London's Heart: A Novel

"What if some other time should be too late?" he questioned pitilessly. "You ask me whether he is in danger, and almost in the same breath you show unkindness to the only friend who has it in his power to pull him through his difficulties. I make no boast of being his friend-it is the simple truth. And what should there be to displease you in the knowledge that I am your brother's friend because of the feeling I entertain for you? A girl should be thankful-I will not speak of gratitude-to be in this way the guardian and protector of her brother."

"I am grateful, Mr. Sheldrake, indeed, indeed I am!"

"You have a strange way of showing it, Miss Lily. Pardon me, if I seem to speak harshly, but I am deeply wounded by your conduct, and by the conduct of others who should show a better regard for Alfred's position. Your grandfather is cold to me-Alfred's sweetheart misjudges me; but I could forgive these, if you were kind. It is due to my self-respect-which I cannot forfeit, even to win your good opinion-to ask you again whether I may tell you what makes me so earnest in your brother's cause?"

Thus miserably constrained, Lily whispered, "Yes," in a faint tone, knowing what was coming, and dreading it. Mr. Sheldrake dropped his voice to the requisite pitch of tenderness, and prepared to make his avowal.

"I saw you first by accident, Miss Lily. I was passing the Royal White Rose Music-hall one evening-it was in June of last year, a night I shall never forget-and having a spare half hour I dropped in. Almost as I entered, you came upon the stage, and from that moment it seemed to me that my fate was fixed. Such an impression did your sweet face make upon me that I drove to the hall on the following evening, and being acquainted with Storks the manager, we spoke together about you. You remember on that night I threw you a bouquet-I bought it especially for the pretty girl who had made such an impression upon me-and after the performance I came to the back of the stage, and had the pleasure of being introduced to you. I saw that you were too good for such a place-that you were in every way different from the usual run of music-hall performers-and you must take the blame on yourself for having attracted me in such a manner. It is not many girls who have done so-nay, no other has ever produced a similar impression upon me. From that moment I began to love you."

He did not appear to be aware that the very words he employed in declaring his love showed of what base material it was composed. His speech flowed smoothly, and he mentally congratulated himself upon his skill in delivering it. There was no tremor in his voice, for the situation was not new to him. He had delivered himself of artificial love-phrases to a score of girls in his time, and he had become practised in the art; but he was compelled to acknowledge to himself that never had he found conquest so difficult as this-which gave it without doubt a keener zest, and made him as artificially earnest as it was in his false nature to be.

Lily listened tremblingly. It was the first avowal of love that had ever been spoken to her, and it met with no response in her heart. But thought of Alfred's peril compelled her attention. Encouraged by her silence, Mr. Sheldrake proceeded.

"I saw you home that night, and after lingering about the street long after you entered the house-see what an impression you made upon me! – it was my good fortune to make the acquaintance of your brother. He has told you of the circumstance probably?"

He paused for her reply, and she gave it.

"Yes." Faintly whispered, as if it were wrung from her.

"He was in some difficulty, and I was enabled to get him out of it. I was attracted to him by his voice and by his resemblance to you. An acquaintanceship sprang up between us, and it has been in my power to assist him on many occasions. I have done so, as you know, for your sake, and because I love you. There is no need for me to say more. There is one reward I have looked forward to for befriending your brother, and whom I shall continue to befriend if I can hope to find some place in your affection – "

He placed his arm around her, and so overpowered was she by her inward conflict of feeling, that she had no power to resist. But at this critical moment a quick step was heard coming into the archway. Lily turned with a gasp of relief, and seeing who it was that was approaching them, involuntarily cried in a joyful tone,

"Felix!"

And made a movement towards him.

Felix raised his hat, and said:

"Your grandfather is anxious about you, Miss Lily."

"Have you seen him to-night?" asked Lily.

"Yes; I have been to see The Bells, and he told me that you had gone to the same theatre. He expected you would have been home before this time."

"Miss Lily was in perfectly safe keeping, sir," said Mr. Sheldrake, biting his lip with vexation at the interruption, and with jealousy at Lily's more cordial manner towards Felix.

"I make no question of it," replied Felix politely. "Her grandfather must be satisfied of that, but I think he expected Alfred would bring his sister home."

"I will come at once," said Lily. "Alfred has gone to see Lizzie home."

Felix offered his arm, and Lily was about to accept it, when Mr. Sheldrake interposed.

"I would like you to assure this person, Miss Lily, that there was no cause for alarm."

In a very lofty manner indeed did Mr. Sheldrake make this request.

"Indeed, no assurance is necessary," said Felix, with the intention of sparing Lily.

But Mr. Sheldrake would not be denied.

"I asked the lady, sir."

"There was no cause for alarm, Felix."

"One word before you go," said Mr. Sheldrake.

Obedient to her look, Felix fell back a pace or two.

"I will not intrude farther upon you to-night, for I see that you are fatigued and anxious. Of course you will keep what has passed between us an entire secret. For Alfred's sake. Out of consideration for you, I have not told you how serious his position is; I do not wish to alarm you unnecessarily. But you and I, working together, will be able to set him straight."

He pressed her hand tenderly as he wished her good-night; and as she took Felix's arm, he shaped with his lips the warning words, "For Alfred's sake," and turned away without a word to Felix. Before Lily and her protector arrived at the house, Lily said:

"I have not done anything wrong in stopping to speak to Mr. Sheldrake."

"I know that, Lily; but don't say anything more about it."

"I must. I cannot bear that you should think ill of me; and it has so strange an appearance that any one less generous than you would require an explanation, and that I cannot give."

"If I say I am satisfied, and that I hold you in too perfect esteem to think ill of you in any way-that I know you have troubles which you are compelled to keep to your own breast, because they affect others more than yourself-will that content you?"

She answered yes, and he gave her the assurance in other words.

"I have a confession to make before we go in, Lily."

"You, Felix!"

"Yes; I have told an untruth, but one which, I think, may be pardoned. I have not been to your house since eight o'clock. I saw your grandfather then, and he told me you had gone to see The Bells, and appeared anxious about you. I was anxious, also, for I did not care that you should see such a piece."

Lily shuddered. "It was dreadful, Felix! Did you know that I fainted?"

"No; I noticed that you were very pale."

"You were watching me, Felix?"

"Yes, Lily; I was at the back of the pit, and could just see your box."

Lily experienced an exquisite delight at this confession. He had come to the theatre expressly to watch over her. Involuntarily she held out her hand to him, and allowed it to remain in his grasp.

"I knew when you came out of the theatre, Lily," he continued, "and when I came towards you just now, and you asked me if I had been at home with your grandfather, I saw no other way of avoiding an unpleasant explanation with Mr. Sheldrake than to say what was not exactly true. If you can say sincerely that you forgive me for the subterfuge, you will relieve my mind and make me feel less culpable."

"No forgiveness can be necessary, Felix, when the only feeling I have is one of gratitude that you came when you did."

"Thank you; I am more than sufficiently rewarded. Now I am going to say something to you, which may need forgiveness; but I depend upon your generous nature not to misjudge me. My words are prompted by sincerity and pure esteem, Lily. Shall I go on?"

"Yes," she answered, looking him earnestly in the face. There was so much truthfulness in her gaze that he could have taken her to his arms there and then, believing that she would have found comfort in that shelter, knowing that it would be to him the greatest happiness earth could afford. But he mastered the impulse with manly resolve, and with a tender and chivalrous regard for her weakness. There was no fear, no doubt, in her face; she knew she could trust him; all the bright dreams of her youth were embodied in him, and would ever be, though the dear realisation of them might never, never come. He was her knight, in the truest sense of the word.

"You are but a child, Lily," he said, "inexperienced in the world's hard ways, and bringing only to your aid, in any difficulty you may be labouring under, a simple heart, unused to the artifice and cunning which surround us. I have learnt something of the world in my struggle; and although I have not learned to condemn it-for there is much that is beautiful in it, Lily-I have learned that it is often necessary to arm yourself with weapons that you despise, if you would save yourself from hurt. In battling with the world, a man must not wear his heart upon his sleeve-there are too many vultures about-he must not oppose a bare breast to foes whose breasts are mailed. I am expressing myself in this way, so as to make you understand that I-who, I would have you believe, despise meanness and unworthiness as heartily as it is in the power of man to do-feel the necessity of using weapons in life's battle which I would fain throw aside. There is nothing more noble than simplicity of heart-I worship it wherever I see it-but it is a weak weapon, as the world goes, and in most cases, where it is relied on solely, it becomes woefully bruised. Say that you are in any trouble, that any cloud hangs over your life, that you are threatened by storms which you see approaching to you nearer and nearer-how can you meet them, Lily? What weapons have you at your command to save yourself from the peril? Simplicity, innocence, self-sacrifice! Relying only on these and on yourself, the storm breaks, and then – "

He paused, and Lily did not speak. How precious his words were to her! How skilfully and delicately he had contrived to tell her that her happiness was dear to him! His voice was like music to her heart.

"Then, Lily," he resumed, "think what occurs. It may be that I am wrong in my fears. How happy it would make me to know that it is so! But if I am right, think what may occur. You may bring misery not only to yourself but to others. You are moved by this thought, I see. Has it never occurred to you before? You have at home two whom you love-your brother and your grandfather. There is no need for me to say how dearly your grandfather loves you, and what anguish you may bring upon him if you allow suffering to come on yourself unprepared. In both your brother and your grandfather you should confide, and from your grandfather's larger experience of the world, and from his whole-hearted love for his dear child, good counsel would surely come, if counsel be needed. I should say, if I were asked, that were I in your place and needed counsel, I should deem it a matter of duty, as it is equally a matter of affection, to seek for it in one whose riper years qualify him for giving it, and whose life of love for his child is a sufficient warrant for his sincerity. I should say more than this, Lily, if you would allow me, and if you are not displeased with me – "

"Go on, Felix. I honour you for what you are saying."

"I should say, were I in your place and in such a position as I have hinted at, that I should fail in my duty and my love if I neglected to take him into my confidence, and that, in that case, doubts might well arise in his mind – "

"Of my love for him, Felix?" interrupted Lily, with all the earnestness of her nature. "No, no; do not say that!"

"I might have been harsh enough to use these very words, if I did not know that good old man's heart. Cling to him and to his love, dear Lily; do not throw him aside in your trouble. It is the dearest privilege of affection to share the troubles of those we love. If I were married" – his voice trembled slightly here-"the first consoling thought that would arise to my mind should misfortune overtake me would be, 'Thank God, I have one at home who will sympathise with me and, by her sympathy, console me!'"

Had Felix been the most cunning of men, and had he carefully studied every word he wished to say, he could not have made a more successful appeal. Such strength is there in sincerity and honesty of purpose! If anything had been wanting to make him inexpressibly dear to the girl he loved so loyally, to make her cherish him (as she did) in her heart of hearts, he had supplied it. But he had no thought of that; he had spoken out of perfect singleness of motive.

"So, now," he said, in a lighter tone, "my lecture being over, and knowing, as I know, that you are not hurt or offended with me for speaking as I have done, we will go in to your grandfather. I look upon myself as a very conspirator-pretending to be anxious that you should be at home, and keeping you in the night air for my own selfish purpose!"

He raised his hand to the bell, and Lily caught it and kissed it. She felt no shame in the action, no more than a little child might have done; but the soft touch of her lips thrilled through Felix, and so powerful a happiness filled his heart, as he thought of what might be in the future for him and for her, that a mist floated before his eyes, The next moment he raised her hand to his lips, and returned the homage with the respect and devotion of a true and faithful knight.

CHAPTER XXXV

MR. PODMORE WISHES TO BE INSTRUCTED UPON THE DOCTRINE OF RESPONSIBILITY, AND DECLARES THAT HE HAS A PRESENTIMENT

Eventful as this night had been to Lily, and destined as it was to live for ever in her memory, it was pregnant with yet deeper meaning for her future, and an event was to occur which was to draw closer together the links of the chain of pure and unworthy love which bound her. On this night she saw clearly what before had been but dimly presentable to her. She saw that Felix loved her; and also that Mr. Sheldrake had a passion for her. She was instinctively conscious that there was nothing in common in the sentiments of these two men. Their feelings for her were as wide apart as were their characters; and she had already estimated these correctly, although she did not realize the depth of baseness from which Mr. Sheldrake's passion sprung. She was too pure and innocent for that.

When the party left for the theatre, Old Wheels found the time pass slowly enough, and for the purpose of whiling away a few minutes, he went up to Gribble junior's room, and found that worthy man and his wife working cheerfully as usual. Gribble junior's father, the victim of co-operative stores, was sitting in a corner nursing the baby, and had as usual been descanting upon the evils of co-operation, when Old Wheels entered. Mr. and Mrs. Gribble junior were laughing heartily at something their father had just uttered.

"What do you think we're laughing at, Mr. Wheels?" asked Gribble junior, as the old man sat down.

Old Wheels expressed a desire to be enlightened.

"Father just said, that he supposed they would be trying next to bring babies into the world by co-operation."

At which, of course, the laughter recommenced.

"Why not?" grumbled Gribble senior. "You can buy pap at the stores, and you can buy coffins. Mind, John, when I'm dead, get my coffin made by an honest tradesman. If you was to buy one at a co-operative stores, I shouldn't rest in my grave."

"Time enough for that, father," replied Gribble junior, in a business-like tone, and yet with affection; "you're good for twenty years yet, I hope and trust."

"I should be, John, if trade was allowed to go on in a proper way. But co-operation'll be the death of me long before my proper time."

"My girl's gone to the theatre," observed Old Wheels, to change the subject.

"It'll do her good," paid Mrs. Gribble; "she's been looking pale of late."

"I'm going to take father to the Music Hall to-night," said Gribble junior. "He's never been to one. You see, Mr. Wheels, what I complain of in father is, that he won't keep moving."

"It's too late, John; it's too late. My joints are stiff."

"Perhaps so, but there's no occasion to make 'em stiffer. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Go in for everything, I say-go in for work, and go in for play; and keep moving. How do you think baby's looking, Mr. Wheels?"

Old Wheels pinched the baby's cheek, and said gaily that the co-operative store couldn't turn out a baby like that.

"Do you hear that, father?" cried Mrs. Gribble junior, with a merry laugh. "Do you hear that?"

"Mr. Wheels is quite right," replied Gribble senior, faithful to his theories; "it ain't likely that anything good and wholesome can come out of co-operation."

"How's trade, Mr. Gribble?"

"Well, it's no use grumbling, but it ain't as good as it should be. I had an idea yesterday, though. It was raining, you know, and I had no jobs on hand. The hospital ain't as full as it ought to be. I went out in the rain yesterday with three new umbrellas under my arms, and one over my head. What for, now? you'll ask. To sell 'em? no; people never buy umbrellas in rainy weather of their own accord; they always wait for a fine day. No; I had an idea, and I carried it out in this way. I saw a respectable man, with an umbrella over his head that wanted mending. I followed him home, and just as he knocked at his door, I went up to him, and said I was an umbrella-maker, and would like the job of mending his umbrella. 'But I've only got this one,' he said, 'and I want to go out again.' 'I'm prepared for that, sir,' I said; 'here's my card; and here's a new umbrella as good as yours. I'll leave this with you to use till I bring back your own, properly mended.' He was tickled at the idea, and was more tickled when I told him that, trade being slack, I had come out on purpose to look for umbrellas that wanted mending. 'You're an industrious fellow,' he said, with a laugh. 'Yes, sir,' I answered, 'if work won't come to you, you must go to work. Keep moving, that's my motto. If you can't get work, make it.' Well, he gave me his second-hand umbrella, and took my new one. In this way, in less than three hours, I got rid of my four new umbrellas, and got four jobs. I took them back this afternoon, and-would you believe it, Mr. Wheels? – not only did I get paid well for the jobs, but two of the gentlemen bought two of my new umbrellas, and said I deserved to be encouraged. And I think I do," added Gribble junior complacently. "I made a good job of that idea, and I daresay it'll bring me in some money. You see, an umbrella is such an awkward thing to get mended, when it's out of order. Not one person out of twenty knows where to take it to. Well, go to them. I hope it'll rain to-morrow."

When Old Wheels was in his room again, it was natural that his thoughts should dwell much on the conversation that had taken place between himself and Lily. It brought the past before him, and he was painfully startled by the resemblance which the present crisis in the life of his darling bore to that other event in the life of her mother which had wrecked the happiness of that unhappy woman, He opened the cupboard, and saw the little iron box. Very sad were the thoughts it suggested as he brought it to the table and opened it. There was a little money in it, sufficient for a few weeks' expenses of their humble home; two or three mementoes of Lily, such as a piece of ribbon and a flower she had worn in her hair; and some old letters and papers worn and faded. He took them from the box, and sadly read one and another. Among them were letters from Lily's father to her mother during their days of courtship; and certain terms of expression in them brought to him the remembrance of sentiments almost similarly expressed by Alfred. The same vague declarations of being able to make large sums of money by unexplained means; the same selfishness, the same boastfulness, were there embodied. But not the same remorse which Alfred had already experienced; that was to come afterwards, and the despair which ever accompanies it. "We were happy then, my daughter and I," the old man murmured; "happy before he came. My daughter's life might not have ended as it did, in misery; might not have been passed, as it was, in miserable repinings. He brought a blight upon us." And then came the thought, "Like father, like son." He paced the room with disturbed steps. "Alfred's father," he thought, "wrecked the happiness of the woman who loved him, who trusted implicitly in him-wrecked the happiness of my daughter, who was once as bright as my darling Lily. And how she changed under the consequence of his vice and his folly! How she drooped, and drooped, until life became torture! As she trusted him and believed in him, and sacrificed herself for him, so Lily trusts and believes and is ready to sacrifice herself for Alfred. Shall I allow her to do this blindly? The end would not be the same, for Lily could not live through it. How can I save my darling? Would it not be better to inflict a sharp pain upon her now, than to see her walk blindly, confidingly, lovingly, to a desolate future?" At this point of his musings he heard the street-door open and shut, and heard a stumbling step in the passage below. Looking over the papers in the iron box, he came upon two which he opened and read. They were the last two documents connected with the career of Lily's father. One was a full quittance for a sum of money which the unhappy man had embezzled; the wording of the other was as follows:

"In consideration of my father-in-law paying the money due to Mr. James Creamwell, which I have wrongfully used, I solemnly promise not to trouble my wife with my presence as long as I live, and not to make myself known to my children in the future, should we meet by any chance. For the wrong that I have done, I humbly ask their forgiveness.

"Richard Manning."

"He has kept his word," mused Old Wheels; "from that time I have never seen him, never heard of him. No one but I has ever read this paper, unless Alfred, when he took the money from this box – But no; he could have had no thought for anything but his unhappy purpose."

Old Wheels was interrupted in his musings by the whining of a dog at the door. "That's Snap's voice," he said, and going to the door, he saw the faithful dog waiting for him. Snap, directly he saw the old man, looked in his face appealingly, and walked towards the stairs. Old Wheels, taking the candle, followed the dog down-stairs, and found Jim Podmore asleep at the bottom. Snap, having fulfilled his mission, waited patiently for the old man to act.

"Come, Mr. Podmore," said Old Wheels, gently shaking the sleeping man; "you mustn't sleep here. Come up-stairs, and get to bed."

The tired man murmured "All right," and settled himself comfortably to continue his nap. But Old Wheels shook him more roughly, and he rose to his feet wearily, and leaning against the wall, seemed disposed to fall asleep again in that position.

"Come, pull yourself together," urged Old Wheels, taking Jim Podmore's arm; "you'll be more comfortable in your own room than here."

Thus advised, and being well shaken, Jim "pulled himself together," and with many incoherent apologies, accompanied Old Wheels up-stairs. When he arrived at the first landing, he appeared to think he had gone far enough, and quite naturally he stumbled into the old man's room, and fell into a chair.

"I'm not going to allow you to fall asleep again," persisted Old Wheels. "Bed's the proper place for you."

"I should like," murmured Jim, "to go to bed-and sleep-for a month."