Would he look up?
He did; on the instant of taking his seat within the hack.
Their eyes met in a mutual glance, half tender, half reproachful—on both sides interrogatory.
There was no time for either to become satisfied about the thoughts of the other. The carriage whirling away, parted two strange individuals who had come oddly together, and almost as oddly separated—parted them, perhaps for ever!
There was another who witnessed that departure with perhaps as much interest as did Julia Girdwood, though with less bitterness. To him it was joy: for it is Swinton of whom we speak.
Kneeling at the window of his room, on the fourth storey—looking down through the slanted laths of the Venetians—he saw the hack drive up, and with eager eyes watched till it was occupied. He saw also the two ladies below; but at that moment he had no thoughts for them.
It was like removing a millstone from his breast—the relief from some long-endured agony—when Maynard entered the carriage; the last spasm of his pain passing, as the whip cracked, and the wheels went whirling away.
Little did he care for that distraught look given by Julia Girdwood; nor did he stay to listen whether it was accompanied by a sigh.
The moment the carriage commenced moving, he sprang to his feet, turned his back upon the window, and called out: