London's Heart: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

When Old Wheels entered the house, he expected Lily to run down-stairs to meet him, and he was surprised that he did not hear her voice welcoming him. Indeed, knowing her nature, he was quite prepared to find her waiting and watching for him at the street-door, or in the passage, and he was somewhat disappointed, when he put the key in the lock and listened, to hear no sound. Notwithstanding that a deep feeling of sadness was upon him, created by Martha Day's words and Lizzie's strange absence, the happiness that lay in the assurance that Lizzie's future was safe was more than sufficient to counterbalance all depression. When Felix had the right to protect his darling from the snares by which she had been surrounded--snares which her own loving nature had strengthened--trouble would weigh lightly upon him. But he could not shake off the uneasiness caused by the scene through which he had just passed. It was so strange and inexplicable: Lizzie's disappearance--for which her mother, who had parted from her but a few hours before, could not account--Alfred's absence and, added to these, the circumstance of Mr. Musgrave not being at home, he resolved that he would not tell Lily. "Let the child enjoy her happiness," he thought, "Alfred is sure to be home some time to-night." Ascending the stairs, he entered the sitting-room, and looked around for Lily. She was not there. "The puss!" he thought, with a smile. "She thinks Alfred is with me, and she is hiding herself. Lily; Lily!" No sound broke the silence that followed, as the old man stood, with head inclined, listening for the response. But the silence seemed to speak, and his heart turned cold. He looked around again with a vacant eye, and murmured, more than cried, in a helpless tone, "Lily! Lily!" with the same result. He wandered into her bedroom, and into every room in the house, but found no trace of his darling. Then a feeling came upon him, like the feeling of death, and almost deprived him of consciousness. But after a little while, by a strong effort of will, he recovered himself somewhat. "I must think! I must think!" he murmured; and wrenching his mind from the lethargy of despair which was stealing over it, he thought over all that had occurred. Presently a comforting thought came to him: the coincidence of Lizzie being absent from her house was a sufficient reason for his darling not being at home. "I have been away longer than Lily expected," he thought as he descended the stairs towards the street. "Lily grew anxious, and coming after me met Lizzie, and perhaps Alfred as well. I must have missed them on the way." In the hope and expectation of finding both the girls and his grandson there, he retraced his steps to Lizzie's house; but the place was dark and deserted, and he obtained no response to his knocks and cries. Even Martha Day was gone. In greater distress of mind, and with a terrible fear stealing upon him, which he found it impossible to shake off, he returned to his own house, and leaving the street-door open, wandered in an uncertain manner again through every room, searching in the most unlikely places. He looked about for a note, a line from Lily, to account for her absence, but not a trace of her writing was to be seen. Not knowing what to think or do, he stood, helpless, in the middle of the room, with clasped hands, as if waiting for some sign. For the space of little more than a minute he stood thus, when a church bell began to chime the hour of ten, and as the sound fell upon his ears he heard the street-door pushed softly open, and afterwards a light step upon the stairs. A sudden rush of tears came to his eyes, and the feeling of grateful relief he experienced almost overpowered him. "Thank God! She has come back, and I have been tormenting myself with foolish fears." But there entered the room, not Lily, but Felix. He approached the old man with outstretched hand, and looked eagerly around.

"Ten o'clock exactly," he said in a cheery tone; "I said I'd be here at ten. I came by the road, too. Where's Lily?"

The old man could not find voice to answer the question, and the agitation expressed in his troubled eyes was reflected instantly in the eyes of Felix, as in a mirror. For a moment a shadow reflected upon Felix's hitherto joyful face, like a mist upon a mirror, dimming its brightness.

"Where's Lily?" he asked again, hurriedly.

"You have not met her, then?" asked the old man faintly, in reply.

The shadow instantly passed away, and Felix's face became bright again.

"Seen her! No. Has she gone to meet me? The dear girl! She thought, perhaps, I was coming by train."

He was about to leave the room with the intention of running to the railway-station, when Old Wheels, who had received the suggestion with a feeling of intense gratitude, convinced that Felix had placed the right construction upon Lily's absence, called out to him to stop for a moment.

"I will go with you, Felix," he said.

Felix waited at the street-door for him, but before the old man left the house, he went into Lily's bedroom. He had not thought before of ascertaining whether Lily's hat and mantle were in their usual place. They were not there.