She did come in, but seemed trembling from head to foot. The strong light fell on her face, although she had pulled her shabby bonnet down as much as possible. There was a moment's silence, and then the footman exclaimed: "Lizzy Lee! Can it be yourself?-so changed-so-" he stopped short, for he felt a choking in the throat, which rather impeded his ut terance. "Yes, James," she replied, hardly lifting her eyes from the ground. "I knew you immediately. Had I guessed you lived here, I would never have come to the house." "I have only been here a very few days," he said; "but tell me about yourself. What are you doing? Where do you live?" "I take in needlework," she replied, answering only one of his questions. I have brought some work home for the young ladies this evening." There was an awkward pause for a moment, and then Lizzy Lee ventured to ask if he knew how they all were at the "dear old place." "Oh, all quite well," said James. "Miss Clara is marriedLizzy turned pale, and her lip quivered. James remarked her emotion, and though a dark cloud passed over his face, he was too good natured to annoy her, so he hastened to add: "Miss Clara married a gentleman that she met in Scotland, and Miss Edith is going to be married to Mr. Percy's curate. He is a very nice gentleman, and more liked than Mr. Percy." "And why did you leave the old place, James ?" she asked. "Because I was-was not happy, Lizzy. I had no fault to find with the family, or they with me, and I was very sorry to leave them. But I could not bear the place after you left it. It seemed so dull; and that Hannah was always jibing and jeering at me. My! How vexed I used to be with her. And she was always setting on you with her foul tongue. So I said either she or I must quit. She would not, and I did. And that's the whole story." "I am very sorry," said poor Lizzy, "to have been in any way the cause of your giving up such a good situation. I hope you are comfortable here ?" "Well, I might have a wors esituation, to be sure, but it's not nearly so good a place as the Barwells'." Lizzy remembered that it would not do to stand talking at the door with the footman, so she begged James to take the little parcel she had brought with her to the young ladies' maid, and say that she would be very much obliged if her little bill could be paid, as she had been promised the day before. James informed her, to her dismay, that the waiting-maid had gone out for the evening, and that the young ladies were engaged with some visitors; but, he added, "Sit down a minute, and I will take the parcel to the housekeeper; perhaps she may pay your bill.” He returned very soon, shaking his head. "She won't pay you; she says you must call again on Monday, for as to-morrow is Sunday, of course nothing can be paid till then.” The unfortunate young woman clasped her hands, involuntarily exclaiming, "And we must starve till then!" “We—who are the we, Lizzy ?” "My children and myself.” "Children! Starve! What is all this, Lizzy? Tell me where you live, perhaps I may be able" But at that moment the drawingroom bell rang. "One of the visitors is coming down. You must not be seen with me, Lizzy. You must go—but here, here, take this,” cried James, thrusting his fingers into his waistcoat-pocket and pulling out a half-crown. Lizzy's first impulse was to refuse the money, and she did motion it from her, while she faintly exclaimed, "Oh no, no!" But the temptation was too strong. She could not resist the prospect of relief that half-crown held out to her, so presently she clutched the half-crown eagerly, and crying, "Heaven bless you, James, for your great goodness!" she hurried away, deeply humiliated, but at the same time sincerely grateful to her former admirer. II. LIZZY LEE. WHEN Lizzy Lee disappeared so suddenly and mysteriously from Mr. Barwell's house, it was strongly suspected that Mr. Alfred Percival had something to do with her absconding; but there was no proof whatsoever of his having been in any way concerned in her flight, and when Mr. Montague, at the pressing request of Mrs. Barwell, wrote to ask him if he had by chance seen or heard anything of the unfortunate girl, he returned a very plausible answer, regretting the poor young woman's indiscretion, but denying all knowledge of her, or her proceedings. Slender as was old Mr. Montague's faith in his grand-nephew's good principles, he did not think that the youth would tell a positive falsehood; therefore he listened with some credence to Mrs. Winslow's opinion, who suspected as the culprit a handsome young man belonging to an itinerant troupe of equestrians, who had performed once or twice on the green at the village of Woodbury, during a fair in the neighbourhood, and who had remarked the pretty Lizzy, had been introduced, or had introduced himself to her, and who had escorted her round the booths and stalls, and presented her with some gilded gingerbread and other fairings. Mrs. Winslow was the more inclined to believe that poor deluded Lizzy had followed the fortunes of the good-looking performer, whom she had first beheld in all the magnificence of a purple velvet costume, bedizened with spangles and gold lace, while his handsome features were set off to advantage by a Spanish hat and plume of feathers, that waved gracefully as he rode round the ring standing on his saddle, or vaulting from horse to horse, because she had heard from her fellow-servant, Hannah, that James, the footman, had spoken with angry contempt of "that rascally tumbler," who had had the impudence to make up to Lizzy. Now Mrs. Winslow opined that if James-who was a declared beau of Lizzy's-had reason to suspect that she had gone off with Mr. Alfred Percival, or gone to join that gentleman, he would not have been so full of bitterness against the member of the company of strolling performers; and this was such a rational argument, that Mr. Montague, glad to exonerate his own relative from what he considered a very disgraceful act, adopted his housekeeper's suggestion as the true version of the case, and imparted the same to Mrs. Barwell. That good lady was much shocked at the idea of her pretty favourite having to associate with such a low set of people as strolling showmen and equestrians, who wandered about the country in caravans, and who, she feared, had no religion and but slender morality; yet, as Lizzy was such a pretty and handy girl, it was probable the man might marry her, and that would be better than going to live with a gentleman, who would never dream of making her his wife. She was greatly distressed about poor Lizzy, and made every possible effort to ascertain where the itinerant troupe had gone to, and if the poor girl were with them; but there were so many companies of vagrant performers, and they moved so constantly from place to place, that no tidings of the particular set in question could be obtained. And was Lizzy Lee with the equestrian troupe who had intruded for a few days on the usual quiet of Woodbury, and by some of the villagers thought to have enlivened its dulness? Was she living, married or unmarried, with him of the purple velvet and gold and Spanish hat? No, indeed! The individual performer and the entire troupe were totally innocent of the abduction of the pretty waiting-maid, and the very individual who had managed to clear himself—at least to a great degree-of blame, was the real Simon Pure. Poor, foolish, infatuated Lizzy Lee had believed Mr. Alfred Percival's repeated asseverations that he cared a great deal more for her, and would rather marry her any day, than Miss Clara Barwell; she believed his vows to make a lady of her, and bring her back to Woodbury as-Mrs. Alfred Percival. So, lured on by love and vanity, she went like a lamb to the slaughter. The tale, the dénouement, is too common, unfortunately, to require to be expatiated on. Lizzy Lee, having erred in her duty to her God, and forfeited her own self-respect, became careless of her good name, and lived only for him whom she now felt was all the world to her. But she awoke too soon from her dream of guilty happiness. Alfred Percival's admiration of her was only a passing fancy; it had increased rapidly, it diminished as rapidly, he became tired of her, and the birth of a little boy was no way calculated to strengthen or revive his waning affection. She had made no terms with him; he was free to desert her if he pleased. And he did so. He told her that their connexion must be dissolved; he had no idea of having a family on his hands. They had lived for some time together in lodgings, and he had allowed her to take his name and pass as his wife. All at once he left her, and at first it was supposed he was only out of town. But he still wrote to her, and his letters were now addressed to "Miss Lee." This awoke suspicion and inquiry; the result was, that the miserable young woman was ejected from the only home she had, and was left friendless and almost penniless. Where to go she knew not: an entire stranger in London, she had no friends, no acquaintances even; the lodgings in St. John Wood had been taken for her by Alfred Percival, he had paid the rent and the tradesmen's bills, she had scarcely ever been to a shop, everything she required having, by her own wish, been ordered for her by the mistress of the house. She was a helpless, inexperienced girl, as far as knowledge of the world and its ways went, relying with child-like trust on one who was only anxious after a time to get rid of her. She begged with many tears to be allowed to remain where she was; but the landlady was inexorable. No, she could not keep her; not if she were paid ten guineas a week instead of thirty shillings. The reputation of her house would be lost-respectable people would not come to it— she had been shamefully taken in-and bundle out Mrs. Percival, or Miss Lee, or whatever she was called, must directly. Lizzy wrote to Alfred, entreating him to come to her, or to send her an immediate reply, with directions what she was to do, and where she was to go. There was no answer, and he did not come. Lizzy was in the deepest distress, and not able to form any plan whatever. She knew that she and her infant, the little Alfred, who had been called after his father, must go forth—but whither? At this critical moment her nursery-maid was of the greatest use to her. She told poor Lizzy that she knew of some lodgings at Greenwich, where she did not doubt they would be received; she had relations there, and through them apartments would no doubt be found. Too thankful was poor Lizzy for the suggestion, and they proceeded by a steamer to Greenwich, where the good-natured and active nursery-maid soon obtained small but decent lodgings, in which the young mother was rejoiced to take refuge. Again she wrote to Alfred, telling him how she had been turned out of her apartments in St. John's Wood, and giving him her new address; but days and days passed, and Alfred neither came nor wrote. Lizzy began to be very unhappy; she began to fear that he was ill, seriously ill, dying, perhaps dead. But the gentleman was quite well and comfortable, only a little at a loss to know how to shake off the encumbrance he had brought upon himself. He did, however, manage it. Lizzy wept, she entreated him not to forsake her, she threw herself on her knees, and implored him to have compassion on her and his innocent child; in vain-Alfred Percival was as cold as a stone, as firm as a rock. Presenting her with twenty pounds, he told her that was the last farthing she was to expect from him, that he could not afford to pay her expenses any longer, and she must do something for herself. He was gone, and she was alone in the world! At first she thought of writing to Mrs. Barwell, but shame prevented her doing so. "No, no," she exclaimed; "rather go into a poorhouse, rather lie down and die, than intrude my guilty self upon them! Oh that I had never left that happy home, that I had never become-what I am!" "The miserable," says Shakspeare, "have no other medicine, but only hope." But poor Lizzy Lee had not even hope to cheer her in her wretchedness, she had only her baby, who was at once a source of the greatest comfort and the greatest grief to her. When playing with him, when watching his infantine grace, his intelligent eyes, his bright smiles, she forgot that he was the child of misfortune and disgrace; but when he was sleeping, poor little innocent being, his father's unkindness, her own helplessness, his probable fate in future, came always rushing like an avalanche on her mind, bearing down every other feeling in its weight of misery. Time wore on, and three or four months had passed since Alfred Percival had deserted Lizzy and her child. Her last shilling was expended, she owed a month's rent for her lodgings, and more than two months' bills to a butcher, baker, and some other tradespeople. There was no helping hand stretched out to save her, no resource for her but to sink yet deeper in vice. In the house where she lodged there resided a retired tradesman, a widower with two children, nice little girls of about six and eight years of age. The attendant of these children and Lizzy's nursery-maid became soon acquainted, and through them Lizzy often saw and spoke to the little girls. She used first to join them when they were out walking; then she asked them into her small parlour, and she used to tell them stories, read to them, and make dolls' clothes for them. Their father acknowledged the kindness of "Mrs. Lee," as she was called, to his children by occasional presents of fruit and game, but he was a shy person, and he never seemed inclined to go beyond a bowing acquaintance. He had a brother, however, an ironmonger in London, who was not so reserved; this man was in the habit of frequently spending Saturday afternoon and Sunday at Greenwich with his relatives there, and after Lizzy became domiciled under the same roof with them, he found Greenwich more attractive than he had ever done before. He introduced himself to her, and paid her great attention, and no end of compliments. Lizzy fancied that his object was to marry her, but Mr. Thomas Judd had no such intention, though he led her to imagine it. At length, he proposed to her to take the situation of his housekeeper, offering her good wages, and a comfortable home for herself and her child, who, he said, he would not mind having in his house, as he was fond of children, and the little fellow was very quiet, and not at all troublesome. On the very verge of absolute want, and so much in debt-for her debts seemed large to one who had nothing-Lizzy thought she could not do better than accept Mr. Judd's offer; and she removed to his house in Pimlico, and was immediately installed as mistress of the establishment. He paid her debts, made her several useful as well as pretty presents, took her to the theatres and other public places of amusement, and did all he could to ingratiate himself into her good graces. All his kindness and liberality, added to a promise he made to marry her, put to flight the good resolutions she had been forming, and the wretched girl once more fell into an evil course. She forgot that the wages of sin are death, and, failing to profit by the sad lessons of the past, she flattered herself that the tie between Mr. Judd and herself would speedily be rendered indissoluble by marriage, as he was only a tradesman, therefore not so superior in station to her as Mr. Alfred Percival had been. She did not think it likely that a tradesman would be so vicious as a gentleman. It showed how little she knew of the world and of mankind, to suppose that vice pre-eminently belongs to any class of society, or situation in life. |