London's Heart: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"I know, Felix, I know; I cannot help it. I have such a weary pain here."

"Rest a little," he said, "before you proceed."

But she continued.

"The morning came at last, thank God--it came at last! And then again I had to wait until the train left Stapleton. I arrived in London before ten o'clock, and went straight to the house where Lizzie lodged. I saw the landlady. She told me that Lizzie had left, and that another lodger of hers had also left at the same time. This other lodger was an old man, she said, and she did think it a little strange that they should both have given warning at the same time. Did she know where Lizzie had gone to? I asked. No, she did not know. I was turning away, when I thought of the old man. Did she know where he was gone to? No, she didn't know the number of the house, nor the street; but a few days ago the old man had let drop a word or two, which led her to suppose he was going to live near a certain place about four miles from London. I thought, if I could find this old man, he might be able to tell me where Lizzie was. I arrived in the locality; I rode there in a cab. But it seemed to me that I might as well have been in a wilderness for all the clue I could obtain as to where the old man lived. As I was searching and inquiring, with such little success that I became sick and faint, I suddenly saw a figure a long way before me. I knew it immediately--I should have known it among a thousand. It was Lizzie. But she was not alone. A gentleman was with her, and I did not wish to make my girl angry by speaking to her in the presence of a stranger. I followed them. They seemed to be very happy, and talked and laughed with light hearts; while I with my heavy load hung behind, so that they should not see me. They stopped at a railway-station, and the gentleman left Lizzie standing on the platform, and came along to the ticket-window to get tickets. My veil was down, and as I did not know him, it was not likely that he would know me, even if he saw my face; so I mustered sufficient courage to approach close to him, and heard him ask for tickets for Hampton Court. I took a ticket also for this place, and came in the same train, but not in the same carriage. I was alone in the carriage, and I had plenty of time to think what it was best for me to do. I was a long time before I made up my mind; and then I decided that it would be best for me not to discover myself to Lizzie unless I was compelled. My girl was keeping some part of her life from me, I thought, and I should know better how to act if I found out what it was. I had never seen this gentleman before, had never heard of him from Lizzie. He looked like a gentleman, but still like that kind of gentleman that it would not be wise for a girl in Lizzie's position to know too well. I thought of the temptations which surrounded a young girl like Lizzie--she is very, very pretty, dear girl!--in a great city like London. Imagine my agony. After all, girls are girls; they like pleasure and excitement; and Lizzie was living by herself. But I dared not think long upon this; it weighed upon me too much. We alighted at Hampton Court, and I followed my dear girl and the gentleman cautiously. They stopped at an inn--the inn before which the street conjurers were playing. The gentleman said a few words to Lizzie, and left her. Just then the conjurers came and began to make preparations for performing. Lizzie came out to see them--she is very fond of street sights, dear child!--and I stood apart from her in the crowd watching her. I don't know how long a time passed before the young man came up to her; but it was like a knife in my heart to see the joy in Lizzie's face when he spoke to her. I never thought it possible I could have felt pain to see my girl look bright and happy. And you may wonder, Felix, why I suffered so; you may wonder why I should not rejoice in my girl's pleasures. But think for a moment--think of the misery it caused me to learn that Lizzie had been hiding things from me. If she kept this from my knowledge, as she has done, may she not have kept other things? If you knew how wretched it makes me to hear myself speaking like this of her--if you knew Felix, you would pity me. But I wouldn't say it to any one else but you; and I know that I am mistaken, and that my girl is good and true. They talked together for a little while, and I saw her ask him for some money to give to the performers. It was like her, dear child she has the tenderest heart! Soon afterwards they walked away, and I was about to follow them when you came up. That is all."

While she was speaking, Felix called to mind that on the day he first saw Lily in his father's house in Stapleton, Martha admitted her and her grandfather and brother to his father's study. "Did she remember Alfred's face?" he asked of himself mentally.

"You saw the young man who came to Lizzie?" he asked aloud.

"Yes, Felix."

"Can you see his face now?"

"No, I am shortsighted. If it were not for my love, I should not be able to distinguish Lizzie."

"Tell me," said Felix, "do you ever remember seeing his face before?"