How like he was to Kingsley!--only that his face was harder, and that all that was gentle and tender in Kingsley's face was depicted in his father's in hard, stern lines. But the likeness was unmistakable. He stopped as she glided swiftly to his side and timidly touched his sleeve. "Well?" His voice was as hard and stern as his face, and if she had not nerved herself to her task the opportunity would have been lost. "You would not see me when I called at your house, sir, and I took the liberty of waiting for you here." He did not ask who she was, and he showed no sign that he was touched by her gentle, pleading manner. "What do you want?" "I came, sir, to ask if you had any news of"--she stopped short at the name of Kingsley; he might have resented it as a familiarity--"of your son." "Why come to me?" "I do not know, sir," said Nansie, humbly, "whether I dreaded or hoped that you might relieve me of the trouble which is oppressing me; but you may have heard from him lately." "I have not heard from him." "Do you know nothing of him, sir?" "Nothing; nor do I wish to know. When he left my house he was aware that the step he took put an end to all relations between us. I am not a man to be turned from my purpose. He chose his course deliberately, and set me at defiance." "No, sir, no!" cried Nansie. "He had no thought of that." "Words do not alter facts. He owed me a plain duty, and he ignored it for a stranger. The lures you used to entangle and ruin him have proved effectual. You led him on to his destruction, and you are reaping what you have sown. Finish your errand." "It is finished, sir," said Nansie, turning mournfully away. "I cannot doubt that you have spoken truly, and that you have not heard from my husband. The last time he wrote to me he was in sore distress, without means to return home. I was in hopes that I should be able to send him a little money, but my hope was destroyed by a calamity which beggared the only friend I have." "I have heard something in the same strain. You sent this only friend to me." "No, sir, I did not. Do you mean my uncle?" "I mean him. He came to me, as you know, and asked me for a sum of money to send abroad to my son." "Indeed, indeed, sir, I did not know it." "Which, doubtless," continued Mr. Manners, ignoring the contradiction, "he would have pocketed, with the satisfactory thought that he had got something out of me." "You do my uncle great injustice, sir. He is noble and generous, and I honor him with my whole heart." "Yes, yes," said Mr. Manners, and there was a deeper sternness in his voice, "it is among the class to which you and he belong, and into which you have dragged my son, that honor and nobility are to be found. I have had experience of it. Once more, finish your errand." "I have nothing more to say, sir. I fear to anger you." "Your real purpose in seeking me was to beg for money." "Indeed not, sir. I had no such purpose." "And would not accept it if I offered it?"