From that day commenced for Nansie and her uncle the hard and bitter battle of life. All that had gone before was light in comparison. Without money, without friends in a position to give them practical assistance, they had to depend upon themselves for the barest necessities. Confident and hopeful as he was, Mr. Loveday found it impossible to raise a new business out of the ashes of the fire which had ruined him. "I must begin again," he said. Had any employment offered he would have accepted it, however uncongenial it might have been; but nothing came his way. Golden apples only fall to those who have already won fortune's favors. To those most in need of them they are but visions. He was not the kind of man to waste his time; besides, he knew how precious it was. An idle day now would be inviting even harder punishment in the future. As the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet went to the mountain--that is, to a newspaper office, where he laid out a shilling or two in fourth and fifth editions, and bravely hawked his wares in the most likely thoroughfares. The day's labor over, he found himself the richer by nineteen pence. "Come now," he said to Nansie, gayly, "that is not so bad. In a little while we shall grow rich." His thought was, not that nineteen pence a day would make them rich, but would keep the wolf from the door. Strange that in this the most civilized of countries we should snatch a phrase pregnant with terror from savage times and savage lands. "The great difficulty," he said, "is my voice. Young rascals beat me with their lungs. They ring out the news; I can but quaver out the tempting morsels of murders and suicides. How I envy the youngsters! Still I shall manage, I shall manage." Both he and Nansie had secret thoughts which they kept from each other. "Three mouths to feed," thought Nansie. "It would be easier for him had he but his own." "She must not think she is a burden to me," thought Mr. Loveday, "or I shall lose her." He would have suffered anything to prevent a separation. Strong human links grew out of her helplessness; he was Nansie's protector, and it made him glad. In those early days of the new struggle she could do nothing to help the home, which consisted of two very small rooms at the top of a working-man's house. The fright of the fire had weakened her, and weeks passed before she was strong enough to put her shoulder to the wheel. Her uncle did not tell her of his visit to Kingsley's father; silence was the truest mercy. And it happened that within a very short time doubts of Kingsley's faithfulness and honesty rose in his mind. The cause of this lay in the fact that from the day of the fire no letter from Kingsley reached them. It made him indignant to note Nansie's sufferings as day after day passed without news. "Do you think the letters have miscarried?" she asked. "Letters don't miscarry," replied Mr. Loveday.