We return to Nansie and Kingsley. They were still in Godalming. Nansie's father was buried, a quiet funeral, with only Nansie and Kingsley as mourners; the horse and caravan were sold, and the loving couple who were now to commence the battle of life in real, right-down earnest, had taken humble lodgings for a week or two, pending the serious question as to what they should do. Until after the funeral Nansie had no heart to write to her uncle in London. She had thought of acquainting him with the death of his brother, and asking him whether he would wish to attend the funeral, but the knowledge of the estrangement of the brothers during her father's lifetime, and a feeling of loyalty towards her father, who, in this estrangement, had been, in her belief, harshly treated, caused her to postpone the writing of her letter till the last sad offices were fulfilled. There was another reason. She feared that her uncle was a man of hard disposition, and that his resentment against his brother might find an outlet over the grave of the dear father she loved so well. This fear also sustained her. An inharmonious note springing from an unkind nature, during her days of fresh sorrow, an inharmonious note which might have been detected even when the dear remains were consigned to their last resting-place, would have been too painful to her to bear, and would, besides, have been a desecration. Therefore it was that many days passed by before Nansie communicated to her uncle the news of his brother's death. Meanwhile Kingsley was busy thinking about the settling of his affairs. He had some belongings and a little money, and it was necessary that his debts should be paid. "We will commence quite free, Nansie," he said, "then we shall know where we are, and how we stand." "It will be best, Kingsley," said Nansie. "We will wipe out the past, my dear," said Kingsley, "and commence with a new slate. That will cost nothing, being in a sense metaphorical." She did not ask him if he felt regret that he had married her; she knew that he did not, but she would have been scarcely human had the thought not obtruded itself. Certainly nothing in Kingsley's manner denoted regret. He was cheerful, hopeful, confident, and, having sufficient for the present day, felt no fears for the future. That was probably because he had not had experience. His life hitherto had been pleasant and luxurious, with no troubles of money to harass him. A good education, a liberal allowance, having but to ask and receive--these easy ways were not a good education for adversity. "There is a song I have often sung, Nansie, my dear," he said, lightly, "and the burden of it is, 'never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.' That is the plan we will follow." "Yes, Kingsley," said Nansie, with a bright look; "it does not mean that we should not be prepared."