5.\nY[,0N.

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
he door, and opening it, they saw Timothy Chance, who
lad a covered basket on his arm which he laid upon the
loor, 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
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 neighbourhood, in order
that he might be near the friends to whom he was so de-
votedly 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, ho was com-
pelled 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 tho^ie
experiences."

178

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

"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 dcsperandum.' "

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, "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 lymg 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 husbmd is home."

A bright light came into Timothy's face.

" I am glad he said," he said, •' for your sake and
baby's."

He ste])ped softly into the bedroom, accompanied by
Nansie, and stood in silence for a few moments, gazing
affectionately at the sleeping child.

" xMay I kiss her ? " he said.

"Yes, Timothy, but very, very softly."

With the -^a'ntlcness 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.

" EgL^*, as you say, sir," he recommenced, taking up the
business part of the conversation where it had broken off.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

179

"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 b id 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 lau^h 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 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
hamme'ing 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
•..•iih Confidence, and x'ather boldly, because a voice was
whispering to me, ' Here's your chance, Timothy.' ' And
tools to work nails and timber with,' says I. ' Labour will
cost nothing ; I should be carpenter and builder.' ' Should
you? ' says he, 'and I could give you a hand. Rut an acre
and a half of ground and any amount of timber and nails
won't lay eggs. Come tr *^/^ ;^".ip — how much money to
bring that about?' ';^io will be ample,' says I. 'I've
got t!iat,' says he, 'and more at the back of it. Say ^lo
then.' ' Do you mean it?' says I, my htnrt alino.^i junijiing
out of my body. ' I never say what I don't moan,' says he,
I don't always say what I do. It is ai,freed.

* though

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

1.0

I.I

1.25

■"IS

2.0

1.8

'A m.

ei^M/' .0^^ ^5

*7;.

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTIiR N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

-4^

1^^

180

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

[■'I

Timothy, that we go into partnership ; rent of ground to be
reckoned, nails and tools to be reckoned, timber to be
reckoned, and ;^io 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-
housvS were up,not far away from the forge — beca' .se warmth,
sir, is good for laying hens — and there was a stock of thirty
black Hami)rrgs to start with. Now, sir and Mrs. Manners,
we have been m 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 ray
way, and hav ng somt-ihing good to tell, I burned to come
and tell it to the friends I honour most ; and now I must
go. 1 have to get back to night ; but perhaps you will let
me coihf to see you again."

"liidt-td, 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
prDSjK'ci before you, than ourselves."

"I know that," said Timothy. "Good night, and God
bless you."

•' ^ Oi.r ba;iket, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday.

" Oh, if you will excuse me, sir, it is yours, and not mine
I have bought it for you, and I hope you will not take it
amiss." And off Timothy went, without another word.

Oi)ening the basket when he was gone, they took out a
score of new-laid eggs and a young fowl trussed for roasting.
T« ais came into Nansie's eyes.

•' Did I not say, uncle," she murmured, ' that Providence
will aDiootii the path before us ? "

'lOTLKRS OF BABYLON.

181

CHAPTER XXVril

The week that followed was one of great anxiety to Nansie,
springing less from the i)ecuniary 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 lit.'ht of his sickness, and would not admit
that there was anything seriously the matter with him.
They made no endeavour 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 neighbourhood 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 jjoor, 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 ostenta
tion, 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 aftei Nansie
;ame to live with her uncle Dr. Perriera was greatly at-
tracted to her, no less by her gentle manners than by the
display of attainments superior to those amongst whom she
lived. When Mr. Loveday was burnt 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

182

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

I' i

so far as regarded himself, but fretiuently disturbed him
when he cainc into contact with distress which it was not
in his power to relieve. After the fire, when he attended
Nansie of his (wn 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 Sjtain was first amongst the nations
of the world in art, literature, and science. But the
heavy hand of bigotry effectually scotched the fair
promise which lay before the favoured 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 Pharmacopoeia."

Then, in order that Dr. Perri'^ra might be in possession
of all necessary information, Mr. Loveday made him
acquainted with the strange hallucination under which
Kingsley was labouring with resjiect to his long ab"':;nce
from home. The good doctor 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 m most instances this loss is a total loss,
time, well-known incidents, relati/e circumstances, the
names of friends and acquaintances, even one's own
name, being plunged for a period into absolute obscurity.
Hut 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 realising the privations
ot the life which seems to lie before him. His tempera-
ment is exceptionally bright and cheerful ; he looks upon
the happy side of nature, and every hopeful sentiment

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

183

of
its

)wn
ity.
lar
of
He

}Ut

ngs
ons

ent

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 de-
pendent 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 neighbourhood ; 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 knociced 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 con
cealing.

" 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 i* ' he asked.

Kingsley had grown thmner 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 hin 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 foructfui of his duties."

:■*

'¥'■

■V

;,■•; J

184

TOIT.ERR OF BATIYLON,

«i

you

"Ah," said Mr. Manners, his hope growing,
recognise that at last ? "

"At last !" said Kingsley, in a tone of cheerful surprise.
" I have always recognised it. I cannot recall that I have
ever been wanting in my duty to you."

Mr. Manners stared at his son, debating now withir
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 witn )'ou, 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, "nol
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
hav:; mystified most men with a weaker order of mind
than Mr. Manners'; 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 al! men, perfectly pre
pared, but not for the ingenuousness with which he

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

18fl

was now confronted. He thought to turn the tables
upon Kingsley.

" Are you well ? " he asked.

" Quite well, father," replied Kingsley.

"And happy?"

"Quite ha|)py."

" And prosperous ? "

" To be cjuite 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 humour, 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 (juibbling, you, who know me so well aind 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 con-
cerning 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 ~»e, 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

186

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

the honour that is due to you shall be cheerfully rendered.
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
And

now.

well. She has not a sorrow in the world
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 delivcrt d
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 jilace it contained a warning
that if he made any further endeavour to force himself into
his father's presence, proceedings would be taken against
him for 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 coUimunication 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 to be of long
duration. This paragraph was read by Kingsley, and
caused in h ra the first spark of resentment he had exhi-
bited since ais return.

col(

for

som

mot

the

Torr,f.:R8 ok baryws.

187

," I am sorry," he saiH u .u .
cold blooded, and no friend of mfne W , 'fu''*"K"ous and

r™.n'Lv;;;Ldr'':ri,vi"^r -= "--<' -e „.„„

And here the courc** ^f
•ha; 'he curtain shall foU^for/cetaTn r"'^'" '" "«^"*y
^-„ .eve„.«.n years «ill hlv^XeV^:,. ^"en i, risei;

18S

TOlLElia OF BABYLON.

I i^

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. TlKy
poison nil v, and the awaking would be sad and bitter
were the li. ..ic 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 inste:i(l
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 ot
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 tiie 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 pos-
sessed her, but even then, had she known what she learnt
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 byj
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 ditti-j
culties in their way. Had she been aware of these, not)
alone her love for Kingsley but her practical good sense

and s(
yield
follow
and c(j
truth :
eyes,
either
early d,
deficier
hard
she blar
He had
had not
lattle.
need w£
consider
upon licj
worked (
her. Fr
lecoverec
he d d lid
inent with
so they w
to lighten

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

181

and self respect would have effi.clually directed her not to
yield to his implorings. Hut these hidden troni her, she
followed the dictate-, of her heart. All the more devoted
and considerate towards him was she when she learnt the
truth ; all the more noble did his conduct aj)|jear in her
eyes. If reproach lay at either doer, 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 qiialities which are necessary to fij^ht the
hard battle of life even with moderate success. Should
she blame him for this ? What right had she to d(^ so ?
lie had not deceived her, and his prospects and education
had not been of a nature to render uim 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 iicr own shoulders the burden of the struggle, and
worked cheerfully end 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 d d little to help the home, his gentleness, his content-
ment 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.

)r«ji

too

TOILEIW OF BABVIX)N.

CHAPTKR 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 re-introduced it will be pertinent to touch
upon certain political changes which had taken place in
the social condition of the peoi)le during this period.
The growth oi 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 become bolder, and were now winding them-
selves firmly and stoutly around the roots of old institu-
tions 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 mon-
strous the idea of affinity between them and those who
moved in the lower grooves, f here was a time when the
lower classes themselves would have regarded as the height
of effrontery the idea of raising their eyes in any otlier
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 feudal-
ism 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 sti'l
rarer. The penny newspaper has drawn prince and peasant,
noble and serf — for we have thelattereven in free England —
closer together, and have taught the multitude that all men
and women are human alike, and that there exists in the
up;;er grades no divine right of power and supremacy.
And strangely enough, it is through this very means that

the higl
and the
iias also
nient of
forced u
ahle nee
order of
w'iiich

powerless
happily,

of the pe
that is
victims th
inherent n
up with th
ding chara
that there
'act, and w
I belter end-
a better b
I society peril
[present. "
j«cre never
[vices of St.
[parent. Th
Jthe higher
[present day
liestimony wl
; There are cc
I in justificatio
^"lall meand<
^ of the gi
iiust come.
:he age— evei
:pon it— to
|vner of a gn
>' vice and m
i'lg his shoi
;iem, and of
ne aflfair of
'ther from fe
^ accepted.
tis the owne

TOILERS OF BABYLOPf

the higher classes have be^n f. ^

jnd the miKht of the lowe' Th?f^ '° ^^^««"'-^'^ the po^er
has also be^n promoted by othir "^^ '°"^'*'0" of tCw
'"ent of intelligence Theln^ ^'^"^es than the advS
forced upon reasoning minds ^l '\ °^ Population ha,

X^'irt''''' '^^'^^^ch ngTfn'th '^^^^^^ ^^^' '"-^
order of things ; and th.» t!!^ ^"^ hitherto existinir

inherent matter ;?• scarcely to blame Jt iJ *^^

arem Th '" *"« "ever more ^o'^.n^ """"'"« ""d
,/irent. fhere was a time «hZ '^J^P'<:>ious ai 1 ao-

**>•■ h'gherand lower ch^J. " ""<=.'' °f ""X bo.h £

'litre are cogent and nowerf„j ^ ™''=«<' «o perceive

; justification by ^^hZeZZT^J!^ \^ '"^^u^d

all meandering rivulets rtS, bm siUm'"'' l"' ""^'^ "«

% of the grand tide. Out of viic *^">'. ""^^^ ""e roll-

If come. It is, as it has ever h^ '^^!"'"8 <=''aos good

on^'r^"" """ "«« darkness no 1' '"" ""^ fashion of
;Pon it~to shift and evari^f '""^er weighs heavily
*.erof a great landed estate ./"".""""'"y- ThutX^
"ce and misery can be fo.mi P""'""' "^ "hich hotbed!
"8 his shoulders when ^Zf' " '" ">« ^abit of shrn^
em and of saying'^n effS-.lff""°" '^ directed ?o
«e affair of my alent= » t, '. , . '^ "<" my affair it i.
*er from fearf cSi^^ or iLdT'"""''- ""ich ^r n4
■e accepted I, j^ ,he 'l^J^ ' u'!'''T'.'*" "° longer
"^«>e owner and the owner Xe^'Sho T^"'''''^:

«»*one, who thrives and

192

TOILERS OF BABYLOi^.

fattens upon these systems, who is in justice accountable
for the evils of which he is undoubtedly the breeder 1 and
the attitude he assumes proves him to be unfittea 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 nis ; 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 vere veiy 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 ho\v
Nansi«» 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 neighbourhood —
was built upon part of an estate which belonged to a family
the head of which sat in th^ 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 neigh-
bour 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

TOILKRS OK BAin'LON.

193

together — tliere 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 fcetid 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 wasliing to
do ; the children were young and helpless, and the life
they all lived can bv more easily imagined than described.
To describe it faithfully would be impossible in these pages,
the details are so frightful and vile. And it is in no class
spirit, in no spirit but that of mournfulncss and amaze-
ment, that the fact is repeated — that the virtual owner of
this back cellar sat m 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 prac-
ticable 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 u])on those occa-
sions, which were frequent enough, when he was drunk —
the man could be seen by passers-by plying his thread and
awl. Fortimately for himself and for everybody about him,
he was a bachelor.

There were two rooms on the ground-floor, the front oc-
cupied 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 recjuest,
the man, being a strict Conservative, was idle, allowing his
wife to accompany a friend of his, who "".rove quite a roar-
ing trade in fairly good neighbourhoods with his barrow of
seasonable flowers. For this labour she was j)aid 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,

«3

104

TOJLERS OF BABYLON.

!■§;

'H!

upon the manufacture of match-boxes, at the rate of twopence
three farthings a gross. Their united earnings never ex-
ceeded 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 wh>e, 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, probal^ly
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 paralysed.
The wife had become a shirt-maker, 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 cir-
cumstances, 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 mipossibility 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
'-laughter, 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, Uved 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 ot the
house was twelve feet, its depth twenty feet ; and it will he
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

man

man,

tion

know

plead

befori

not se

avail

stewai

It wa«

niembe

obtain

which t

men an

These,

give ve

good-hu

selves ir

Thel

nature ;

characte

great to

with sm

being tw

other foi

ing them

made ap

and then

club, to

this mov

carpenter

followers

knowledg

which he

From t

prospered

in the dis

existence

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

Itt

many built upon land owned by an enormously wealthy
man, one who helped to make laws for the social regenera-
tion of the people. Were the facts forced upon his
knowledge, in the way of accusption, he would doubtless
j)lead 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.

there

er lot

have

gher

lad it

: and

other

small

their

, but

room

-the
Igsley
Ipt in
It the
111 he
ke it

nber
can

^e of

CHAPTER XXXI.

It was a great night at the Wilberforce Club, and the
membeis 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-humouredly accepted the position, and split them-
selves 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 labour in all the
great towns and c'ties of the kingdom. It commenced
with small beginnings, the origind number of members
being twelve, who met weekly at the lodgings of one or the
other for the purpose of discussing political matters affect-
ing 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 organising 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.

From the day of its formation the Wilberforce Club had
prospered, and 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 jiresident, a position

13*

loe

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

E !

which he filled for many years ; but although he was still in
the vigour of life, he had resolved to retire from the ottico.

"You want new blood, my lads," he said; "you might
as well have a king over you 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, iliat
there was a likchhood of the introduction of a jjcrsonal
matter at a meeting which might prove exciting and inter-
esting. 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
a Mr. Richard Chappel, the other was Kingsley Manners,
who was popular, and a favourite with all the members of
the Wilberfjrce. 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 entertain-
ments, in the heart of which lurked some political object ;
processions against, or in favour of some measure which
was then being discussed in the House of Commons ; the
right of publ c meeting in public places, and so forth.
These ambitious and hot-blooded members had been kept
n moderate subjection by Mr. Bartholomew, and now re-
oiced in the prospect of a president of less force of
baracter

Na
Wilb(
was
should
movei
cause
"K
amuse
liked
pleasuj
occup)
reach.'
Kin^
serious
surface
ward tc
Mr.
"Yo
cording
the yeai
for a nu
faction,
done — f
At th(
posed ^
seconde(
Kingsley
no other
meeting.
" I pr
steps of
elections
reason o
going to
about, a
as your p
Then
some litt
great im
said he i
He spok
He advc
famous t

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

197

of
or

rho
It

ice.

Ihat

this

lin-

Ict;

lich
the
[th.

I re-
ef

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 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,
seriouslv discomposed Mr. Loveday. He saw beneath the
surface, and suspected that Kingsley was simply put for-
ward to assist the views of others.

Mr. Bartholomew opened the proceedings.

" You know," he said, " what we are met to decide. Ac-
cording to the rules, you are now to . lect a president for
the year. You have done me the honoL* of re-electing me
for a number of years, and I believe I have given you satis-
faction. I hope that our new president will work as I have
done — for the general good of all."

At the conclusion of this short speech a member pro
posed Mr. Ricliard Chappel as president. He was duly
seconded, and then another member proposed Mi'.
Kingsley Manners, who was also seconded. There being
no other candidates, the aspirants for office addressed the
meeting.

" I propose," said Mr. Chnppel, "to tread in the foot-
steps of our late worthy president, Mr. Bartholomew. In
elections we have made ourselves a bit of a power, and the
reason of this is that we have always seen v here 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."

Then Kingsley addressed the meeting. He had for
some little time past regarded this approaching event as of
great importance, and had prepared himself for it. He
said he was in favour of j)uhlic meeting in all public spaces.
He spoke against the monopoly of brewers and distillers.
He advocated universal suffrage, and characterised as in-
famous the neglect of sanitary laws in the dwellings of the

198

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

people. The whole aim of government, he said should he for
the benefit of the many, and not of the few. There were old-
time privileges which, perhaps, could not be suddenly abol-
ished, but to which at all events, a limit should be set. He
j>poke for half ?n hour, and the tenor of his observations
may be gathered from this brief summary.

"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
Jian 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
tnust 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 pocnt, 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 oar 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 re-
solved to take this opportunity of ventilating his private
wrongs, and had, indeed, been urged to that course by the
more inflammatory spirits. His story was not an un-
common one, and may be narrated in a very few words.
He was a working man, of course, with one child, a
daughter whom he idolised. This daughter, to his grief
and despair, had left her home, and it was, the father said,

a gen|
man
wronj
the vil

find

BarthJ

speakil

of thil

geners

meetii

This n

and ap

are dete

the acci

these tri

an indel

Parkii

been ten

in a suj

name w

proved t

of the ^

election,

formed

neighbot

father vn

pathy w

manner,

Wilberfo:

hardship!

had rems

family, h

nature m

of workin

day. Th

away tog<

" It is

ness of t

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

199

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 ; as a prudent
general, therefore, he proposed the adjournment of the
meeting, which broke up in some slight confusion.

CHAPTER XXXII.

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 — anyone 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 round the
neighbourhood. To feel and express sympathy for the
father was humanly natural, but here and there this sym-
pathy 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 Arm 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 whor*, also, was Mr. Love-
day. These two more intelligent of the audience walked
away together.

" It is remarkable," said Dr. Perriera, " to note the blind-
ness of these ignorant orators to palpable facts. The way

2(K)

TOILfRS OF BABYLON.

in which Mary Parkinson was brought up was enough to
ruin any girl. A lather 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 emi)loy-
ment. This is an unusual record ; but it has not benefituJ
him. When his wife was alive, she and he between thtm
spent every penny of his earnings ; she was fond of incon-
gruous colour in her dress, fond of mock jewellery, fond of
aping the foolish fashions of her betters. She was fond of
worse things — of music-halls and their brutalising vulgarity.
I am well aware that it is absolutely necessary to provide
amusement for the people ; without it life would be un-
endurable ; but I have always been of the opinion, and ». x-
periencc has confirmed it, that p.musement in a worse form
than that provided by the music-hall could scarcely be de-
vised. 1 speak of the entertainments as a whole. The: c
are portions of them which are innocently amusing i.rd
healthful, but the most popular features are those vvh < !i
the exponents of coarseness and vulgarity provide. I li id
some opportunity of studying Mrs. Parkinson's char.nc r,
and I know that it was this coarser clement of the ent r-
tainments that attracted her. I frequently heard her sii ::,■
ing verses of songs which I regret to say were and . ij
pojnilar, and the true meaning of which is an offence t(j

decency. The
bottom of the

mischief is that this moral poison is at 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 mot on (;r
a gesture, this form of expression is carried away by ilie
audience and used by them when they sing the song in
private. It is to Parkinson's credit that he preferred t ic
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 ex-
cuse any person who ignores its responsibility. Parkinson

allowed
and t(
which
would
"I
I take
affectiol
As hi
and turl
youth
there, bl
hours o{
lung in
was one
and du
within i
surprise(
"Do
" No,'
"He
anxious i
" I wil
come hor
him."

" Yes,
myself, t<
"Nans
is troublii
" Yes,"
is — I do ]
" Whei
" At he
returns,"
"But y
"No;
late. Thi
it to him.
and that
himself;

"Then
after her,
" Do y<
"No, n

TOILERS OF lUBYLON".

201

\\:

lIic

.'10

lit'

allowed his wife to take their little Mary to the music-halls
and to implant in her nature a fouiiclniion 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."

As he made this remark a hand was laid upon his arm,
and turning, he saw Nansie. From her »"ace the beauty of
youth had 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, " soniethii-g
is troubling you."

" Yes," she answered frankly j " 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 Kingsli^yfor — to explain
it to him. Tell him I may not be home till the mornidg,
and that Hester is waiting for hmi. 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 mv life that it

2J2

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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, mis-
fortune 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, "but here and there is a life which an
angel would be proud to live."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Some three months after this nig^ht a gentleman was sitting
with a friend in a well-appointel^ house in Harley Street.
The host was a man in the prime of life, his name Holling-
worth ; 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 busi-
ness. 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 period-
ical visits to P^ngland upon his uricle's private affairs, ot
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 gentlj
a servant
" Did y|

"I tol(

turbed."

" Well

" He sal

every dav

Mr. Hoi

" Did hi

" Yes, s|

was."

" Parkin
I have not
Mr. Manm
His gue
nothing in
" He hai
servant.

" I rerae

that he was

"He pai

"Well, ^

mason, eh ?

My boy D

interests.

have no ob

" None 5

The ^er

Parkinson.

visitor, anc

working m

" You w

"Yes, s

and yet w

HoUingwo

now than '

of the W

himself in

" It see

" It was

" Well,

respecting

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

208

two gentlemen was interrupted by the announcement of
a servant that a man wished to sec Mr. HolUngworth.

" Did you say I was busy ? "

" I told him so, sir, and that you could not be dis-
turbed."

" Well ? "

" He said he must see you, sir, and that he would come
every day and ni^^ht till he did. "

Mr. Hollingworth groaned.

" Did he give you his name ? '*

" Yes, sir. Mr. Parkinson — a stone-mison, 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 work ng man's
interests. A popular cry. Show Mr. Parkinson up. You
have no objection, Mr. Manners ? "

"None at all."

The servant retired, and returned, ushering in Mr.
Parkinson. Mr. 'HolIin;^worth cast a keen glance at his
visitor, and saw that ho 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 holdmg
liimself 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,

204

TOTLRRS OF BAnYLON.

[I-

has lately been returned to I'arliament 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. HoUingworth smiled.

" You have come, then, upon political business ? '*

" No, sir; I have come upon private business."

" What private business can there be between you and
me, who are perfect strangers to each other ? "

" You will understand if you will listen to mc, 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. HoUingworth,
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 is on your side, not on mine," retorted Mr.
Parkinson, speaking as warmly as Mr. HoUingworth had
done, " and the blame rests with you and yours."

Mr. HoUingworth'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 ; and if we had been let
alone, my girl and me, there would have been no occasion

for ml
our ij
gentle

is a
"M

that's
woiil 11
were |
would!
thrtur.

TOII.RRS OF RABYLON.

909

for me to be here now ; but we were not let alone, to live
our lives our own way. Wc were interfered with by a
gentleman."

" Come, come, my friend," said Mr. HoUingworth, " this
is a mere claj) trap."

•' Not a bit v>f clap-trap about it, sir. Hard, bitter truth ;
that's what it is. \ccording to the order of things, my ^irl
wonl 1 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 j^'one
thr;'ii;,'h life respectable."

"Oh," remarked Mr. HoUingworth, flippantly, "she has
spoilt her chance of that ! "

" It's been spoilt 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 that I've come to a
knowledge of things. 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 thit's reasonable," exclaimed Mr
HoUingworth, " 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. HoUingworth. He was
nettled by the tone and attitude of the man, and was dis-
posed to resent these signs by a lightness of manner in his
reception of the uninvited confidence that was being reposed
in him.

"VVhat 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 anujel 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."

" rU give it 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 Im 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."

206

TOILERS OF BABYLON

When Mr. Parkinson uttered the naiiie of Manners, Mr.
llolHngworth started, and glanced at his visitor j but the
great contractor made no movement.

" Your daughter being found and sfuved," said Mr.
Hollingworth, "there is a pleasant ending of your story."

*' Not at all, sir. There's been a wroi^g done that must
be righted. When my girl ran away from her home I was
for a long time fairly mad, and was ready to strike him and
her dead at my feet if I had the chance. If I'd known
wh..t 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 com
panions, 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. HoUingworth, "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."

" 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 j 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 ever she 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 wrot'=- z. letter to one whom she loved and honoured, a
gi:: 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

207

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, / 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, 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 earnt. 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 ; there was nothing sudden, no news all at
once that my Mary had been almost dying, and nursed oack
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' heart is not only a heart of love and
mercy, it is a heart of wisdom, and when she had well pre-
pared 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

208

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

IV'

into my tnind; it came thefre out of my own sorrow and
Bclf-rejiroach, but it was Mrs. Manners who planted the
Seed. I took my girl home, hoping and believing that
everything would be right, and resDlved, too, to do all I
c jr.ld to make 'em right. But the Cf ntrary has hanp^ntd,
and another disgrace, that none of us but my Mary knew, is
thri citening me now. The companions she used to asso-
u ate with Won't have atiythlng to say to her. The poor can
tic hard, sir, as well as the rich — I've found that out ; can
he hard, and unjust, and merciless. Pei'ha[)s it was my
Mary's own fault. She went away a merry, chattering
magpie, singing, and laughing, and chirruping like a ctirket/
She came back quiet and melancholy, and she moves about
as though she wanted to die. The only woman friends she
has are MidS Hester and her mother; she's faithful and
loving to the 1, but often when they are gone I find her
Crying to herself H to break her heart. Now, sir, as was
natural, I tried to got out of her the name of the man who
has brought this ruin and shame upon U9, but never a word
Would shu let slip, even to them who proved themselves better
frands to her than I was. Seeing she was so quiet and
s!n', I looked out for letters ; none came, and if she wrote
any she has kt pt it secret from me. VVi:h the new disgrace
tlirt atening us that only a few days ago came to my know-
ledge, I was more determined than ever to find out the
mm who must do her justice. I had never pried into the
little bov of clothes she brought home with her, and that she
k-pt locked in her bedroom, but I thought myself justified
n nv in opening it unknown to her. It wasn't difficult ; it is
a clieap, common box, and almost any key the size of the
lork 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
r^traight, 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. 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
ydur servants until you hear what name is written on the
back of the portrait I found in my poor girl's box."

the!

^OILERS OF BABYLO??.

209

**Lct me hear it, then, without any further b ating about
the bush."

" It IS that of your son, Mr. Richard Holliujworth 1 "

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Mr. Hollingworth fell back in his chair, shocked and
horrified. If what this man said was true, the son in
whose honour and rectitude the father had implicitly
believed, had lived an 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 fir .t 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 hap-
pened 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 re-
sult 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 mterview."

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 prcttrred 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 hstener to what had passed. " Nothing can be

TOILERS OF BABYLON

^l:

decided in the absence of my son, ?nd you must not sup-
pose 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.

" Vou would not think of offering us money," said Mr.
Parkinson, in a tone of deep sternness.

" No, no, of course not. And vet but I can say no

more at |)resent. Have you the portrait with you?"

" Ves, I brought it, expe<'ting you to ask for it."

He handed it to Mr. Hollingworth, who, the moment he
saw it, gave utterance to a cry of joyful surprise. It wa> Ih
cry of a man who had been suddenly and unexpectedly re
leased from unendur^le 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. Park-
inson could not understand the meaning of another stran^'e
expression in Mr. HoUingworth'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 dau;3hter ? "

"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. Holling-
worth. " 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. Manner's hand, who, gazing upon it,
recognised the l.keness 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.

I'
I'.

Hol|

ycu.

«t I

"I
I wi|

fron

worti
son,
the i|

«c

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

211

:■

Hollingworth. ' With all my heart I sympathise with
ycu."

** 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. Holling-
worth, pointing to a i)icture on the wall. '* That v: my
son, Mr. I'arkinson. You can trace no resemblance between
the portraits."

" No, they are not the same men. What is the mean-
ing of this mystery? It shall not remain a mystery long — 1
swear it ! "

" Is there any reason why this interview should be pro-
h)nged ? " 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 honour
able man."

" I hold you to your word, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, " and
'f" 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 tiie 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 ap-
pears to be a double villainy in this affair, and it shall be
brought to light. In my daughter's belief, tht- name of ttie
man who betrayed her is Richard Hollingworth, and a your
son's name has been so used it has been used for a vile pur-
pose, and your honour is concerned as well as my <>wn — if

212

TOU.KIt.S OK BABYLON.

1 1 i\

you will excuse a common working man for speaking of his
honour."

'* Nay, nay, Mr. Parkinson," said Mr. HoUingworth,
gently, " surely you will not do me a further injustice ! "

** It is far from my wish, sir; but it is natural — perhai)s
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. HoUingworth.
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.

Mr.

He turned to go, but stopped at the instance of
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 honour may also
have cause to be grateful that what you had to say to this
gentleman was said in my presence. Lc»t this assurance
content you, and give me the favour 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

pe|

al(
wal

TOILERS OF liAHYLON.

213

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 ot injustice. It remains for
your nephew, Mr. Inglefield, to clear himself from the foul
charge. If he cannot do so, he has jjlayed 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 ])assed
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 honour. 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
honour. 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 dishonourable direction — never !
And the step being taken, he did not flinch from its conse
(juences. He had thrown in his hard fortune with the
woman to whom he had [)ledged 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?" asked Mr. Hol-
lingworth 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 de-
scribed her as an angel of goodness. Was it possible that

214

TOILERS OF PABYLON.

soir. rlose relation existed between these two who bore the
same ...in.e ?

" 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 h.n c
spoken ot him but for 9 reference made by the man who has
just left us."

" Yes J 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 dishonourable action. He was incapable of it."

'* Is he living still ? " asked Mr. Hollingworth, laying his
hand sympathisingly 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 tonight; 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 so- -
thing 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 sanie. 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

215

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 that ruined my daughter escapes his punish-
ment here— and I'll do my best that he shan'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 ( hurch 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 '11 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*
face, upon which the light of a street lamp was shin ng.

"You are asking close questions," he said, "and I'm
gett ng suspicious of people."

" You are suspicious of me ? "

" Put it as you like. You don't know me, and never
heard of me before tonight, and I don't suppose you care a
brass farthing whether you 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. Y'ou're in the light, you see,
and I'm in the dark, and here we are talking together con-
fidcntial'y, with the differei.cc 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 ttll my story ; you've got
in your mind my name, and my girl's name and shame, like-
wise the name of the man I'd take by the throat if he stood
before me now and I knew it. L kewise 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 some-
thing 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 laik you're
having with me is for a good purpose. It may be for a bad

919

TOILKRS OP BARYLON.

1^^
111

one. I've no call to trust you that I can see. Give me a
reason."

" 1 find no fault with 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 pur{)Gse, 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' face.

"Go ahead," he said.

"You said," resumed Mr. Manners, steadily, "that her
being poor, stands to her credit here, and will stand to her
credit in another world, and I asked in what wiiy."

" 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 tor
me and my girl, but what she does for everyone 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 triend 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 heieP'

TOILERS OF IJAin l/)N'.

217

CHAPTER XXXV.

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 any-
thing, that she is no better that 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 thou^'ht th it 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 hear
ing of a Mr. Manners, a great contractor, who was once nr)
better than a bricklayer, and who had made himstif 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 enviou:^
ones. You made your money fairly, I've heard, and
though you drove hard bargains, you didn't cut down
wages."

818

Ton.Kus OK HNnvroN

and

her.

" That is true. I shall be pleased it" you will reckon it
to my t redit now."

" I'll do that — it's no more than fair. And the lady 1
speak ot may be a connection of yours, you say. 'I'liats
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
talked of. These things get about, you see. '

"What you say makes me think all the belter of
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 conversa ion, 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 repara-
tion, 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; th-^; 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, figu'-a-
tively 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
would
and gl
allowcl
had b
tortur
frank,
smote
Those
accusi
nical, r
as indi
and da
sufferin
a murn^
cheerfu
of the I
land m
been
brighten
the loss
without
unreason
of daily,
no apj)ea
trod, wit
which he
his hand;
surprise
modesty
pleading
any posit
adorn it,
would ha'
and frivol
of his an
meeting ]
her hono
youth an(
dent view
his wife,
had she m
And whej

TOILKKS OF UAIJYLON.

219

than the ingenuousness and nnsclfishncss of his nature,
would havi' caused him to lay at his father's feet the honour
and j^'lory which we would assuredly have won had he '.)ecn
allowed to follow the career which, in his young manhood,
had been mapped out for hiu.. 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 tyran-
nical, ruthless, and unjust. The manner of Kingsley's lite,
as indicated by Mr. Parkinson's clianii)ionship 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 j)eople around them of which the highest in the
land might have been j)roud. And all this time it had
been in his, the father's, power to have lightened and
brightened their lot without in the remotest dtgree feeling
the loss ; and all this time they had lived and laboured
without uttering one word of reproach against him whose
unreasoning, dictatorial conduct had made their life a life
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 honourably, and that she, urged in some degree by
youth and love, and in some degree by Kingsley's confi-
dent view of the future, had a -cepted 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

220

TOILERS OF BABYLON,

IS?'

lit

wooed and won a lady, he had held an opinion of his
father which placed Mr. Manners above the sordid con-
siderations 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. Parkinsons
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 appro\ e
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.
Symr»athising with all who suffer from unjust and uneoual
laws, but staunch 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. KingsJey
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 questionsi
had been asked and answered, " I've told you all I know!
about Mr. and Mrs. Manners and their daughter, and If
should like to know what good it is going to do me."

"I
"Y

son, "

. can oi

me, th;

"It(

Mr. H(

the ma

You di

you; p

"If t

Manner

wrong, J

'• Thci

name.

himself;

His nam

"At f

Manners

rupted re

" That

expect !

like your

" Then

have told

t(J niy he

• service, ar

niy power.

for the pr

to render

of; I ask

; " For h.

"For a

" Have

" I have

A queer

infinitely g]

'\lr. Manni

setting this

'tr. That

torment, or

Mr. Man

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

221

;erved
ristics.

H'ual

only
inners

,'ledge
their

spect ;

I, tbey
igbley
inners
igsley
[•et, of I
It the
[y was ]

Istionsj

IkuoNVJ

md I

**I do not follow yon," said Mr. Manners.

" You've been so much occupied," explained Mr. Parkin
son, "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, Pve 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 liis
name. T 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 inter-
rupted 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 nie 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 ; 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 great service than I dream of," he said, repeating
Mr. Manners' words. " Of course there's but one way of
setting this thing right, and then I should lose my daugh-
ter. That's what we have children for — to plague, or
torment, or disgrace us."

Mr. Manners laid his hand gently on Mr. Parkinson's

222

TOILEUS OF JiAIJYLON.

Is;;>

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 favour 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 XXXVI.

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 iongei
stern, self-willed, and arrogant ; he was conscious of a cer
tain 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 hc.n
darkened all his life. But now and again his thoughts wan-
dered to Mark Inglefield, and he dwelt upon the contrast
between this man and his son. Kingsley so impetu )us,
open-minded, and frank, Inglefield so cool, method cil,
and wary ;' the one wearing his heart upon his sleeve, the
other keeping strict watch ujjon it, so that h^ might not be
tempted to follow its impulses to his own disadvanti^^'e.
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 h;s
mind to leave England, perhaps for ever, he had made cer-
tain 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 obe-
dient in all things. That the com panior ship had been Dro-

I
di-

king

')y tw

')oast

!iabits

■Jreaki

ness o

for his

rich fc

tastes

reverse

restrain

himself

was not

able an

in dece

have b(

Mr. Ma

" Is }

the serv

"No,

Mr. iV

lighted,

hands cl;

had built

future ar

He rem

whom Ki

obtain in

circles of

been abro

charge of

with it. '

TOILERS OP BABYLO».

223

igci
:c\
ice.

!h:\i
it

trast

ic.Al,

the
t be

c'.d
lers

his
Icer-

:rly

lond

bbe-

i)ro-

ductive of little pleasure was perhaps as much the fault of
one as of the other. Disappointed in his dearest wishes,
Mr. Manners* principal desire was to be left to himself, and
^lark Inglefield humoured 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' heir.
The prospect was a glowing one, and he revelled in it,
although there were occasions when a great wave of dis-
content swept over him. He was not a young man ; how
long would he have to wait ? Mr. Manners was his senior
l)y twenty-five years, but his health was perfect. It was his
' )oast that he had never had a day's illness in his life, and his
liabits were such that there seemed little probability of his
breaking down before he was a very old man. Luxurious-
ness 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', 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 doinjs which would
have been reckoned to his disadvantage had ever reached
Mr. Manners' ears.

" 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 1,'as 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 iii 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. Man.iers had
been abroad the magnificent house had been left in the
charge of caretakers, the owner not caring to let or part
with it. There was another motive. Despite the apparent

924

TOILERS 0^ BABYLON.

irrevocableness of the break between him and Kingsley,
there lurked in Mr. Manners' 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 awhile was diinly
recognised. Giaiually it faded into mere nothingness and
was lost sight of, but by that time Mr. Manners had be-
come 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 ren^ unce-
ment. 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. WlKtherin the depths of her heart she had pre-
served some touch of that most sacred of human attri-
butes, a mother's love for her only child, was not 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 mementoe" 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

boo
woi
spir
porl
to

pote
read
quiv
he cl
ing s(
In
with
used
With
denly
howev
yieldii
which
condu
upon
Kingsl
separat
fronted
evidenc
sitting ;
son's d(
anguish
nor cou
objects
bed, the
bits of j
moved c
touched
have tak
the fathe
never m
smile of
honour a
He ret
a minut€
stairs. ]

appeared.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

225

ie
ie

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, tread-
ing 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 o!d masterfulness he wheeled sud-
denly 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 endeavour 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 con-
fronted 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 j
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 jewellery — it seemed as if nothing had been re-
moved 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
honour 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.

226

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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' 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 consiacration that had impelled him
to urge on the marriage. He had as little true love tor
Miss Hollingworth as the young lady had for him. She
plays no part in this story, but it is not out of place 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 ot
convenience, and they were content to leave the prelimi-
naries 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 laboured under the belief that
he had succeeded in throwing dust into his patron's eyes.
Mark Inglefied 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'
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 o a will which he had reason

tokii
intert
Inglt
to fai
l)atroi
now h
"M
Mann(
Mar
and Wi
"I
"Nc
This
man.

"I tl

stood, ,

practica

"I 1

thing el

nation." 1

" Fror

" Fron

All Mi

no warim

he had <

was seldo

"I an:

quired," I

it was har

ance copli

It was i

was nothii

enough tc

himself th

anything v

from him.

" I was

"When I'

that everyt

"And i

quickly.

"Yes;
naturally U

yumaHa

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

227

IHe
ice,

to know was imperious ; but as time wore on Mr. Manners'
interest in the affairs of life grew weaker, and Mark
Ingltfield 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 Ingleficld detected nothing significant in the tone,
and was not in the least disturbed.

" 1 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 under-
stood, and that it was a mere matter of arrangement of
practical details."

" I thought so, too," said Mr. Manners. " Some-
thing else, however, has cropped up, which needs expla-
nation."

" From me ? " inqu'red Mr. Inglefield.

" From you," said Mr. Manners.

All Marie Inglefield's astuteness came instantly into piay ;
no wariness was expressed in his face, for the reason that
he had comph te control ove^ 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 re-
quired," he said, in a tone of modest assurance. " Perhaps
it was hardly to be expected that an affair of such import-
ance 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 negociation was
naturally less than yours. Do not stand, Inglefield;

15*

228

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

what we have to say to each other will occupy a few
minutes."

Mark Inglefield, with inward anxiety and a cheerful ex-
terior, 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 ira-
l^ending, 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 ma/, 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."

her

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

229

a
in

|r.

" Then the difficulty you refer to did not spring from
her ? "

" It did mt."

" 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 con-
duct ; it was by far the best to avoid anything that savoured
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 may
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 recognised 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 re-
vealed."

" 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. HoUingworth's house, with the purpose of

230

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

seeing that gentleman, and he refused to go away now with-
out 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 leant back in his chair with an air of
content, expressing in this action a consciousness of com-
plete 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. Paikinson'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 apt 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 tuiiiUed.
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 yov, 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 honour. 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 m

and tc

me all

annoui

Parkin!

the gro

strong

to me.

demanc

Parkins

intend

would

morning

"To-

an exhil

I have r

have be<

to me."

TOILEhS OF BABYLON.

231

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 nii;ht, or
would you prefer to defer their consideration till the
morning ? "

" To-nii;ht, 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
Fiave been planted there by a man who is an utter stranger
to me."

232

TOILEI{S OF BABYLON.

I n

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Mark Inglefif.i^d's assumption of virtuous indignation
would have been supplanted by a feeling of veritable con
stcrnation, had he been aware of what was passing through
the mind of his patron. Mr. Manners owed it to himsclt,
and was fully determined, to lay bare the naked truth of
Mr. Parkinson's story; but, true or false, it was of small
im])ortance to him, in comparison with the feelings whicli
had been aroused within him by the description which Mr.
Parkinson had given of Kingsley and Nansie. e had
promised to make Mark Ingleficld his heir, and i 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 Ingiefield the whole ot
his property. There was enough and to spare for am|)le
jirovision 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 Ingiefield. In the early
days of their association he had endeavoured to acquire a
feeling of sentiment towards his nephew, in order that the
alienation between himself and Kingsley should becompkte
and irrevocable ; but Ingiefield was not gifted with the
([ualities to win such an affection. Failing this, he and Mr.
Manners travelled togetlier 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 under-
stand that I intend myself to investigate the matter."

" I understand so, sir," said Mark Ingiefield, inwardly
curs'ng Mr. Manners for his obstinacy.

" You should be glad that I have resolved upon this
course. Declaring yourself innocent as you do, the result

shot

Hell

wen(

wish!
(t

TOILERS OF HABYLON.

2.13

the
Jr.

lis

lit

should more completely exonerate you. In which case Mr.
HoUingworth 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. Mai ners. " 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. HoUingworth and I remained in conference for a few
minutes. It was then that Mr. HoUingworth 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 intamous scoundrel.' Strong words, Ingle-
field."

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Inglefield, "and that they should be
used towards me fills me with indignation and amazement."

" Innocent, your feelings are justiHable, and you wiU find
Mr. HoUingworth ready to make amends. In what he said
I fully concurred. I wiU explain as briefly as possible the
matter of which Mr. Parkinson complains. He is a work-
ing 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, wearyiiiu; 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 probaljly have committed
suicide ; but this lady "

"Lady, sir?" interrupted Mark Inc^lefield, noting with
curiosity a certain emphasis of tenderness which, uncon-
sciously to himself, Mr. Manners put upon the word.

" I said a lady, although she is as poor as those among
whom she lives."

"Ah," sneered Mark Inglefield, "a piece of working
man's clap-trap, introduced for the purpose of imposing
upon your benevolence."

234

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

"I am not noted for benevolence," said Mr. Manners,
drily ; "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 ntw
phase in the rich man's character, and, with his altered
demeanour, for which Inglefield could discover no explic-
able reason, boded changes. Still he did not lose his stlf-
possession.

" Of every twenty who beg of you," he said, " nineteen
are rank impos\:ors."

" 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 estrange-
ment 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
eijual conseciuence to his prospects. All the cunning forces
of his nature cook 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,

gra^
refi

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

235

and soon found that he was threatened by another dis-
grace. 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 ; " staunch girl ! I am safe.") " Mr. Parkin-
son was not the kind of man, with this additional dis-
grace hanging over him, to rest contented with the
refusal, and he adoi)ted the extreme measure of break-
ing 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 my-
self," 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 clue in
his possession, Mr. Parkinson sought, and after some
difficulty obtained, an interview with Mr. HoUingworth, 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. HoUingworth?"

" 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. HoUingworth's son, Richard,
who has just won his election, of being Mary Parkinson's
betrayer. Shocked at the charge, Mr. Hollingworth de-
manded 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. Holling-
worth, 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 HoUingworth.*'

" Whose then, sir ? *

"Yours."

Mark Inglefield started, and could have lashed himself
4or this exhibition of surprise.

?n6

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

"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 HolUngworth
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 was 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. HolUngworth,
ui)on seeing the portrait, indignantly defended his son,
whose prospects of a public, honourable 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 HolUng-
worth was the betrayer, the young gentleman should make the
girl the only reparation in the power of an honourable man."

" Marry her ? "

" That was his undoubted meaning."

" It was a convenient promise," said Mark Inglefield, with
easy assurance. " Had the portrait be. . that of his son he
would not have made it. Mr. HolUngworth is a man of the
world."

"There is no need for us to discuss that point. Your
remark does you no rrttd'it, Inglefield."

"It was founded, •," said Mark Inglefield, m a tone of
res|)ectful deference, "upon a knowbdr^ of Mr. HoUing-
worth's character."

"Mr. HolUngworth would not than.. :»( 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 ? "

pr€

effd

clej

Ml
be
dail
he

bloJ

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

237

"Very nearly. When I left Mr. Hollingworth he ex-
pressed 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 en-
lightened 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 dishonourable 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 r-e ? I can afford to treat with
quiet scorn the accusation v> aich you seem to favour against
me.

" You are still on the wrong tack — a surprise to me in a
man of so much intelligence. I expected trom you some-
thing 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. Recognising 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."

238

TOILERS OF BABYLON

*' I will do so. You are now acquainted with the dis
graceful 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, con-
nected with the wrong of which Mr. Parkinson complains ? "

" I deny it emphatically." Mark Inglefield said it boldly,
and met Mr. Manners' gaze unflinch ngly.

"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 aiifect 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 honour 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 honour 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 simi^le
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."

th
no
int

res

refi

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

"Surely, sir," remonstrated Mark Inglefield, to whom
this proposal brought a feeling of consternation, "you do
not really mean to drag bcth 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.
Tiie course I propose is an honourable course, and the
result must be your complete vindication. At the present
moment you are under suspicion ; you cannot wish to remain
so 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 att£? Ii 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, . 'nch 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 Mark 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 comjiletely 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 recognised
was vital to his prosi)ects — that there was no room in his
mind for small side issues. He found hunself incapable of
wresting his thoughts from the one grand point — how was

249

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 pro-
claimed 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 ii
the old fool going to bring forward now ? '*

left

apprj
(i

can
(t

TOILERS OF BABYLON,

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

[r.

•• 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 t
since you saw my son, Kmgsley ? "

"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'
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 w^ 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 leant his" head upon his fiCind, and a thought flashed
suddenly into Mark Ingiefield's mind.

242

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

1 ^

i'. -

IV.'.

1^^

" The past has been recalled to you, sir/' he said, in t
tone of false commiseration, *' in some si)i:cial 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 IngLfield, some-
what 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 him I have to thank for blackening
my character ! And it is by these means that he, after ail
these years, endeavours to supplant me in your respect ! "

"Restrain yourself," said Mr. Manners. "You are doing
Kingsleyan 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 owaadvantage — 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 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 bare-
faced, 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 ex-
pectations 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

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

243

lightly trifled with, especially at a time like th"s, when you cjin
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 Inglcficld, seating
himself sullenly.

" Some assistance in recalling what I learnt 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 favour," 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 toward 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
favour."

" 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."

i6*

214

TOILIiiti OF BABYLOJI

CHAPTER XXXIX.

The turn which this conversation had taken, and the un-
expected nature of the disclosures which Mr. Manners h.-id
made, were indeed surprises for which Mark Inglefield
could not possibly haxp been prepared. He had entered
the house in a condition of mind which may be designated
beatific. All his plans hnd prospered, and he had expected
to hear from Mr. Manners a thoroughly satisfactory account
of the interview between his patron and Mr. HoUingworth.
The celebration of the contemplated union with Miss
HoUingworth would have been the crowning triumph of all
his scheming. From the day when he first instilled into
Mr. Manners' ears the poisoned insinuations which were to
efect 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 })erfect 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
pau-ie 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 the bolts which
destroy them. The idea of anything like justice or Provi-
dence did not occur to him. He was angry, but his con-
science was not disturbed. His inherent and perfect
selfishness led him straight to one incontrovertible view of
the difiieulty in which he found himself. He had enemies
who, nettled and wroth at his approaching triumph, had
suddenly banded tin mselves together for the purpose of
trampling him in the dust. It was, therefore, a battle to

you

. i ''•

TOILERS OF lABYLON.

245

;•

ttie death between him and them, and recognising 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 lurked a ruthlessness of spirit which
would lead him to any extreme of crime and duijlicity. For
the unhappy girl whom he had brought to shame and ruin
he felt not one sjjark 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' last words and his response there
was not a moment's pause. Swift as lightning's Hash 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 endeavoured 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 honour 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 thnn that of being strictly just
towards you — even though finding that through ^ome mis-
chance I have drifted into errc r, 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 disappoint-
ment 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

246

ToiLKRR or rAT'.vroN.

i t;

c'rrumstancos which I have not thoir^ht of for a lonp;
niiin')cr of >iars ? "

'* I do not," saifl Mr. M mncrs, obscvln^ 'v;th displcis'irc
that Mark InglLficld cont'nucd to fcnr.e with the iM'>t
important isstios of the corvcrsation ; " but the principal n\
them cannot have osciped your memory."

" BeiuL', as it seems to me, upon my trial " s 1

Inglefield, and paused, for the purpose of asccrt in i. ;
whether this statement was in consonance with Mr. Manneis'
intention.

Mr. Manners nodded, and said :

"Yes, Inglefield, You may consider that to some extcn»
you are upon your trial."

** That being the case, sir, it strikes me that you have
already formed a judgment, withcjut hearing whit I may
have to say."

" I should be sorry to think so. Tell me in what way
you sup[)ose 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 vith what you said against her many
years ago. But I shall conluiut. to speak of her and to
regard her as a lady until I have evidence to fht cu'itrary."

" Have you seeii her, then, la*-- ly," asked IngK field, "as
well as t'e scoundrel who ha.; brought these monstrous
charges against me ? "

" You are overtaxing my patience, Inglefield," said Mr.
Manners. " You assert that you are anx-ous 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 oi^inion 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 rho pro-
duced upon me. I expected to see a woman whose appear-
ance would have justified the opinion I had forme 1 of '\cr
through your statements. I saw, on the conti<^ry, a lady of
gentle manners, a lady of culture and refinement, who
received with dignity and respect the repror.chful words I
addressed to her. She needed to be accomplished, indeed,
in duplicjy and artfulness to have so successfully simulated
the air of modesty and gentleness which distinguished her."

said
nu

beer

YoH
app

son.

her ;

TOir.KRa OF RAnYLON.

"You are not versed in the ways of such women, sir,**
said Ingkficld. *' They can deceive the cleverest of

men.

"Possibly. lam waitin}< to ascertain whether I have
been so deceived. At present, everythinj^ is in her favour.
You informed me that shi: was a vulgar, showy person whose
appearance in good society would bring ridicule upon my
son."

**'l'hat is the opinion T formed of her, from more
comjilete evidence than you are supplied with."

" I understood that you were very well aff<|uainted with
her ; intimately, I think, you said."

*' I knew her very well, sir.

" Intimately? You told me so at the time."

"Yes, sir, intimately," remarked Inglefield, inwardly
cursing his |)atron's faithful memory.

" r 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."

" 1 cannot say you are wrong, sir, but I will not pledge
myself to the i)recise words you are using."

" I do not nsk vou to do so. So long as we art- agreed
upon the general view I shall be sitisicd. For my own
j)art, I may say, Inglefield, that I am (piite certain I .lUi
putting It fairly. Most distinctly did you call her an
adventuress.''

" Was she not one, sir, in entangling your son becaus\^ he
had a wealthy father ? "

"If that was her motive, yes, she was an adventuress;
but it scarcely accords with tl e character of an adventuress
that she could be content with makin,' l)ut one appeal to
the man upon whose money she hal d-'->igns."

" You have a very positive ana decidcvl 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 rrlinriuish her designs. It
was all she had to depend u[)on. Failing success, a life of

24d

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

poverty was before her. She certainly would have tried
again."

" Surely you v/ould 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 iny judgment was cloudtd with passion ;
it is now clear, and the course T took does not commend
itself to me. Her uncle also made an .ippcal to me — only
one. He had fallen into sudden misfortune ; on the day
before he canrwe to me he had been buint 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 after-
wards. Neither in his manners was there anything vulvar
or objectionable. Although a poor man, he was well edu-
cated, 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 mintl upon these matters, now that
I hear myself speaking of them, I cannot justify my con-
duct 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
.....ning 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
disjjosod I am to spare myself. Let us put an end to this
conversation ; I am afraid to trust myself fuither."

Mark Inglefield was too discreet to offer any opposition,
and too glad to escape to i)Ut into operation the plans he
had formed. With a gentle "Good night, sir,' he was
ab'niL to leave the room, when Mr. Manners said :

*' Do not forget that we have to entjuire into the treach-

TOILERS OF liABYLON.

2:9

crous story related to me by Mr. Parkinson. You will be
ready to accompany mc at cloven o'cic-rk in the mornin;;."

'* I shall be quite ready,' said Mark Inglefield. And thus
the interview terminated.

CHAPTER XL.

Being alone in his room Mark Inglefield set to work at
opce. The first tiling he did was to write a letter, which
he addressed to Mary Parkinson. The purport of this
letter was that difliculties which had stood in his way were
fortunately removed, and that he was now in a position, or
would be in a short time, to fulfil the promise he had made
to her. This promise was that he would marry her. Ap-
pearances, 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 va; a proof of his anxiety to do what was right that
he asked her to leave her father's house the moment siie
received this letter. He was waiting for her, and would
take her away at once to commence a new and brighter 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 j there is not a
moment to lose. I have much to tell you, and I cannot rest
till I have seen 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 nair.c which was entiiely false. Put he had
not then reckoned with, the future, and had not dreamed

250

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

s )

that an exposure would 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 ;
her honour, 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 immediatly. 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 hf)use,
locking the r^oor of his bedroom, and taking the key with
him. He haa provided himself with a latch-key, 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 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 b^!ng 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 regret-
fully, 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 favoured him. Wretched wayfarers who
had no roof to cover them, and no money to pay for a bed,
are not uncommon in these jjoor thoroughfares, and one
approached him now and looked into his face — 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 :

to kni

((

gal.

TOiLERS OF BABYLON.

251

**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 neighbourhood ?"

" What game are you up to ? " she cried.

" Never mind my game," he said, " but answer my ques-
tions. Do you know these streets?"

" Do I know 'em ? Why, I was born in 'em 1 "

" In which one ? "

"In this; and wisli 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 1
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 (|Uod, or dead ! I don't 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 bouses in his company, and said,
here lives such and such an 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 tbe scent, Mark liiglefield asked
questions concerning strangers, as to their trade, families,
and other particulars. At length she came to Mr. Parkin-
son'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, auy 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

252

TOILERS OF BAHYLON.

light in it. Afraid to go to bed in the dark. A nice lot

she is ! *'

Marie 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 thfe 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 1 " said Mark Inglefield. " Read this."

He had the letter ready, with a stone attached to it, and
he threw ii skilfully almost into her hand. The girl re-
treated into her room, and Mark Inglefield waited. He
had purposely disguised his voice, fearing that in the excite-
ment of recognising 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, r.o, 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
exjjlain all as we go. I couldn't help acting as I did. My
whole future and yours, Mary, depended on it. But every-
thing 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 »vay 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 unhaj'py — so unhappy ! "

"Yes, yes," he said, interrupting her, having no desire to

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

253

encourage her to talk, " but you are happy now, and every-
thing will be well. You read rny 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 I " 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 XLI.

of
llow.

get
the
will
My

lery-
to
all

|hey

I the

At elevcR o'clock punctually the next morning, Mark Ingle-
field knocked at the door of Mr. Manners' study. They
were not in the habit of taking their meals together : this
>^as 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."

254

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

" 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 success
fully plotted; but this more lenient mood was attributahk-
only to his stern sense of justice. It was this which in
duced 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 jjatron in a good humour
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 ; mire
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 tjiat
may be cast upon my truthfulness and single mindedness
in what I unhappily was compelled to take part in many
years ago. I w ive all selfish considerations. I feel that
I am expressing myself lamely, but perhai).s 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 Hght 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 mis-
construe me. The new impressions you received were
gained from this Mr. Parkinson, whom you so unexpectedly
met at Mr. HoUingworth's house last night."

"Yes."

" Heaven forbid that I should step between father and
son I The duty that I once felt devolved upon me wa-s a

TOILKKS OF BABYLON.

255

I'OU

[re.
Iiis-

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 accom-
plishment 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 rei)eat, 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 de-
claring him to be a slanderer. I have no key to the mystery
of tne plot which, in the hands of a man lest just than your-
self, 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 resj)ecting 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 some-
thing to throw doubt upon Mr. Parkinson's eulogies ot
Kingsley and Nansie.

They did not talk 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 resi-
dence, to which they then procev. ded on foot. As they drew
near they became aware that the neighbourhood was abnor-
mally 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
round about. 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 clue to it. He inquired his

266

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

way to Mr. Parkinson's house, and, at the inoment he reached
it, was confronted by Mr. Parkinson himself

The man was in a violent state of aLjitation. His limbs
were trembling, his features were convulsed with |';is>ion,
and he gazed upon Mr. Manners without rcc(ignising
him.

" I have come," said Mr. Manners, " in accordance with
my ])r(imise "

" What promise?" cried Mr. Parkinson. "I want my
daughter — my daughter ! "

" It is about her I have come," said Mr. Mani.ers, in j^reat
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-liearted scoundrel ! You are the man whose picture
I found in my daughter's box. Give me my daugl>^rr — give
me my Mary ! "

Mark Inglefield shook him off, but with difficulty, and
the nivin stood glaring at him. Already a crowd had gath-
ered 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 es-
cape from those who held him back from springing upo i
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

scou
him

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

267

ling

-,.1 "

)nly
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 ! 1
will have the life of the man who has cast this upon me !
And that " — pointing with furious hand towards Mark
Inglcfield — " that is the monster I will have my justice
upon, without appeal to lawyers ! "

" I give you my word of honour," 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 honour 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, perfecdy
calm. "This gentleman who has accompanied me here will
testify to it. If I did not suspect that this man is not ac-
countable for his words, I would not remain here another
moiiient "

" But you must," said a friend of Mr. Parkinson ; and,
" Yes, you must, you must i " 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 ftiese ? "

208

TOILEUS OF BAKYLON.

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 to unmask a fcul plot."

" That is my intention, and the intention of my friend
here," said Mark Tnglefield, " and as you say, it will not
help him or 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 he 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 prv into any man's family affairs,
but when he makes them pi lie property and brings false
accusations against the nnocent, he is not justified in i^rum-
bling 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. Parkm-
son has fallen."

" How do you come to know his name ? " inquired a man.

" He gave it last night to this gentleman, who communi-
cated 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 tiiend and myself that
we should present ourselves here this morning for the pur-
pose of confuting them. I suppose you don't expect any-
thing fairer than that ? "

" Nothing could be fairer."

"I am sorry to learn," continued Mark Inglefield, "that
this man has been wronged, and sorry to loam that trouble
has come to him through his daughter. They are l)(ith
entire strangers to me. What I ask is that he briuL iiis
daughter forward now to corroborate my statement thai .^he
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 disapijcared
in the night."

Mark Inglefield turned towards Mr. Manners, with a
smile of incredulity on his lijjs.

you

Th
to pa
said

TOILKUS OF lUlJYLON.

259

hat

>lc

j.th

Ihis

ist
led

" Our errand here seems to I)e wasted. Let me speak to
you a moment out i>f 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, "1
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 t'lis morning, and 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, perhaj s, in saying that the whole
affair is trumped up, but undoubtedly it is iiuich exagger-
ated, 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, tp clef.r
myself of the charge?"

" I do not see that you could have done more."
"There is nothing 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 neighbourhood as this."

" It would be (juite safe. You forget that it was in just
such neighbourhoods 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 In ,.efield, with a frank smile.
"It is only my anxiety for you that made inc say what 1
did."

''There is another matter which you seem to have
forgotten. It is in this neighbourhood that my son and his
wife and daughter live. If I am not mistaken, Mr. Parkin-
son wishes to say something to us."

i7»

260

TOILERS OF T5AMVL0N.

During this collfxiuy Mr. P.i:kinson had r.ilincd himself
greatly, and now, followed by his friends, he ai^proached the
gentlemen.

"I should like to ask you a (iiiestion or two," he said,
addressing himself to Mark Inglcfield, "if yon have no
objection."

"Of course I have no objection," said Mark In^'Iclicld.
" T 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, I)landly, "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 thvit, when I taxed her with it, she con-
fessed 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 tliat
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," con-
tinued 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 in the shop windows for
sale?"

No.

Then what I want to know is," said Mr. Parkinson,

TOILFRS OF BABYLON.

fSl

;■ «

ison i

:on- I

Hild I

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istly I

I)
be

for

5on,

doggedly sticking to his point, " how your portrait fell into
her hands."

"And that, I repeat," said Mark Inglcfield, 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, ^s 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' 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 dis-
coverint^ the scoundrel who would ruin you as well as me."

Mr. Manners looked straight at Mark Inglefield. Mi'.
Parkinson's view tallied with tb'^t v; hi( h he had expressed tu
Inglefield in their interview

" I will do what I can," b . said, ' h it I really am at a loss
how to take even the ''^rst ' U'p."

"Thank you for say'".'' so n\tich. oxr. We are all at a loss,
but I don't intend to rest till 1 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 up 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 neighbourhood," replied Mr. Parkinson,
" that I know of, except me and my daughter."

262

TOILERS OF 15ABYL0JS.

"It may not be my portrait, after all," suggested Mark
Ingkficid.

" Tiiere 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 appre-
hension From what Mr. Manners had told him, Kiiigslcy's
wife had befriended Mary Parkinson, and was doubtless in
the confidence of the poor girl. Suppose Mary had shown
his ponruit to Nansie, would she have recognised it ? It was
long since he and Nansie i^id met, and time had altered his
appearance somewhat, but not sufficiently to disguise his
identity. He did not l.ietray his uneasiness, but a new
feature w;is now introduced that caused him to turn hot and
cold. This was the unwelcome and unexpected appcaiancc
of lilooming Bess upon the scene.

CHAPTER XLII.

The wretched girl did not come alone. A woman dra;:;god
her forward.

" Here you are, Mr. Parkinson," said the woman.
" Blooming Bess can tell you something about Mary's (li>
appearance last night."

"I am ruined," thought Mark Inglefield, and hoped that
Blooming Bess would not recognise him. There were
chances in his favour. 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
^ight.

'• VV'hat do you know about it ?" asked Mr. Parkinson in
great excitement.

" Oh, I doii'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 knew everytliing," he replied, "everything."

" You must, must you ? Well, tiuit'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

TOILERS OF BABY'LO>r.

263

ICi I

hrick by his mates. *' You'll only make things worse," they
liaid.

"A precious sight worse," said Bboming Bess, with a
reckless laugh. " Oh, let him get at me if he likes I 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 some-
thing 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 'Wh'j lives here? ' says he, and * Who lives here?'
says he; an J thinks I, this is a rum game ; wonder what
he's up to ! But it ain't my buiiness, is it? My business
is to earn five bob, and earn it easy; and when I have
told liim all he wanted, he gives me four bob and a bender,
and sends me oft". What can you make of all that ? "

264

TOILERS OF BABYLON

" 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 he looks up at Mary's — I beg her 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 the\
get and drive away. And that's the ond of it."

*' It's a true story," said Mr. Parkinson. " When I wcni
into her bedr:)om this morning, her window was open."

Those who had heard it gathered into groups, and dis-
cussed its various points ; some suggesting that it looked as
if the police were mixed up in it ; others favouring Mark
Inglefield's view that Mary Parkinson's statements to her

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pre^

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Mr.

TOILERS OP BABVLON.

265

father were false, from first to last. Meanwhile Mark In^lc-
field 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
1 see you. Why, 1 could pick him out among a thou-
sand."

But to Mark Inglefield's infinite relief, she made no
movement towards mm; 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 gentle-
men 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, addressir/^ 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 be-
tween them, of which neither Mr. Parkinson nor Mr. Man-
ners 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 ? "

236

TOILERS OF BABYLON

" Very important," said Mi. 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 Inglcficld. " 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 learnt all that we are likely to hear. It occurs to mc
that you might prefer to carry out the second portion of your
visit to this neighbourhood alone."

" You refer to my son," said Mr. Manners.

" Yes ; and I might be an incumbrance. Whether justly
or not — out of consideration for you I will not enter into
that question — your son and his wife would not look ui)on
me with favour if they were to see me suddenly ; and the
circumstance of my being in your company might be mis-
>>nstrued. I am willing, sir that the past should be buried ;
your simple wish that your on and I should become friends
again in sufiicient for me. 1 will obey you, but a meeting
between us should be led uj 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 aelicate 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 every-
thing in connection with Mr. Parkinson's daughter. It is
even possible that she and that girl may be in collusion for
some purpose of the own, and that they have concocted
what we have heard. 1 have cleared myself, I hor" "

" It would he unjust to deny it," said Mr. Manners.

"But I shall not allow the matter to end heie," s \d Mark
Inglefield warmly. *' I shall put it at once in the han Is oi i

til

TOILEi^S OF rAliVLON.

2g;

(detective, who will, I dare say, be able to asrjrtnin how far
we have hvcn iini)osecl upon. The sooner the iiKiuiry is
opened up the stronger will be our chances of arriving at the
truth. Do you approve of what I proi)ose ? "

"It is the right course," said Mr. Manners. "I was about
to propose it myself."

" 1 will go then at once. In simple justice to me, sir, if
you see Mr. liollingworth, you should tell him how crue'ly
I have been suspected."

" Vou shall be set right in his eyes, Inglcfield. 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 morn'ng, In;;lefield."

Mark Ingleiicld, without addre^ing a word to ^r.
Parkmson, went his way. The couw rsation between him
and IVIr. Manners had been (juite private. Before he left the
street he looked to see if Blooming Bess was still there, but
she had disa[)peared.

He aid ni t i)roceed to the office of any detective. Slowly,
and in deep thought, he walked towards the Mansion House ;
the crowds of peofile hurrying apparently all ways at once
disturbed and annoyed him; it was imjKjssible to think
calmly in the midst of such noise and bustle. If ever there
was a time in his life vvhen he needed (juiet and repose to
think out the schemes which were stirring in his cunning
mind, that time was now. The danger was averted for awhile,
but he could not yet regard himself as safe. He had to
reckon with Blooming Bess.

That she had recognised 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 pre-
sented herself when I was in the street !"

He was not aware that .he girl of whom he was thinking
was following him stealthily, and had never for a moment
lost sight of liim.

He turned to the left, and reached the Embankment. It
was quieter there. Blooming Bess followed him. There
were few people about, and he stroUerl leisurgly along, looking
at the river. The principle of evil was strong within him.
He belonged to that class of men who will hesitate at nothir.g

268

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 over-
take 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 genti .nan, ain't you — a real
swell?" *

"I am a gentleman, I hope," he said, with perfect sin-
cerity.

" 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 contented 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 gentle-
man,' says I, ' that would pay well for anything that was doi.e
for him.' ' I am,' says you. 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."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

269

" I want that, too ; but 1 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 XLIII.

n
He

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 work-
ing men, who, when he moved away from them, looked after
him with marked favour. It chimed with his humour 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 recognised that
labour has a right to a larger portion of its profits than at
present falls to its lot. Mear^while \t rnay be noted that.

270

TOILERS OF BAI5YL0N.

despite the private wrong which lay at the door of Mr.
Manners, and whidi he was hai)[nly stirred now to set rit,'ht,
despite the fact that in his business relations he had driven
hard bargains, his pul)lic 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 receiv(;d 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 labour, who grind the men
and women they em])loy down to starvation point, Mr.
Manners stood forth a shining example. As for his private
aff^iirs, they were his, and his alone, to settle. Whattiver
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 ineiiualities
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 faiiiiliar, and he
derived a sad pleasure in renewing his accpiaintance with
the aspects of life which characterised them. He noted the
changes which had taken place. Here, a well-known street
had disappeared; rows ofi)rivate 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 liad
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 tlie
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
fellow-men, and it seemed to him as if he had long been
living a dead life. 'I'he 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 bloom-
ing in a pot on the window-sill of his old home, brought an

TOILKRS OF lUr.VLON.

271

■

unwonted moisture to 1 is eyes. He knocked at the door,
conversed with the wonKin ulu) 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 hmi. He was becoming
human.

When he started with Mark Inglefield from his home in
the west of the city, he had formed no plans 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 favouralile hour
for what he purposed to do. Until then he could profitably
employ himself in ascertaining how they stood in the neigh-
bourhood, 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 humi)le 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 cah ulations.
The poverty of the neighbourhood had impressed itself upon
him, and he thought how much good the expenditure of
money he could well spare would do for the diildren 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 u])on weary hearts. If, in her
position, she could do so much, how va'n was the field before
him to do more I

He made his calculations, and was surprised to find, when
the figures were before him, that he was riclier than he had
supposed himself to be. In former days he was in the hal)it
of making such calculations ^ but for a long while past he

273

TOILKRS OF BABYLON.

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 satis-
fied — half of his fortune should go to redeeming of his pro-
mises to that person in respect of the expectations held out
to him. The remaining half would be ample for tlie
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 inquiries respecting his son's family.
What he heard made him even more humble and remorseful.
Every person to whom he spoke had affcctionnte 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 honoured. Forces which had long lain dormant
in Mr. Manners came into play; always a good judge of
character, he recognised that he was conversing with a man
of sterling worth and honour

" I have been informed," lie said, " that you are a doctor
of great skill. You would have succeeded in a more
flourishing neighbourhood than this."

" I preferred to stay here," said Dr. Perriera. " Else-
where I should not have found the happiness I have enjoyed
among these poor peoj^le."

" 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 pre-
sently will much money be to you and me ? Men and
women grow into false ideas ; most of those who become

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

273

rich become slaves. Gold is their ma'^ter — 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 dark-
some 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 th&n 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 ; 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 mm
Mr. Manners recognised 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 giil,
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 ? "

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274

TOILERS OF BAIiVLON.

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[

" So-so," said the old book-man. " I can't compete
very well with the youngsters. Their brazen voices b-j^t
me."

He said this (juite good-humouredly.

" 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 h.ivj
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 have been making a purchase there."

What he disclosed to view was half a cooked fowl. Dr.
Perriera appeared to be greatly iaiterested in this simple
food.

" Hinv much did you pay for it?^

"One and four."

" That is clieaj). A fat fowl, too."

" Yes. The shoj) is crowded ; people are buying like
wildfne. Timotiiy will make a fortune."

" He has i)r<jtty 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 witli Nannie
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 gr mdchild. 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 ri^nt school. I regard it as an honour that I am
privileged to call myself her fri.nvl. Do you wish to proceed
at once to yoi;r son's poor dwelling ? "

TOILERS! OF BAT?YI,ON.

275

"I would prefer to see him alone. This fiiend whom my
grandchiM 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? 'I'here 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 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 wnit
awhile before the interview' takes place. Timothy Chance
and your son's famly are much attached to each other, and
it will be an act of delicacy not to immediately intrude upon
them."

" An act of delicacy ? " rejieated Mr. Manners, looking at
Dr. Perriera /or an explanation.

" I have an idea," said the doctor, "that Timothy Chance
has a tender feeling for your grandchild. Whether it is re-
ciprocated 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 re-
markable."

They started out to;',otlier, and, with a h^'\rt gloomed by
the intrusion of this friend of his son's family, NIr. Manners
listened to the doctor's narrative. In Kin :sley's eyes, his
money had never been deemed of impuit....ce; Kingsley

i8»

2-6

'lOlLERS OF BABYLON.

liud 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 ot
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 shopkeej)ers, he believes it will be more profitable
to speculate in 't himself. As a trial, he has opened a shop
in the neighbourhood 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 al!
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
cans ; order and system reigned, and the money was rolling
in. It was an animated scene, made the more agreeable Ijy
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

JS£.

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

277

** 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 i jturn now, and I will bring your
son to you."

CHAPTER XLIV.

Mr. Manners sat alone in Dr. Perriera's living-room, await-
ing the arrival of his son. Tiie last twenty-four hours had
bpen 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 j 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 thoug' t had occasionally in-
truded 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 recognise 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!"

278

TOILERS OF BAHYIX)N.

He (li<l not speak the words aloud ; they were spoken by
his ^ralt'fiil heart as bu pressed his son to his breast. Then
he gently released hiiUNclf, and gazed with tearful eyes ujwn
the son lie had tinned from his home.

Kingskv was nuu h altered. His hair was grayer than
that of his father ; his (mc w;is worn antl thin ; but the
lender whimsical spirit of old dwelt in his eyes.

At the present moment it was only the symi>athetic chords
in his nature whi< h found ex])ression.

" I knew you would < ome, father," said Kingsley, and at
the tender utterance of the word Mr. Manners' 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 ))ut little for happiness, arfd
we have been happy, very hajjpy."

"Oh, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, "can you, can your
good wife fov.;ive 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 neglec ted
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 shijuld 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 humourously. " Put 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 eves fixed upon the

T01LEK.S OF HABYLON.

tio

light which you have brought to us now ! Then, there is
our (lour daughtor, your gr;ui(l< hild,- ah, what n blessing she
is to us ! \ou will love Hi' ter. Heautifui as her mother
was — and is, father — with a nature as sweet and gentle, and
as trustful, and confiding, and |)ure."

A sudden weakness overcame him here, and with a little
pitiful motion of his urnis, he sank into a chair.

"Kingsley!" cried Mr. Manners, alarmed. "Kingsley
— my dear son ! "

"It is nothiniT, father," said Kingsley, looking up, and
pressing his fatlicrs hand to his lips. "The shock of
hap|)iness 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 notliing of this sweet joy. Nor did I when
Dr. I'erriera (ailed me from the room. lam 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,
linil Hester will have me."

"If we will have you ! Why, father, how can you as);
that ? Nansie will be overjoyed, and Hester will go wild
with delight and happiness. How often has the dear child
asked : ' When om 1 going to see grandfather ? ' Well, now
her desire will be gratified. She will see you, and will love
and honour 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.
Perricra in the shop without. Anxious about Kiii,L,fsley,
she had slipped on her hat and mantle, and had follt wed
him. In a few hurried words the good do( tor had told her
all, and she was now standing in trembling hope to leaiii the
best or worst.

" Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, " if it is your wife out .i.!e,
go to her, and ask her if she will see me. Let her ( ome in
alone."

" As you wish, father. I will remain with Dr. Perricra
wh'le you speak to her."

With a fond look at his father he left the room, and a
moment afterwards Nansie and Mr. Manners stood fa< e t »
face. Tearfully and wistfully she stood before him. Hif i
than Kingsley did she recognise what this meeting Ui. , .i

, TOILERS OF BABYLON.

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 sim|)le 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
heaits 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
'1 flower, and leaves a curse, and not a blessing,
behind it

.i.L 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. Man-
ners, 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.

lUlLKRS OF BAUYLON.

S81

CHAPTER XLV.

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 an 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 neighbourhood
this morning to see Mr. Parkinson, but if I am not mis-
taken, you are interesttd 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 gi'l has dis-
appeared."

" The truth may be made clear this very night," said Dr.
Perriera. " Strange news has strangely reached me. May
I ask if this is a portrait of the friend who accompanied
you?"

He handed to Mr. Manners the po'-^rait of Mark Ingle-
field which Mr. Parkinson had shown to him and Mr.
HoUingworth on the previous night, when he came to seek
redress. "

" Yes, it is he," said Mr. Manners.

"I obtained it from Mr. Parkinson," said Dr. Peniera,
**and promised that I would return it."

" But your reason ? " asked Mr. Manners.

ToiLKRs OF tu';yi/>:^.

" If you will coinc \vii!i inc," replied Dr. Porriora, "all
shall l)c ixpliiined. No, not you, or you" — Ki^g^Ic■y and
N.in.>>ic had hoth rism, in tokrn of tlicir willin;;ncss to assist
him. " Lcavf the iii.iltcr in our hands. I am at i)rcscnt,"
he added, glaiK inj^ at Mr. Manners, "somewhat in the dark,
and jjerhajjs I have small right to intjuire into your motives.
What chiefly concerns me, as taking what I may call a vital
interest in the poor people among wiiom 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 ( ause of justi( e."

\Vhile he spoke, Mr. Manners, without thinking, had laid
the portrait of Mark Inglefield on the table, and Kingsley,
looking down, recogni>ed it. A sudden jialeficss c;ime on
his face, and Nan-^ie, following the direction of his eyts. .i.lso
looked at the jiortrait and recognised it. For a :noment 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. Perricra,' said Kingsley to his
father, " there is something that must be saitl. It refers to
this man, in whose company I now learn you came here this

niornmg.

"Speak, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, extending'; his hand
to his son ; but Kingsley did not attempt to take it. " Do
you doubt me, KingsLy ? "

" No, father," saiil Kingsley, with a certain decision in his
voice and mannqr 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."

"VV^e never shall, Kingsley," said Mr. Mantiers, "if it
rests with me. You have no reason to trust my word "

"I have every reason," interrupted Kingsley, imi)etuously.
** You have never swerved from it ; you have been alwa}'s
just. It is not " — antl now there was a heightened colour
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 diew the breath of heaven.
For me, he may pass by unscathed, though I vvcjald not
defile myself by touching his hand ; but for another, whom
I love and honour as an angel on earth, I would drag his
foul lie to light, and throw it in his teeth ! I have erred.

«(

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

283

but never in my life have I done conscious wrong. Wliat
there is best in me, father, I draw from you." Mr. Manniws
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 bslieved him."

«*And now?"

" And now," said Mr. Manners, stretcliing forth his hands,
" there is no penance I would deem too great to rei)air the
injustice I have committed. The man who traduced you and
your honoured 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 arms affectionately round
his father's shoulder.

"After all," lie said, "why should we be troubled by
the knowledge that there are men living who find pleasure
in base actions ? Let us i)ity even while we condemn
them."

But there was no pity in Mr. Manners' heart towards Mark
Inglefield. His suspicions were revived by what Dr. Perrieia
had said, and the true nature of the man seemed to be re-
vealed 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 neighbourhood ? " asked Mr.
Manners.

" I can offer you one," rei)lied 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 be-
tween 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 flood-

284

l-OILERS OF BABYLON.

gates were open, a stranpe 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 : " 1 will not
assist you to prejudge the case. You shall hear from Timothy
Chance's own lips the stOVy 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 hfe 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. Ingle-
field ? "

" 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 prep<tied 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
favourably impress strangers with whom he came into con-
tact 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 ensure
respect.

" Mr. Chance," said Dr. Perriera — he usually called him
by the old name Timothy, but on this occasion he con-
sidered 't 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 child-

TU1LKR3 OF BABYLON.

(d him
\e con-
:ter to
(to Mr.
In. It

each
:hiefly

hood on the wioncjj path. Generally these things come
home to (tn-', l)Ut ihcy ai)pcal to us more closely when there
is a person il connection. The lot of the poor is hard
enough, without those who should know better making it
harder. I do not speak as a (lass man, hut as a man who
is tlesirous to mend soiial grievances. Perhaps by-and-by, I
may l)e al)lc to do something in a public way."

" Mr. Chan« e is ambitious," oi)served Ur. Perriera.

" Not for myself, nor from vanity, am I so. I have
nothing to b(Kist of in my parents, for I never saw their
fares. I have lifted myself o . of the evil they might have
brought upon me. These thin.,'s lie deep, sir, deeper than
most people consiiler. 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 mu( h to look after, and my affiiirs 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
fresli 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 agita-
tion, 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 learnt 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

2 6

TUjLCUS of BABYLON.

I saw another cab stop at the ' Three Tuns.' But thougli
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 o;.it, and I knew her well. It was a
poor, foolish girl, alniost 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 lf»f)ks
a!)out him in which I seemed to discern evil ; he came from
a (}uarter, or at least his companion did, with which I was
intimately acquainted. We don't live in the world without
learning, and I have learnt 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 Bloom-
ing 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 learnt that the woman who had been brou:,^Iit
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 f lir 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 her 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 which has never yet been put in her way of be-
coming 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. Parkin-
son lived. He did not know the house, and he bribed
lilooming Bess to point it out to him. When he thought lie
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
neighbourhood for the purpose of clearing himself from some
kind of suspicion which had attached itself to him in relation
to Mary Pavkinson. He came with a friend."

in hi;

(lisgu:

clothe

been

inorni

l:nes

to boo

them \

were i

where

she as

Parkin

could

my pla

the sto

affair ;

satisfiec

did was

the SCO

recognii

Bloomii

me to w

you, sir.

"Ine

you ma)

you."

"Mr.
^ "It i<
for whicl
man my
his knav(
• power I

TOILERS OP BABYLON.

S87

:hough

; of it,

romaii.

t was a

man in

>th the

jriosity

face of

;t looks

le fr(jm

1 I was

without

vays of

unmask

lly so —

le place
Bloom-
her in

lad talk

brouLj;ht

, was no

careless,
into an

es. She

say it as

netimes,

moon I
all have
,y of be-
lon the
;o know,
icd, had
Parkin-
bribed
lUght he
trkinson,
down to
;ess saw
ipon his
to the
im some
relation

"With me," said Mr. Manners.

*' I guessed as much. The scoundrel professed absolute
i ;norance 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 oj)inion
of t!ie man in terms which he would not have regarded as
tiattering. ' He's promised me I don't know what,' she
-aid, ' 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
;in old glove — as he'll throw away Mary. The fool believes
in him even now ! ' Then she told me that he 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-ni,L,dit, 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. B-jt 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 beguided 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
recognise 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 sutlficiently grateful. I will go to this
man myself tonight, 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." ...

288

TOILERS OF BABYJ.ON.

"Your plan is a good one," said Dr. Perriera. "It would
never do to take Mr. Parkinson to his daugiitcr. There
would be mischief done. He has been heard to say, a dozen
times to-day, ' 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 Ihe 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
Timotliy set out on their errand.

" 1 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

rOILEBS OF BABYLON.

SB9

CHAPTER XLVL

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 paralysed.
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 noi speak. He felt that retribu-
tion 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' request he
conducted the two to another room, saying :

" You will not be disturbed."

290

TOILEES OF BABYLON,

Summoning all his courage, Mark Inglcfield said :

" This is an unexpected honour, sir. Your errand is pro-
bably 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 im-
posed for so many years, " that I would find Mary Parkinson,
and endeavour 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 confi-
dence. " 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 sus-
picion ? "

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-
th- 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."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

291

" 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 ot
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 to-
night?"

" Scarcely to-night. Early in the morning, afu r she was
cahner, and prepared to meet her father,"

" She has a companion with her ? "

It was this question which caused Mark Inglefield to sud-
denly 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 informa-
tion 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 "

" 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 Ingefield.

"Mr. Inglefield," said Mr. Manners, "let us throw aside

292

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

the mnsk of treachery and deceit. The questions I ad-
dressed 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 yo'\"

" 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 nig'.t, and the poor
girl who is now with her was bought over by you. B*;
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 endeavour 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 dear
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 your-
self? "

" I will do so. You will marry the girl you have brought
V) shame."

" I, sir, I ! It is a monstrous idea ! "

" Knowing you as I know you now, there is indeed some-
thing 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."

TOILERS OF BABYLON.

2.>3

"You will fulfil the expectations you have always held
out to me ? "

" No. My promise was given to a man of honour, 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 trans-
acted 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 for ever. 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 to Mr. Manners,
Mark Inglefield debated with himself. He knew that the
matters to v/hich Mr. Manners referred would not bear in-
vestigation, 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 mylawyeu. ..i ''-ree
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' 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 roon .

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 wreathed in happy smiles, and

:94

TOir.DRS OF BABYLON.

now and then her eyes filled with tears. And so, we leave
lordone.'"'" "' ^'°-^^«"^'"g> there is good in ihe f^^ure

Ti^rlnT^ ri' *"''"' '" *^^ ^"*"'^' *'^^t "^«t^^ Manners and
Timothy Chance may come together for weal or woe
V^ords have yet to be sj.oken, but in their hearts love Im
already found Its nest. May their lives be as sweet a
pure as the lives of Kingsley and Nansie ! There uill be
manna for the hi ngry, and light will be shed upon the dark
spaces of the east.

THE END.

WHALEY.ROYGEiCO.

DBALBRS IN ALL KINDS OP
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WHOLESALE AND RETAIL

MANUFACTURERS OF THE

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I-iOOK: to "X-onurjte H-A-IIS.

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