They would walk together, as when they were among the Alps. Why,
even then, had his heart prompted, had honour permitted, he could have
won her. He believed now, what at the time he had refused to admit,
that Franks' moment of jealous anger was not without its justification.
Again they would meet among the mountains, and the shop in Fulham Road
would be seen as at the wrong end of a telescope--its due proportions.
They would return together to England, and at once be married. As for
the grocery business--

Reason lost itself amid ardours of the natural man.

He paid little heed to the country through which he was passing. He
flung himself on to the dark platform, and tottered drunkenly in search
of the exit. _Billet_? Why, yes, he had a _billet_ somewhere. Hotel?
Yes, yes, the hotel,--no matter which. It took some minutes before his
brain could grasp the idea that his luggage cheque was wanted; he had
forgotten that he had any luggage at all. Ultimately, he was thrust
into some sort of a vehicle, which set him down at the hotel door.
Food? Good Heavens, no; but something to drink, and a bed to tumble
into--quick.

He stood in a bedroom, holding in his hand a glass of he knew not what
beverage. Before him was a waiter, to whom--very much to his own
surprise--he discoursed fluently in French, or something meant for that
tongue. That it was more than sixty hours since he had slept; that he
had started from London at a moment's notice; that the Channel had been
very rough for the time of the year; that he had never been in this
part of France before, and hoped to see a good deal of the Pyrenees,
perhaps to have a run into Spain; that first of all he wanted to find
the abode of an English lady named Mrs. Cap--Cop--he couldn't think of
the name, but he had written it down in his pocket-book.

The door closed; the waiter was gone; but Warburton still talked French.

"Oui, oui--en effet--tres fatigue, horriblement fatiguee! Trois nuits
sans sommeil--trois nuits--trois!"

His clothes fell in a heap on the floor; his body fell in another
direction. He was dead asleep.

CHAPTER 37

Amid struggle and gloom the scene changed. He was in Kew Gardens,
rushing hither and thither, in search of some one. The sun still beat
upon him, and he streamed at every pore. Not only did he seek in vain,
but he could not remember who it was that he sought. This way and that,
along the broad and narrow walks, he hurried in torment, u