London's Heart: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"The girl. I must not lose sight of her."

Again she made a movement in the direction of the retreating forms of the lovers, and again Felix held her back. She had clasped his hand so firmly during the time that he could not release it without being rough.

"If you follow them," he said, "you must go alone. What is this girl to you?"

"She is my life--my soul!" cried Martha passionately, wringing her hands.

Seeing that her passion was attracting the attention of the bystanders, Felix drew her away gently towards the park, in the direction which Lizzie and Alfred had taken. Felix had not had much experience of Martha; but what little he had seen of her in his father's house had so decidedly exhibited her in the character of a cold passionless woman, whom scarcely anything could move to strong emotion, that this present experience of her filled him with surprise. It was a new revelation to him. Martha had exhibited much affection for him, and he was disposed to assist her to the utmost extent of his power. There had always been something odd and strange in her behaviour to him; but he had ascribed this to her eccentric manner. He had, however, never seen any signs in her of the stormy currents of feeling which she now exhibited, and which were brought into play by the girl whom he had just passed, and he had seen for the first time. What connection could exist between that bright girl and the pale sad woman by his side, whose whole life appeared to have been one of self-restraint? He asked himself the question, but he was unable to answer it. They walked slowly along, she being contented to allow him to take the lead, because she could see Lizzie's dress fluttering in the distance. Felix took care to keep well out of sight, and when Lizzie and Alfred reached the spot where Mr. Sheldrake and Lily were sitting, paused also, and looked about for a seat for Martha.

"I will sit here, Felix," she said, seating herself where she could see the movements of the party in the distance; she had somewhat recovered herself, but was pale and trembling still.

Felix waited for her to speak. He had lost sight of his own troubles and his own misgivings in the contemplation of Martha's grief and agitation; but as he stood leaning against a tree, with his face towards the woman he loved with all his strength, they came back upon him. The subject they involved was so near to him, so dear, so inwoven in his heart, that it was impossible for it to be absent from his mind now for any but a brief space of time. He had not yet been able to think it over and to place a construction upon what he had seen. But although clouds were gathering about him, he had already committed himself to one determination--not to allow himself to be blinded by unworthy doubts. He had extracted a promise from Lily's grandfather, had pledged himself, as it were, and the old man had put a trust in him. It was not in his nature to betray a trust, nor to give way to mean suspicions. Suspicions! Of Lily, and her truth and innocence! No, indeed. "I have watched her from infancy," the old man had said, "and I know her purity. I pray that she may be spared from life's hard trials: but they may come to her, as they come to most of us. They may come to her undeservedly, and through no fault of hers; and if they do, and if, like Imogen, she has to pass through the fire, she will, like Imogen, come out unscathed." The full sense of these words came upon Felix now, and were of themselves sufficient to hold in arrest his judgment upon what he had witnessed. But this influence was not needed, and it was a proof of the chivalry of his nature that, even as these words recurred to him, he should turn his face from the woman he loved.

There are a class of men who have no belief in generous feeling. It is an article of faith with these clever ones of the world to believe that there is something unworthily selfish or base at the bottom of every action; but this is not the only false creed extant. The quixotism which they sneer at often contains a kernel of much nobility and sweetness. Felix was to a certain extent quixotic; he was even, according to a certain mistaken interpretation of the term, a sentimentalist. But he was no rhapsodist; he indulged in dreams, but he did not allow his imagination to steal a march upon his reason and distort it. His mind was a logical one; and the course he had taken with his father proved that he could be firm and faithful to an idea. In the few brief moments of silence that elapsed he was busy piecing together many things in connection with Lily, deduced chiefly from what had been said by her grandfather regarding her. "To her, as to others," the old man had said, "life's troubles may come. To her may come one day the sweet and bitter experience of love. When it does, I pray to God that she may give her heart to one who will be worthy of her--to one who holds not lightly, as is unhappily too much the fashion now, the sacred duties of life." In the very interview in which these words were spoken, the old man had said to Felix, "You would give me faith if I needed it. It would have been my greatest pride to have had such a son." Swiftly upon this came the old man's advice to Felix to follow Lily and Alfred to Hampton Court. These things and the unexpressed meanings they conveyed--(here intruded the question asked by Felix, whether the brother and sister had gone to Hampton Court by themselves, and the old man's answer, Yes)--were so opposed to what might not unreasonably have been inferred from the attitude of Lily and Mr. Sheldrake to each other, that Felix, with characteristic quixotism, refused to accept the interpretation that most other men would have put upon the discovery. His thoughts having arrived at this climax, he was prevented from going farther by Martha speaking to him. She had watched with earnest eyes the meeting between Lizzie and Lily, and seemed to derive consolation from the way the girls took to each other. She was calmer now, and directed Felix's attention to the two girls, with their arms round each other's waists, drawing a little apart from the men.

"I see," said Felix, also appearing to derive satisfaction from the companionship of the girls; "but I am in the dark as yet. If you can trust me—"

"Trust you, Felix! I would trust you with my life!"