Read the book: «Toilers of Babylon: A Novel», page 16

CHAPTER XXVII

An hour later, when Mr. Loveday returned home, Nansie, who had been listening for his footsteps, went out to meet him. Even in the dark he, with love's keen sight, observed that something of a pleasant nature had occurred.

"Good news, Nansie?"

"Speak low, uncle. Yes, good news. He has come home."

"Kingsley?"

"Yes, uncle. He is asleep with the baby by his side. He is very, very tired."

"How did it happen? How did he find you out?"

"It must have been almost by chance. I was out making some little purchases, when I suddenly heard a voice behind me saying, quite naturally, 'It is Nansie!' Turning, I saw him, not clearly at first, because I was almost blind with joy. You must be very gentle with him, uncle."

"I will, my dear; but there is something in your voice-gentle for any especial reason?"

"Yes, for a special reason, which you will more fully discover for yourself. I am glad that I have seen you before he meets you; it will be better that you should be prepared."

"Prepared for what, my dear?"

"Kingsley is laboring under an impression that he has been away from us but a very short time. What we know to be real he believes to be fancies. He has made no reference to his travels abroad with Mr. Seymour, nor to the railway accident in which he was injured. He speaks of dreams, and even then not clearly. It is difficult for me to make myself understood-"

"Not at all, Nansie; I think I understand. The accident he met with has affected his memory; but it is good that he is with us now. We can take care of him, we can nurse him back to strength and health."

"How kind you are, uncle! Never thinking of yourself!"

"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense! It is entirely of myself that I am thinking, for I would not lose you and your dear ones for all the money the world contains. That is putting a small value upon money, though. I wish we had a little."

In his mind was the thought, "We need it all the more now," but he did not give the thought utterance.

"Is he low-spirited, despondent, Nansie?"

"No, uncle, quite the contrary. He is as light-hearted and gay as ever, and speaks in the same sweet, hopeful strains of the future, his anticipations of which led him into the error of-"

She stopped short; she did not complete the sentence. Her uncle completed it for her.

"Of marrying you, my dear. Do not regret it; accept it as a blessing, as it really is. Short-sighted mortals as we are to so constantly forget that life is short, and that its sweetest happiness is to be found in self-sacrifice-even, Nansie, in suffering!"

They entered the room together, and found Kingsley awake. He rose when his eyes lighted upon Mr. Loveday, and, with a bright smile, said:

"Nansie's uncle?"

"Yes, Kingsley," said Mr. Loveday.

And Nansie raised her uncle's hand to her lips, and kissed it in grateful recognition of the affectionate greeting.

"Now," said Kingsley, to whom strength seemed to have really returned; he held out his hand, and retained Mr. Loveday's in his as he spoke-"now what could be pleasanter, what could be brighter and more full of promise? Here, for the first time, we meet, and I recognize in you a friend. Believe me, sir, when I say a friend, it is said once and forever; it is meant once and forever. I am no butterfly, eh, Nansie?"

"No, dear Kingsley," she replied, pressing close to him.

He passed his arm round her.

"No butterfly," continued Kingsley, "except in the way of conversation, but that you will find out for yourself. I fly from one theme to another in the most inconsequential manner. A bad habit, sir, if it really meant anything serious, but it does not, and I have here by my side a spiritual support" – he kissed Nansie-"which never fails to recall me to the straight line at the precise and proper moment-as it does now; for looking at her, I am reminded of all we owe to you. Let me thank you in our joint names. I will not say that I hope to live to repay the debt, because there are some debts which it is good never to repay, and this is one. It is sometimes most ungracious to deliberately cancel an obligation."

"The debt is on my side, Kingsley," said Mr. Loveday, greatly won by the returned wanderer's speech and manner. "Nansie has brightened my life."

"She could do no less," said Kingsley, in a tone of grave and tender affection, "to the life of any person who has the happiness to know her."

Upon the invitation of Mr. Loveday, who knew, now that Kingsley had joined them, that certain changes were necessary in their domestic arrangements, and that Nansie could more readily effect them if she were left alone, the two men went out for a stroll. They returned after an absence of a couple of hours, and Kingsley presented Nansie with a few simple flowers, saying as he did so: "Our honeymoon is not yet over, my love."

Presently Kingsley, who, it was apparent, needed repose, was induced to retire to his bed. No sooner had he laid his head upon the pillow than he was fast asleep. Nansie and her uncle sat together in the adjoining room, and conversed in low tones.

"It is as you say," observed Mr. Loveday, "he appears to have no memory-that is, no absolute, dependable memory-of what has transpired from the time he left you. I have not directly questioned him, feeling that it might not lead to a good result, and that he is not yet strong enough to bear even a slight shock; but indirectly I threw out a veiled suggestion or two, and his responses have convinced me of his condition. He has a vague impression of a railway accident in which some person whom he knew was killed, and some person whom he knew was injured, but he does not associate either the one or the other directly with himself. You will not mind my mentioning something, my dear, because in our position there must be between us no concealment. Kingsley has no money, not a penny."

"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 me 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 the door, and, opening it, they saw Timothy Chance, who had a covered basket on his arm which he laid upon the floor, 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 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 neighborhood, in order that he might be near the friends to whom he was so devotedly 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, he was compelled 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 those experiences."

"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 desperandum.'"

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; "you have guessed it in once-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 lying 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 husband is home."

A bright light came into Timothy's face.

"I am glad," he said, "for your sake and baby's."

He stepped softly into the bedroom, accompanied by Nansie, and stood in silence for a few moments, gazing affectionately at the sleeping child.

"May I kiss her?" he said.

"Yes, Timothy, but very, very softly."

With the gentleness 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.

"Eggs, as you say, sir," he recommenced, taking up the business part of the conversation where it had broken off. "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 bad 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 laugh 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-that is, you know, three weeks after I had set up in business again with my two fowls-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 hammering 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 with confidence, and rather boldly, because a voice was whispering to me, 'Here's your chance, Timothy.' 'And tools to work nails and timber with,' says I. 'Labor will cost nothing; I should be carpenter and builder.' 'Should you?' says he, 'and I could give you a hand. But an acre and a half of ground and any amount of timber and nails won't lay eggs. Come to the grip-how much money to bring that about?' 'Ten pounds will be ample,' says I. 'I've got that,' says he, 'and more at the back of it. Say ten pounds then.' 'Do you mean it?' says I, my heart almost jumping out of my body. 'I never say what I don't mean,' says he, 'though I don't always say what I do. It is agreed, Timothy, that we go into partnership; rent of ground to be reckoned, nails and tools to be reckoned, timber to be reckoned, and ten pounds 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-houses were up, not far away from the forge-because warmth, sir, is a good thing for laying hens-and there was a stock of thirty black Hamburgs to start with. Now, sir and Mrs. Manners, we have been in 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 my way, and having something good to tell, I burned to come and tell it to the friends I honor most; and now I must go. I have to get back to-night; but perhaps you will let me come to see you again."

"Indeed, 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 prospect before you, than ourselves."

"I know that," said Timothy. "Good-night, and God bless you."

"Your basket, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday.

"Oh, if you will excuse me, sir, it is yours, and not mine. I have brought it for you, and I hope you will not take it amiss." And off Timothy went, without another word.

Opening the basket when he was gone, they took out a score of new-laid eggs and a young fowl trussed for roasting. Tears came into Nansie's eyes.

"Did I not say, uncle," she murmured, "that Providence will smooth the path before us?"

CHAPTER XXVIII

The week that followed was one of great anxiety to Nansie, springing less from the pecuniary 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 light of his sickness, and would not admit that there was anything seriously the matter with him. They made no endeavor 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 neighborhood 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 poor, 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 ostentation, 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 after Nansie came to live with her uncle Dr. Perriera was greatly attracted to her, no less by her gentle manners than by the display of attainments superior to those among whom she lived. When Mr. Loveday was burned 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 so far as regarded himself, but frequently disturbed him when he came into contact with distress which it was not in his power to relieve. After the fire, when he attended Nansie of his own 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 Spain was first among the nations of the world in art, literature, and science. But the dark and heavy hand of bigotry effectually scotched the fair promise which lay before the favored 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 Pharmacopœia."

Then, in order that Dr. Perriera might be in possession of all necessary information, Mr. Loveday made him acquainted with the particulars of Kingsley's association with Mr. Seymour, following those up with the intelligence of the strange hallucination under which Kingsley was laboring with respect to his long absence from home. To Mr. Loveday's surprise, Dr. Perriera showed an intimate knowledge of the movements of the so-called Mr. Seymour, as well as of the secret societies in the interests of which it was said that he travelled.

"Of Mr. Manners," said Dr. Perriera, "I know nothing. In Mr. Seymour's transactions he was little better than a cipher, and was probably used as an innocent decoy, or as a means to avert suspicion from the doings of his chief."

"How have you become acquainted with these affairs," asked Mr. Loveday; "you, who seem to have no spare moments of time apart from your professional offices?"

"I have time and to spare for much," replied Dr. Perriera, smiling. "I keep up rather an extensive correspondence with many European societies which have for their object the advancement of science and humanity."

"Humanity!" exclaimed Mr. Loveday.

"I call it by that name," said Dr. Perriera. "Were it possible that the ends aimed at could be reached, the toilers of the world would be undoubtedly benefited. The advocated means are frequently pernicious and indefensible; but this occasionally arises from the fact that men of keen intellectual power are goaded to madness by the tyranny of old systems. However, enough of this; I think much but speak little of such matters. I have my small part to play in the world as to the larger and grander movements of which I can simply look on and observe."

Dr. Perriera 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 in most instances this loss is a total loss, time, well-known incidents, relative circumstances, the names of friends and acquaintances, even one's own name, being plunged for a period into absolute obscurity. But 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 realizing the privations of the life which seems to lie before him. His temperament is exceptionally bright and cheerful; he looks upon the happy side of nature, and every hopeful sentiment 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 dependent 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 neighborhood; 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 knocked 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 concealing.

"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?" he asked.

Kingsley had grown thinner 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 him 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 forgetful of his duties."

"Ah," said Mr. Manners, his hope growing, "you recognize that at last?"

"At last!" said Kingsley, in a tone of cheerful surprise. "I have always recognized it. I cannot recall that I have ever been wanting in my duty to you."

Mr. Manners stared at his son, debating now within 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 with you, 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, "not 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 have mystified most men with a weaker order of mind than Mr. Manners's; 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 all men, perfectly prepared, but not for the ingenuousness with which he was now confronted. He thought to turn the tables upon Kingsley.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Quite well, father," replied Kingsley.

"And happy?"

"Quite happy, father."

"And prosperous?"

"To be quite 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 mood, 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 quibbling, you, who know me so well and 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 concerning 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 me, 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 the honor that is due to you shall be cheerfully rendered."

"This mockery must end," said Mr. Manners; "go! But, before you leave, it will, perhaps, be as well for me to say what is in my mind."

"Yes, father," said Kingsley, gently.

"I do not know," said Mr. Manners, in a set, hard tone, "whether I should ever have been inclined to forgive your disobedience and undutifulness; I do not know, after what has passed, whether, you being my son upon whom once all my hopes were centred, I should have been disposed to once more hold out my hand to you. I think it would not have been possible, but there may have been, at least, some remote chance of a partial reconciliation. If there was such a chance, you have utterly destroyed it by your conduct during the past few months."

"What conduct do you refer to?" asked Kingsley, smiling. "You surely are laboring under some delusion!"

"It is no delusion," said Mr. Manners, "that you have been travelling for some time with a person of infamous character and designs!"

"Surely it must be, father. Does the man live? If he does, he will disprove it."

"I will fall in with your humor," said Mr. Manners, "and will pay no attention to your amazing evasions; all the more amazing, all the more inexcusable, when adopted towards a man like myself. Do you pretend that you are unacquainted with the person who travelled under the name of Seymour? Do you pretend that travelling in close association with him as you did for so long a time, you had no connection with the designs he was wishful to promote?"

"You remind me strangely," replied Kingsley, "of something which has been troubling me-no, I am wrong in saying troubling me, I mean that has been interesting me. There have undoubtedly been some such designs as you refer to, mysterious and inexplicable enough to me, but the interesting part of the matter is, how did it ever come into my mind that I could have been associated with them? Clearly, I must have evolved the idea out of a too vivid imagination; because I cannot trace the slightest actual connection between me and them. Similarly, too, with the name you have mentioned-Seymour. How did it come into my mind that I knew such a gentleman? Clearly, he must have existed; and now there occurs to me a dim remembrance of a railway accident in which a gentleman of the name of Seymour was killed, and many were injured. How comes the knowledge of that circumstance to me? May I not also have evolved that from my imagination? Anyway, I shall not allow myself to be troubled by matters which I cannot directly trace, though I cannot avoid being interested in them. But what you have said has another bearing, as though I had done something to disgrace my name. Of course such a thing would be impossible, and if I am indebted to any ill-natured person for having aroused in you any suspicion to my hurt, I make him my hearty acknowledgments without bearing the slightest ill-will against him, because, after all, father, a serious calumny should not be allowed to have weight unless an absolute foundation of fact can be brought forward, as cannot be done in my case. Man must be judged by his own actions, not by what people say of him. You infer that this Mr. Seymour travelled to promote infamous designs with which you suppose me to be in sympathy. What designs, father?"

"Republicanism," said Mr. Manners, not displeased at being brought to the point, "Socialism, Communism, and the overthrow of existing institutions, which are a blessing to mankind."

"Ah, but there, you know," said Kingsley, with no departure from his light mood, "you open up debatable matter. It is not disagreeable to me. I was always fond of argument, although I have been accused of too freely wandering away from one upon the slightest excuse. You condemn Republicanism, but I think I would sooner live under a republic than a monarchy."

"What you say confirms the accusation I and others bring against you."

"Not at all. I am merely expressing my view of a large matter. You see, father, there is so much misery in the world, so much undeserved suffering, so much compulsory poverty, such astounding inequalities in the social condition of the people, that a fair-minded man cannot possibly avoid wishing to remedy these ills. What are you touching the bell for?"