When we had actually left Heathfield I stole a glance at the young man:  he had drawn his cap over his eyes, and seemed to feign sleep, no doubt to avoid conversation with the noisy crew opposite us; but that he was not really asleep was evident from the slight twitching of the mouth and a long-drawn sigh that every now and then escaped him.

I could watch him safely now, and for a few minutes I studied almost painfully one of the most perfect faces I had ever seen.  It was thin and colourless, and there were lines sad to see on so young a face; but it might have been a youthful Apollo leaning his head against the wooden wainscotting.

Once he opened his eyes and pushed back his cap with a gesture of weariness and impatience.  He did not see me:  those sad, blue-gray eyes were fixed on the moving landscape; but how like Gladys’s they looked!  I turned aside quickly to hide my emotion.  I thought of Gladys and Mr. Hamilton, and a prayer rose to my lips that for their sake I might succeed in bringing the lost one back.

The journey seemed a long one.  All sorts of fears tormented me.  I remembered Mr. Hamilton was in London:  there was danger of encountering him at Victoria.  It was five now:  he might possibly return to dinner.  I could scarcely breathe as this new terror presented itself to me, for if Eric caught sight of his brother all would be lost.

When the train stopped, I followed the young workman as closely as possible.  As we were turning in the subterranean passage for the District Railway, my heart seemed to stop.  There was Mr. Hamilton reading his paper under the clock:  we actually passed within twenty yards of him, and he did not raise his eyes.  I am sure Eric saw him, for he suddenly dived into the passage, and I had much trouble to keep him in sight:  as it was, I was only just in time to hear him ask for a third-class single to Bishop’s Road.

I did not dare enter the same compartment, but I got into the next, and now and then, when our train stopped at the different stations, I could hear him distinctly talking to a fellow-workman, in a refined, gentlemanly voice, that would have attracted attention to him anywhere.  Once the other man called him Jack, and asked where he hung out, and I noticed this question was cleverly eluded, but I heard him say afterwards that he was in regular work, and liked his present governor, and that the old woman who looked after him was a tidy, decent lady, and kept things comfortable.  My thoughts strayed a little after this.  The sight of Mr. Hamilton had disturbed me.  What would he think when Gladys showed him my telegram?  He had promised to finish our conversation this evening.  I felt with a strange soreness of longing that I should not see Gladwyn that night.  My absence of mind nearly cost me dear, for I had no idea that we had reached Bishop’s Road until Eric passed my window, and with a smothered exclamation I opened the door:  happily, the passengers were numerous and blocked up the stairs, so I reached the street to find him only a few yards before me.