AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSITION.
But although the tone of Muzzy's acquiescence in the turning over of a
new leaf was almost abject, his manner denoted inward disturbance. His
restless eyes became more restless in the endeavour to look steadily
into Mr. Sheldrake's face, and his lips twitched nervously as he
passed the back of his hand across them with the air of one who is
thirsty. The sudden interest which Mr. Sheldrake exhibited in Lizzie
and her lover was evidently distressing to him, and he waited
anxiously for an explanation. Mr. Sheldrake did not notice these
symptoms; he was too much engrossed in his own musing, the
satisfactory nature of which was evidenced by the bright look he
turned upon Muzzy.
"This girl, this Lizzie," he said, following the current of his
thoughts, "who has no parents----she has none?"
"None, sir."
"Must find it dull work living up in a garret by herself."
"Lizzie is happy enough," said Muzzy; "I have never heard her
complain; she is a good girl, sir."
"Doubtless; but nevertheless would jump at the opportunity of living
in a pretty detached house in the suburbs, say in St. John's-wood or
Kensington, or better still near to the river--a pretty house, cosily
furnished, with a garden round it. How would that suit you, old man?"
Muzzy stared in amazement at his employer, who continued gaily,
"Respectably dressed, living a quiet respectable life, as a widower,
say with an only child, a daughter----"
"Sir!" exclaimed Muzzy, rising in his agitation.
"Steady, old man! A daughter ready-made, Lizzie the charmer--what can
be better? If you object to father and daughter say uncle and niece;
it will serve the purpose equally well. Fifty neat stories can be made
up to suit the case, if there is need of explanation. Of course it
will not be kept secret that the man who enables you to do this is Mr.
David Sheldrake--that he is your best friend--and that in your
declining days (excuse me for referring to the unpleasant fact) you
owe it to him that you are enabled to live in ease and comfort."
"I don't understand, sir."
"It isn't so very difficult, either. I want a place where I can come
for an hour's quiet now and again, and where my friends would be
welcome. You have served me well up to this point----"
"I have tried to do so, sir," murmured Muzzy.
"And in serving me well, have served yourself at the same time.
Continue to do so, but ask no questions, and don't look a gift horse
in the mouth." (This was somewhat sternly spoken; for notwithstanding
Muzzy's humble acquiescence in his employer's plans, there was
something in his manner that did not please Mr. Sheldrake.) "I may
have a purpose to serve in what I propose, and I may not. That is my
business. The prospect I open out to you is not an unpleasant one. It
is better than the workhouse." (Muzzy shivered.) "I will put you in
such a house as I have described, where you may enjoy the comforts of
a home, instead of living the pig's life you are living now. But only
on the understanding, mind you, that Lizzie lives with you." (The same
increased restlessness in Muzzy's eyes, the same nervous twitching of
his lips, the same action of his hand across his parched mouth, were
observable in Muzzy's manner, at this fresh reference to Lizzie.)
"Tell her that a stroke of good fortune has fallen to you suddenly,
and that you owe it to me to give or to withhold. Ask her to share
your home as your daughter or your niece. You want nothing from her.
If she wishes to continue her needlework, let her do so; it will
be a pleasanter place to do it than here, and it will keep her in
pocket-money. As for you, I promise that you shall not be quite idle;
for I intend to pay you your salary, besides keeping the house, and
you must do something to earn it. I daresay we shall start a new firm,
at the new address, one, say, that undertakes discretionary
investments--a good game, old man" (this with a laugh)--"and so shall
manage to pay expenses. Then if you like to do a little private
betting on your own account, you can do so. You may make a hit with
that system of yours which you say you have discovered."
"I could make a fortune, sir," cried Muzzy eagerly, "a fortune, if I
had a little money to speculate with."
"So that's settled," said Mr. Sheldrake easily, "and you can speak to
Lizzy to-night."
But Muzzy's diversion from the cause of his uneasiness was only
momentary.
"I thank you, sir," he said, hesitating over his words, "for all this.
Whatever position you place me in, I shall endeavour to serve you
faithfully."
"It will be your interest to do so," was the masterful rejoinder, "or
something unpleasant might happen."
"But I want to ask you----"
"I told you not to ask questions, old man," interrupted Mr. Sheldrake,
with a frown.
"I must ask you this one," said Muzzy, with a courage which surprised
even himself.
"If you must, you must. What is it?"
"Lizzie's a good girl, sir."
"Who said she wasn't?"
"She has been almost a daughter to me, sir. I have lived a lonely life
for many, many years, until she took the room next to me, and then
after a little while everything seemed changed. If you were to ask me
who in the whole world I would sooner serve than any other, I would
mention her--excepting you, sir, of course."
"What are you driving at, old man?"
"Rather than any harm should come to her through me, I would never see
her again. I would go away. And you don't know, sir, what it is to
live alone; to feel that you are growing older and older, and to be
tormented with bad dreams and bad fancies; and not to have one person
in the world to give you a smile or a cheerful word."
"Drives you to drink, eh?"
"What else can a lonely man do, sir?"
"That's just the reason I'm offering you this chance with Lizzie, and
just the reason why you should jump at it. But you haven't asked me
your question yet."
Muzzy could not for a few moments muster sufficient courage to put it;
but at last he said in an imploring tone,
"You don't mean any harm to Lizzie, sir?"
Mr. Sheldrake laughed loud and laughed long; he seemed to be relieved
from an embarrassment by Muzzy's question.
"Why, man," he said boisterously, "I've never set eyes on this charmer
of yours, so how can I mean any harm to her? Nay, more; I should not
have the slightest objection to this lover of hers who's chatting with
her now visiting her at the house----"
"I don't want him there," cried Muzzy jealously.
"He'll come, depend upon it, old man. Why, Muzzy, if you were not too
old to play the lover, I should say you were jealous. Let the
youngsters alone; let them enjoy themselves. You were young yourself
once, and I've no doubt played the gay Lothario often enough. Let me
see--Muzzy means Musgrave, doesn't it?"
"That's my name, sir."
"Well, Mr. Musgrave, I'll wish you good-night. You can report progress
to me at the office to-morrow. Show me a light."
Muzzy waited on his patron with the candle until Mr. Sheldrake was out
of the house; then listened for a moment in the passage to ascertain
if Lizzie's companion was still with her, and hearing the sound of
conversation, returned to his room, leaving the door ajar. The
prospect opened to him by Mr. Sheldrake was very pleasant. A house in
the suburbs, with a garden, and with Lizzie for a companion--it was
paradise. "I should like to live by the riverside," he thought; then
looked at his shabby clothes, and at his worn face in a cracked
looking-glass, and wondered whether Mr. Sheldrake was really in
earnest. "I never saw him so serious as he was to-night," he muttered.
"He has some new money-making scheme in his head, and he wants the old
man's assistance. Yes, that is it. I thought at first that he meant
harm to Lizzie; and rather than that, rather than that----" he thought
out the alternative, still looking in the glass. "As father and
daughter," he said. "Father and daughter!" What memories of the past
did those words conjure up? If any, not pleasant ones. For he sighed
and grew more thoughtful, and, letting the glass slide upon the table,
covered his eyes with his hand, and looked through the darkness into
the time gone by. Into life's seasons. Spring, when the buds were
coming. Yes. Summer, when the buds had blossomed. No. The leaves
withered as they grew. Autumn. Cold, despairing, cheerless. Winter. It
was winter now, and no sweet winds came from the time gone by to
temper the bleak present. His musings were disturbed by the opening of
Lizzie's door. "Good night," he heard the man say. "Good night,"
Lizzie replied, in a pleasant voice. Silence then, for a few moments;
and then Lizzie's voice asking in the passage,
"Daddy, are you awake?"
"Yes, Lizzie; come in."