"I came, sir, to ask if you had any news of"--she 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. "I cannot doubt that you have spoken truly, and that you have not heard from my husband. The last time he 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 destroyed 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."