"Sir,--It is necessary for me to state that I have not been in any way acquainted with the late movements and proceedings of my son, Mr. Kingsley Manners, who is reported to have met with serious injuries in a railway accident in Germany, nor have I any knowledge of the Mr. Seymour with whom he is said to have travelled as companion.
"Faithfully yours, Valentine Manners."
That was all. Although Mr. Loveday carefully searched the papers day after day, he saw no further reference to the matter; it dropped out of sight, as it were, and the faint interest it had excited in the public mind appeared to have died completely away. The hard battle of life continued sadly and monotonously, without the occurrence of one cheering incident to lighten the days; and as time wore on Nansie ceased to speak to her uncle of the beloved husband who was either dead or had forgotten her. In her sad musings upon the question of death or forgetfulness she did not bring the matter to an issue. Had she been compelled to do so, she would have stabbed herself with the torture that Kingsley was dead; for that he could have forgotten her, and that he could be systematically neglecting her, was in her faithful, chivalrous heart impossible. All that she could do was to wait, although hope was almost dead within her.
At an unexpected moment, however, the question was solved.
It was evening. Mr. Loveday had not returned from his daily labors, and Nansie had put her baby asleep in her cradle, and had gone out to execute some small household duties. She hurried through them as quickly as possible, and, returning home, had almost reached the street door of the house in which she lived, when a voice at her back said,
"It is Nansie!"
The pulses of her heart seemed to stop. It was her husband's voice, and so overcome was she by this sudden ray of sunshine that, when she turned, she could scarcely see before her. Again the voice came to her ears; the gay, light, happy voice of old, which expressed only joy and sweetness, and in which there was no note of sadness or sorrow.
"Why, Nansie--it is Nansie! I was born under a lucky star."
And still, without seeing the speaker, she felt herself drawn to the heart of the one man in the world she loved--of the dear husband and the father of the babe sleeping peacefully at home.
"Oh, Kingsley! Is it you, is it you?"