Toilers of Babylon: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold
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that I loved 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 comes 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, father."
"Certainly, Kingsley."
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 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 lifelong anguish, and would rack 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 might, at his persuasion, remove herself forever not only from the presence but from the knowledge of the man she loved and had vowed to love while life remained. Poor, helpless, 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! 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 and despondent, but bright and sweet, and full of innocent, joyous life; and in that image he saw a sunshine of happiness 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 the 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 contemplation. 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?" asked Mr. Manners.
"I have, father."
"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 too hastily decided. You owe me some kind of obedience, some kind of duty."
"I acknowledge it, father. In all that becomes me to yield you shall have no cause of complaint against me."
"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 Inglefield, 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 for any purpose. Are you content, Kingsley?"
"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 past."
"It is a hard request, father, 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 impress 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 conversation."
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.
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 anything 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 labors during these days. He wished his son to become sensible of what he would lose if he persisted 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 most fashionable neighborhoods; 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 do it."
Kingsley knew what he meant 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:
"My 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 time to write to you and think of you, but indeed you are never out of my thoughts. 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 the day long I have been thinking of you. 'Now he is in the train,' I said, 'now he is so much nearer London, now he is in London, now he is at home and 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 of 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, father 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 cheerfully and hopefully, am I not? And yet my father has been uneasy in