Had any barrier remained standing in the proud man's heart, this simple 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 hearts 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 a fateful flower, and leaves a curse, and not a blessing, behind it.
But 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. Manners, 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.
[CHAPTER XLVI.]
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.