He conducted her through some of the principal apartments, which had been furnished and decorated in a princely style. The pictures, the sculptures, the bric-À-brac were of the choicest character. Her feet sank in the thick, soft carpets, and her heart fainted within her as she followed Mr. Manners through the sumptuously appointed rooms. He paused before one, and, throwing open the door,

"You may enter; it was my son's bedroom."

"She obeyed him, a rush of tears almost blinding her; Mr. Manners remained outside. She saw, not a bedroom, but a suite of rooms luxuriously furnished; a library of costly books; rare old engravings on the walls; a bath-room fitted up with all the newest appliances; everything that money could purchase to make a man's life pleasant and devoid of care. She remained there but a short time; the contrast between these rooms and the miserable attics which she and her uncle occupied, and to which she hoped to welcome Kingsley, appalled her. When she rejoined Mr. Manners in the passage he led her down-stairs and ushered her into his study.

"You may sit down," he said.

She was tired, wretched, and dispirited, and she accepted the ungracious invitation.

"I am not in the habit of boasting of my wealth," he said; "what you have seen affords proof of it. And all that you have seen, with means sufficient to keep it up ten times over, would have been my son's had you not marred his career. I will not do you an injustice; you have surprised me; I thought that my son had taken up with a common, vulgar woman; I find myself mistaken."

Again animated by hope, she looked up; again her hope was destroyed by the stern face she gazed upon.

"It is because I see that you are superior to what I anticipated that I am speaking to you now. Doubtless my son has informed you that, by my own unaided exertions, I have raised myself to what I am." She bowed her head. "The pleasure of success was great, and was precious to me, not so much for wealth itself, but for a future I had mapped out, in which my son was to play the principal part. With him absent, with him parted from me, this future vanishes, and I am left with the dead fruits of a life of successful labor. Who is to blame for this?"

She held up her hands appealingly, but he took no notice of the action.

"You are therefore my enemy, and not only my enemy, but my son's. With my assistance, with my wealth and position to help him, he would have risen to be a power in the land. You have destroyed a great future; you have deprived him of fame and distinction; but there is a remedy, and it is to propose this remedy to you that I invited you into my house. Your speech is that of an educated person, and you must be well able to judge between right and wrong. What your real character is I may learn before we part to-day. I will assume, for instance, that you are nothing but an adventuress, a schemer--do not interrupt me; the illustration is necessary to what I have to say. You may be nothing of the kind, but I assume the possibility to give force to a statement I shall make without any chance of a misunderstanding. It is this. Assuming that you played upon my son's feelings because of my being a rich man, in the expectation that, if not at once, in a little while I should open my purse to you, it will be well for you to know that there is not the remotest possibility of such an expectation being realized. Do you understand?"

She did not reply in words; the fear that she might further anger him kept her silent; she made a motion which he interpreted into assent, and accepting it so, continued:

"Assuming, on the other hand, that you did not weigh the consequences of your conduct, and that you had some sort of a liking for my son--"

"I truly loved him, sir," she could not refrain from saying.

"It shall be put to the proof. If you love him truly you will be willing to make a sacrifice for him."

"To make him happy," she said, in a low tone, "to bring about a reconciliation between you, I would sacrifice my life."

"But it is not yours to sacrifice. Something less will do. On one condition, and on one condition only, will I receive and forgive my son."

And then he paused; it was not that the anguish expressed in her face turned him from his purpose, but that he wished her to be quite calm to consider his proposition.

"I am listening, sir."

"The condition is that you shall take a step which shall separate you from my son forever."

"What step, sir?"

"There are other lands, far away, in which, under another name, you can live with your uncle. You shall have ample means; you shall have wealth secured to you as long as you observe the conditions; you shall not be interfered with in any way; you will be able to live a life of ease and comfort--"

He did not proceed. There was that in her face which arrested his flow of language.

"Is Kingsley to be consulted in this, sir?"

"To be consulted? Certainly not. He is not to know it."

"Shall I be at liberty to write and tell him that it is for his good I am leaving him?"

"You will not be at liberty to communicate with him in any way, directly or indirectly."

"He is, then, to suppose that I have deserted him?"

"He is to suppose what he pleases. That will not be your affair."

Indignation gave Nansie courage. "Is it to be yours, sir?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Manners, frowning.

"That you will have the power to invent some story to my discredit, and that your son shall be made to believe I am not worthy of him. That is my meaning, sir."

"Do you think you are serving him or yourself by the tone you are adopting?" asked Mr. Manners, rising from his chair.

It was an indication to Nansie, and she obeyed it, and stood before him.

"I have not thought of that, sir; I am thinking only of what is right. Forgive me for having intruded myself upon you, and allow me to leave you. If your son is living--sometimes, in my despair, I fear the worst, he has been so long absent--and returns home, perhaps you will inform him of the proposition you have made to me, and of the manner in which I received it."

"That is a threat that you will do so."

"No, sir, it is not; he will hear nothing from me. Heaven forbid that by any future act of mine I should help to widen the breach between you? Good-morning, sir."

She did not make her uncle acquainted with what had passed between Mr. Manners and herself; she simply said that Mr. Manners had refused to see her, that she had waited for him in the street, and that she had learned from him that he had not heard from Kingsley.

"Did he speak kindly to you?" asked Mr. Loveday.

"No; he is bitterly incensed against me, and looks upon me with aversion. If I had ever a hope that he would relent towards us it is gone now forever. Uncle, is it my fancy that you are looking strangely at me?"

"Your fancy, my dear," replied Mr. Loveday, with a smile which he endeavored to make cheerful. "Why should I look strangely at you? Your interview with Mr. Manners has unnerved you."

"Yes," said Nansie, "it must be so. When Kingsley returns he must not know of my visit to his father. It will make him angry and uncomfortable."

"I shall not tell him, my dear," said Mr. Loveday.