"Yes, it is Lizzie," said the old man.
"And the other?" questioned Mr. Sheldrake, with strange eagerness. "The other, who is he?"
An expression of displeasure, almost of envy, passed across Muzzy's face. "It's a young man who comes to see her sometimes."
"Her lover?" Muzzy did not reply, and Mr. Sheldrake demanded again impatiently, "Her lover?"
"I suppose so," answered Muzzy reluctantly; "it looks like it."
"Do you know him--what is he like?"
"I haven't seen him, but I know his voice; I hear it often enough."
Mr. Sheldrake laughed--a triumphant, self-satisfied laugh, as if he had made a gratifying discovery. By this time the persons outside had entered Lizzie's room; the listeners heard the door close.
"Muzzy, old man," cried Mr. Sheldrake heartily; but he checked himself suddenly, and opening the door, stepped quietly into the passage, and listened to the voices in Lizzie's room. Returning with a beaming face, he repeated, "Muzzy, old man! the time has come for you to turn over a new leaf."
"I am quite ready, sir," acquiesced Muzzy, without the slightest consciousness of his patron's meaning.