Toilers of Babylon: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Yes, father."

      "Then go again to the post-office, and see if there is a letter for me. I am growing anxious at not receiving one. You need not stop to clear these things; I will put them away."

      She rose and stood for a moment with her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. He drew her face down to his, and kissed her. With a bright nod she left him, carrying with her a written order authorizing the delivery of any letters which might be lying in the post-office for her father.

      Godalming, the town for which she was bound, was within a mile, and she stepped out briskly. But when she was about midway, and no one was in sight, she made a little detour into the woods, and drew from her bosom a picture. It was the portrait of a young man, and she gazed fondly at it, and kissed it as fondly. Then she drew forth a letter, and read it and pressed it to her lips; after which she replaced the letter and the portrait, and proceeded on her errand. Her thoughts may be thus fashioned into words:

      "I wrote to him yesterday, and I sent him a telegram in the evening, knowing we should be here to-day. He may be absent. I hope not; I hope he has received both. Will he write, or will he come? Will he be angry that I have accompanied my father? At all events he knows, and he is never unjust. Ah! if he were here with us, how happy I should be! I love him, I love him, I love him!"

      She blew a kiss into the air.

      In less than half an hour she was in the Godalming post-office, making her inquiry.

      "Mr. James Loveday," said the female clerk, looking at the order handed to her by Nansie-she was familiar with it, having seen it on each of the three previous days. "Yes, there is, I think."

      She sorted some letters and handed one to Nansie, who, after hesitating a little, asked:

      "Is there a letter for Miss Loveday?

      "Are you Miss Loveday?"

      "Yes."

      "No, there are none."

      "Or for Miss Nansie Loveday? N-a-n-s-i-e."

      "That's a curious way to spell Nancy," said the clerk. "No, there are none."

      Nansie lingered.

      "Or for Manners?" she asked, with singular timidity and bashfulness.

      "Mrs. or Miss?" inquired the clerk.

      Nansie's face and neck were scarlet as she replied: "Mrs."

      "None for that name," said the clerk.

      She lingered still, and said, with a kind of pathetic imploring: "Would a telegram be received here if addressed to the post-office till called for?"

      "Yes."

      "I sent one yesterday, and expected an answer. Is there any for either name?"

      "No."

      "Thank you," said Nansie, and walked out of the office, and set her face towards the caravan.

      The female clerk looked after her sympathizingly. There was a love note in her voice, and the post-office girl had a little sweethearting of her own on hand.

      CHAPTER II

      Nansie walked on, turning the letter in her hand, and glancing at it occasionally. The writing was strange to her, and on the envelope was the London post-mark. When, at the end of twenty minutes, she stood by her father's side, he was asleep.

      "Father!" she said, bending over him.

      He opened his eyes instantly, and smiled at her.

      "Ah, Nansie, it is you. I drop off constantly now, on the smallest provocation from silence or solitude. But it can scarcely be called sleep; I am conscious of all that is going on around me." He observed the letter in her hand, and he said, eagerly, "You have one!" and took it from her. "Yes, it is from my brother Joseph; I was beginning to fear that he was dead."

      He opened the letter and read it, and then remained a little while in thought. Presently he resumed the conversation.

      "You saw your uncle once, Nansie. Have you a recollection of him?"

      "Hardly any, father. How old could I have been when mother took me to see him? Not more than four or five, I think. I had a white dress and a blue sash, and I took him a bunch of flowers. He gave me some sweetmeats, I remember, and a shilling. But I have no recollection of his face. He lived in London, in a street off Whitechapel; that I know."

      "He lives there now. Your mother never spoke to you of him?"

      "Never."

      "You should be made acquainted with the story, Nansie, while I am here to relate it."

      She stopped the current of his speech.

      "Father, these last three or four weeks you have dropped hints which make me very anxious; they weigh heavily upon me. I know you are not well, but you harp upon it as if it were a serious illness. Tell me, father."

      They were sitting side by side now, and he was smoothing her hair with his hand.

      "I am far from well, Nansie."

      She interrupted him again, and now spoke with tremulous impetuosity.

      "You should take advice, father. You should go to a doctor."

      "There are reasons why I do not do so. First, Nansie, I have no money. Figuratively speaking, twopence ha'penny is all my fortune. To be exact, twenty-three shillings represents my worldly wealth. I am afraid I have been unwise, and yet I do not see what else I could have done. This Quixotic wandering of ours-I own it, it is Quixotic-was in a certain measure forced upon me. Poor old Fleming, who owed me money, bequeathed his horse and caravan to me, his only creditor, and then he died. Had he left behind him wife or child I should have transferred to them this delightfully awkward property. Satisfying myself that it was legally and morally mine, the idea entered my head that a wandering tour through our lovely country lanes would invigorate me, would put new life into me. And for a companion, who more sweet than my own dear Nansie!"

      "There was another reason, father," said Nansie, gravely.

      "There was another reason," said Mr. Loveday, apprehensively. "I am coming to it. It would have been useless to consult physicians. I have consulted them again and again, and the result was always the same. A fever? Yes, there would be a fair chance of curing it. A toothache, a cold in the head, a chill? Yes, they could prescribe for those ills-but not for mine. It is my old heart-complaint, of which I have been repeatedly warned. When I was a lad it was thought I should not grow to manhood, but I did, as you see, and married your mother, and have by my side a dear child to cheer and comfort me. It is well to be prepared- Why, Nansie, crying?"

      "I cannot help it, father, you speak so solemnly." She conquered her agitation and said: "That is not the reason I mean. There is another."

      "Concerning myself, Nansie?"

      "Concerning me, father."

      "You wish me to speak of it?"

      "It will be best."

      "So be it. I have not been always with you, Nansie, to guide and counsel you. Worldly circumstances would СКАЧАТЬ