A few days afterwards it was announced in the papers that Mr. Manners had broken up his London establishment, and with his wife and his nephew, Mr. Mark Inglefield, had started on a foreign tour, which was likely to be of long duration. This paragraph was read by Kingsley, and caused in him the first spark of resentment he had exhibited since his return. "I am sorry," he said, "that my father has taken up with such a man as Mark Inglefield. He is dangerous and coldblooded, and, I am afraid, no friend of mine. Not that I want him for a friend, but that, being with my father, he may say something against us. However, to use your dear mother's saying, Nansie, 'Everything will come right in the end.'" With this comfortable assurance he dismissed the matter from his mind, as was his habit. And here the course of our story renders it necessary that the curtain shall fall for a certain time. When it rises again seventeen years will have passed away. CHAPTER XXIX. Before, however, we join the threads which link the past with the present, we will briefly glance through the years during which Nansie's and Kingsley's daughter grew into the beautiful springtime of young maidenhood, and before whom fair visions rose even in the midst of surroundings pernicious enough to poison the sweetest dreams. They poison many, and the awaking would be sad and bitter were the home influences with which they were from their birth familiar of a purer and more refining nature. In judging them we judge them from our standpoint instead of theirs, and we too often condemn where we should pity. In respect of these influences Nansie's home shone forth a sweet and bright example of what may be accomplished when the early training is good. There were few poorer homes than Nansie's, there were few lives more full of struggle, but she kept herself and those most dear to her pure through all the bitter phases of the battle she was destined to fight. She worked hard, and taxed her strength to the utmost, but she never complained, least of all to or of her husband, who should by right have been the bread-winner. The greatness of the sacrifice he had made for her had, as we have seen, deeply impressed her. At first, it is true, the heavenly glamour of true love had wholly possessed her, but even then, had she known what she learned when it was too late, she would not have accepted the sacrifice, though her heart had been broken. Indeed, in those never-to-be-forgotten days the actual responsibility lay not with her. Kingsley made so light of the difference in their social positions, and she was so entirely guided by him whom she regarded as the king of men, that she had no idea of the extent of his father's wealth or of the difficulties in their way. Had she been aware of these, not only her love for Kingsley, but her practical good sense and self-respect, would have effectually directed her not to yield to his implorings.