d down by
misery and despair; indeed, as he thought of all that had happened, the
events took to themselves the character of a phantasmagoria in which Mr.
Bloxford, the circus people and Donna Elvira moved like insubstantial
shadows. But, standing out clearly in his mind, was the fact that he was
in London, with his pockets full of money and with one desire, one hope
predominating over all others, the desire, the hope of seeing the girl
at Brown's Buildings.

He would have made straight for "the Jail"; but Derrick's sense of duty
had not deserted him, and with a sigh of resignation, he betook himself
to an engineering firm, whose offices were in that Victoria Street down
which he had almost slunk the night he had left London, a fugitive. He
presented his credentials, transacted his business, and then, with a
fast-beating heart, walked--he could not have sat in a taxi, though it
should exceed the speed limit--to the Buildings.

So great was the emotion that assailed him as he stepped into the cool
shadow of the stone passage, that he actually trembled. The whole scene
of that eventful night rose before him so plainly that it might have
been the preceding one, instead of months ago; in imagination, he could
see her face, as she bent over the rail and whispered her good-bye.

It was the hour at which the Buildings is most quiet, and as Derrick
went up the stone stairs, he did not meet any one; he stood for a moment
or two opposite Celia's door, actually afraid to knock; for, though he
had said to Donna Elvira that the girl might be married, that he might
have lost sight of her for ever, he had always pictured her as behind
that door, and always cherished the conviction that, if ever he should
return, he should find her there. At last, he knocked. No response came.
He knocked again, and the sound of the diminutive knocker echoed
prophetically amidst the stone walls; still there was no response. His
heart sank within him, and he leant against the iron hand-rail, gnawing
at his lip with a keen disappointment, a blank dismay. He tried to tell
himself that her absence might be only temporary, that she would return:
it was ridiculous to suppose that she should not go out sometimes, that
she should be sitting there within the room, waiting for him: absolutely
ridiculous!

He lit a cigarette and waited on the merely improbable chance of her
return; the minutes grew into half an hour before he realised that he
might wait hours,