London's Heart: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"Dear child," he said, taking her hand in his, and striving to calm her, "you must be guided by me. For his sake, we must keep away from him."

"But he is alone, and unhappy. What will he think if he knows that I am here? O, let us go to him, dear father! We should not be absent from him in his trouble."

"Lily, my child, you would not bring greater trouble upon him?"

"No, no!"

"You might, if you do not act as I tell you. A watch might be set upon your steps, and his safety depends upon his hiding-place being kept secret. For he is in hiding, my dear. Sit down, child, and be satisfied that for the present you are serving him best by remaining here. And do not be uneasy, my darling, that he is not being taken care of. He is not alone. Lizzie is with him."

"Lizzie with him!"

What strange wonders was this night bringing forth!

"He wrote to her, and although he did not tell her where she could find him, she lost not a moment, but came here at once, the dear brave girl! Alfred was at the races to-day, as you already know, and lost not only his own money, but money that did not belong to him. What this false man who brought you here to-night told you about him is true. Alfred is in great peril, and the despair that seized him when he realized the full sense of his danger made him desperate, and drove him almost mad. I came to Epsom to-day especially to keep an eye upon him, for I feared that something bad would occur. Last week Lizzie overheard a conversation between him and Mr. Sheldrake--it took place in our cottage, and she listened at the door. She had not the courage until last night to tell me what she had heard, and I dreaded the consequences, and saw them in a clearer light than she. I have gone through such an experience myself, and have tasted the bitter fruit. I determined to come to Epsom, knowing, alas! that it was too late to undo the evil he was bringing upon himself, but hoping against hope that by a lucky chance (the gambler's forlorn hope, my dear!) things would turn out well. They did not; and when the race was over, I saw Alfred steal away from the course, ruined and almost lost--I saw it in his face--and I followed him to prevent worse occurring. His false friend saw me, and for a purpose of his own set me to watch my own son, little dreaming of the stake I held in his unhappy fortunes. But Alfred discovered that I was watching him, and he escaped me. I was frightened to think to what his agony and remorse might drive him, and I wandered everywhere in search of him. For six hours, my dear, I hunted for him in vain. I was distracted. It was a dark cold night, and I was worn-out and wearied. At nearly eleven o'clock I was on the plains, near to some gipsy tents, about half a mile from here. I thought of Lizzie's misery at Alfred's absence, and I thought of you also, dear child. I did not know what it was best for me to do. Shall I return home? I asked of myself. And as I stood, uncertain and helpless, I heard a voice that was familiar to me. It was Lizzie's voice, my dear. She had been searching also, and with a woman's wit knew that it was useless to inquire at the inns or wander about the town in search of him. She guessed rightly where it was most likely he would try to find refuge. She went to every tent and every camping party on the plains, and made her way where I could not, and received answers and civil words where they were denied to me. At the gipsy tents, near which I had halted, she was told that a man with the horrors on him--don't tremble, child!--had come and wanted to camp with them; but they had turned him away, and would have naught to do with him. Lizzie described Alfred to them. Yes, they answered, it was some such sort of a man. She searched for him near those tents, and found him lying under a hedge in a state of delirium. Dear child, be calm! let us pray that he will get well, and that this great trouble may be tided over. It is not Mr. Sheldrake that he has to fear. But I haven't finished my story yet. Lizzie found him, and prevailed upon the gipsy women to give them shelter. She bribed them with money; she would have given them her blood if they had bargained for it, for his sake. Ah, my child! I begin to see the beauty of a woman's love, and how unworthy we are! One of the gipsy women made some cooling drink for him, and it was while these two were talking outside the tent that I heard Lizzie's voice. You may imagine our sad pleasure at thus discovering each other. I remained with them some little time, and came to this inn for food and drink for them, and as I approached the place I saw your face at the window. You know now the errand which took me from you for half an hour. It is arranged that Alfred shall remain with these people, if necessary; they will conceal him if they are paid for it, and one of the women has taken a great liking for Lizzie. The dear girl would win her way anywhere. I told Lizzie you were here. She sends her dearest love to you, and says that she will contrive to see you to-morrow. She told me to tell you also, that when Felix and your grandfather--God bless him for the care and love he has bestowed on my child!--And all of us absent, Felix will be sure, after the first shock of surprise, to guess where we all are, and that he will follow you to Epsom early in the morning, perhaps to-night. Felix, she says, knows more about Alfred than you are aware of. So, dear child, all that we can do is to wait until the morning, and to hope for the best. And now, before you lie down to rest, tell me if it is as I suspect and hope with you and Felix."

She hid her face on his shoulder, and told him all.

"God bless you both!" he said solemnly.