Mr. Manners sat alone in Dr. Perriera's living-room, awaiting the arrival of his son. The last twenty-four hours had been the most pregnant in his life; in a few minutes his fate would be decided; in a few minutes he would know whether the years that remained to him would be brightened by love, or made desolate by loneliness--loneliness in which reigned a terror and despair he had never yet experienced. Hitherto he had been a law unto himself; hitherto he had borne the fate he had courted with a stern, implacable spirit, bearing with bitter resolve the burden he had inflicted upon himself. There had been no resignation in his soul to soften his sufferings, and he had not sought the consolation which charity or religion would have shed upon him. His heart had been as a sealed box, into which no ray of light had entered; all was dark and desolate. He would soon learn whether this would continue to be his fate. Some savage comfort had come to him in the past from the belief that he was in the right, and Kingsley in the wrong, but this would be denied to him now. The thought had occasionally intruded itself that Kingsley would come to him as a suppliant, begging for mercy and forgiveness; but the positions were reversed; it was he, not his son, who was the suppliant; it was he, not his son, who pleaded for forgiveness.

Each moment seemed prolonged. "He refuses to come," thought the repentant man. "I am to my only child as one who is dead. It is a just punishment." It was in accordance with his character that he should recognize the justice of the position in which he stood.

When he heard footsteps in Dr. Perriera's shop he rose to his feet and looked towards the door as a criminal might, awaiting his sentence. The door opened, and Kingsley entered.

His face was radiant; a tender light shone in his eyes.

"Why, father!" cried Kingsley, and opened his arms.

"Thank God!"

He did not speak the words aloud; they were spoken by his grateful heart as he pressed his son to his breast. Then he gently released himself, and gazed with tearful eyes upon the son he had turned from his home.

Kingsley was much altered. His hair was grayer than that of his father; his face was worn and thin; but the tender, whimsical spirit of old dwelt in his eyes.

At the present moment it was only the sympathetic chords in his nature which found expression.

"I knew you would come, father," said Kingsley, and at the tender utterance of the word Mr. Manners's heart was stirred by a new-born joy; "I always said you would come to us one day. And Nansie, too; she never wavered in her belief that we should see you. 'The time will be sure to arrive,' she often said to me, 'when we shall be reunited; and when your dear father comes to us, we have a home for him.' Yes, father, our home is yours. A poor one, but you will not mind that. It needs but little for happiness, and we have been happy, very happy."

"Oh, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, "can you, can your good wife forgive me?"

"Forgive you, father!" exclaimed Kingsley, in a tone of surprise. "For what? You have done nothing but what you thought was right. Indeed, the fault has been on our side, for not coming to you. It was our duty, and we neglected it. Father, I do not think you know Nansie as well as I should wish."

"I do not," said the humbled man. "Oh, Kingsley, that I should ever have shut you from my heart!"

"I declare," said Kingsley, putting his hand fondly on his father's shoulder, "if any man but you said as much, I should feel inclined to quarrel with him. Shut me from your heart! I am sure you have never done that. I am sure you have thought of us with tenderness, as we have thought of you. Yes, father, in our prayers you have always been remembered. And we were content to wait your will, which was ever wise and strong. Not like mine--but that is my loss. A man cannot help being what he is, and I am afraid that I have been wanting in strength." He passed his hand across his forehead, half sadly, half humorously. "But I am truly thankful that I have had by my side a helpmate who has strewn my life with flowers. Dear Nansie! Ever patient, ever hopeful, with her steadfast eyes fixed upon the light which you have brought to us now! Then, there is our dear daughter, your grandchild, father--ah, what a blessing she is to us! You will love Hester. Beautiful as her mother was--and is, father--with a nature as sweet and gentle, and as trustful and confiding and pure."

A sudden weakness overcame him here, and with a little, pitiful motion of his arms, he sank into a chair.

"Kingsley!" cried Mr. Manners, alarmed. "Kingsley--my dear son!"

"It is nothing, father," said Kingsley, looking up, and pressing his father's hand to his lips. "The shock of happiness is so great! I scarcely expected it to-night. I was thinking of Nansie. She will be so grateful--so grateful!"

"Does she not know?"

"She knows nothing of this sweet joy. Nor did I when Dr. Perriera called me from the room. I am glad he told me as we came along. You will remain with us a little while?"

"We will never part again, Kingsley, if you and Nansie and Hester will have me."

"If we will have you! Why, father, how can you ask that? Nansie will be overjoyed, and Hester will go wild with delight and happiness. How often has the dear child asked, 'When am I going to see grandfather?' Well, now her desire will be gratified. She will see you, and will love and honor you, as we have always done, and we always shall do. Hush! Is not that Nansie's voice I hear?"

It was, indeed, Nansie who was speaking softly to Dr. Perriera in the shop without. Anxious about Kingsley, she had slipped on her hat and mantle, and had followed him. In a few hurried words the good doctor had told her all, and she was now standing in trembling hope to learn the best or worst.

"Kingsley," said Mr. Manners, "if it is your wife outside, go to her, and ask her if she will see me. Let her come in alone."

"As you wish, father. I will remain with Dr. Perriera while you speak to her."

With a fond look at his father he left the room, and a moment afterwards Nansie and Mr. Manners stood face to face. Tearfully and wistfully she stood before him. Better than Kingsley did she recognize what this meeting might mean to her and her beloved ones. He held out his hand, and with a sudden rush of joy she bent her head over it.

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.