"But perhaps she is asleep, as you said," suggested Old Wheels.
"I'll see," said Martha, feeling her way to Lizzie's room. "You won't mind stopping here in the dark a bit."
As Martha felt her way along the passage and up the stairs, she called softly, "Lizzie! Lizzie!" But no voice answered her. She went into Lizzie's bedroom, and felt the bed. Lizzie was not there. She began to be alarmed. She glided quickly down the stairs again, and going to the parlour, found the matches, and lit the lamp. Then she called to the old man.
"I cannot understand it," she said, as if communing with herself. "Can Lizzie have been frightened because of what I said to her this afternoon? O Lizzie! Lizzie! O my darling child!"
She sat on a chair, and rocked herself to and fro in her distress.
"Because of what you said to her this afternoon?" questioned Old Wheels, sharing Martha's distress. "We are all closely connected by affectionate ties, Mrs. Day. May I ask what you said to her that causes you to be alarmed now?"
"No, no!" cried Martha, covering her face with her hands. "You are his grandfather, and I dare not tell you. But a mother's eyes can see! a mother's eyes can see!"
A sudden paleness stole into the old man's face, and his lips trembled.
"Is it something connected with Alfred? Nay, answer me; I am an old man, and I love Lizzie."
"It would have been better for her," sobbed the unhappy woman, "if she had never seen him. He has brought shame upon her, and I only am to blame! I should have watched over her; I should not have left her alone! O, Lizzie, my darling! come back to me!"