"Why do I write all this to you, dear Kingsley? To show you that I am in the midst of kindness, and that although you have not as yet been very fortunate, there is much to be grateful for. Remember our conversation, my darling, and never, never lose heart. Courage! courage! as you have said many times; and it will help you to feel assured that there are loving hearts beating here for you, and friends holding out willing hands. Why, if a poor, imperfectly educated lad like Timothy looks forward to making a fortune out of such simple things as eggs, what may you not do, with your advantages and education? All will be well, and there is a happy future before us. "I am tired, and have a dozen things to do, or I would keep on talking to you for hours. But I must really finish now. Baby sends you her dearest, dearest love. Indeed she does. I asked her, and upon my word, Kingsley, dear, she crowed and laughed. She is the most wonderful thing in the world, there is no doubt of that. I kiss her a hundred times for her dear papa, and I blow her kisses to you, and kiss them into the words I am writing. Our hearts are with you; our dearest love is yours. Oh, my darling! to close this letter is like bidding you good-bye again. Take all our love, which is forever blossoming for you. I close my eyes, and think that you are by my side; and I press you to my heart, which beats only for you and our darling child. What name shall I give her? "Good-bye, and God bless and guard you, my own dear love. "Your faithful, loving wife, Nansie." CHAPTER XXII. History repeats itself. The fortunes of Timothy Chance were turned by a fire--whether for good or evil, so far as regards himself, had yet to be proved. He was to go through another experience of a similar kind, in which, as on the first occasion, those who befriended him were the greatest sufferers. Nansie had to wait for more than a month before she received an answer to her last letter from Kingsley. He and his employer, it appears, had been continually on the move, and the letter which Mr. Loveday had written to him could not have reached him. It was by a lucky chance that Nansie's letter with the news that he was a father fell into his hands after a long delay; and she gathered from his reply that some of his own communications to her must have miscarried. This last letter which she received was far from encouraging. It was in parts wild and incoherent; the cheerfulness which had pervaded his previous missives was missing; the writer seemed to be losing hope. "I am learning some hard lessons," Kingsley wrote, "and am beginning to doubt whether there is any truth or justice left in the world."