"I'd trust you with my life," said Derrick, impelled to the burst of fervour by something in her manner and voice.
She held out her hand, and Derrick took it and pressed it; there was something so melting in the tenderness of her gaze that again he was impelled by a strange influence, and he bent and kissed the hand. As he did so, she laid her other one upon his bent head; it was a touch soft as thistle-down, as caressing as that of a mother; and as he felt it, something tugged at Derrick's heart-strings. He turned away and left the room quickly.
Some time after he had reached his own quarters, and had pondered over the singular emotion which had been aroused in him during the scene, he opened the first packet. It contained a large sum of money, greatly in excess of his possible needs. The generosity of this great lady was amazing. He stowed the notes in his belt and then turned to the other packet. This he sewed up inside his waistcoat; it was too precious to be committed to so commonplace a depository as the purse of a belt.
The following morning, as he stepped into the carriage—Donna Elvira's own carriage of state!—he looked round on the chance and in the hope of seeing her. She was nowhere in sight as the carriage started; but when it was turning the bend of the road, still looking back earnestly, he saw the tall figure standing on the steps of the patio. From the black mantilla which shrouded her, she waved a hand.
CHAPTER XX
Derrick reached London on one of those mornings when she is at her very best, and he felt his heart grow warm within him as he strode the familiar pavements, and inhaled the air which seemed to him laden, not with smoke but with the flowers which were blooming bravely in the parks and squares. He had seen some beautiful places during his wanderings, but it seemed to him that none of them could compare with this London which every Englishman, abuse it as he may, regards sometimes with an open and avowed affection, sometimes with a sneaking fondness.
Derrick was so full of the love of life, so thrilling with that sense of youth and health for which millionaires would barter all their gold, that it seemed to him difficult to believe that he was the same man who, only a few months ago, had paced the same streets, weighed 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.