“What can it mean?” he asked anxiously, when they had walked up to the room together.  “What has become of him?”

“Don’t know.  I stopped at his place on the way here.”

“Don’t you fear some mischance?  With all that money—­”

“Pooh!  It’s some absurd freak of his, I’ll warrant.  He doesn’t care how much anxiety he gives other people.”

Mr. Woodstock was excited and angry.

“But he will certainly go—­go there in the morning, wherever he is,” said Julian.

“I’m not so sure of that.  I believe it’s on that very account that he’s keeping out of the way!”

He smote his fist on the palm of the other hand with the emphasis of conviction.  Julian looked at him with an expression of wonder.  There was a short silence, and then Mr. Woodstock began to speak more calmly.  The conversation lasted only about a quarter of an hour.  Mr. Woodstock then returned to his cab, which had waited, and Julian bade him good night at the door.

At six o’clock Julian arose.  It was still quite dark when he left the house, and the air was piercing.  But he did not mind the weather this morning.  His step had a vigour very different from the trailing weariness of the night before, and he looked straight before him as he walked.  There was a heat on his forehead which the raw breath of the morning could not allay.  Before he had gone half a mile, he flung open his overcoat, as if it oppressed him.  It was in the direction of Westminster that he walked.  Out of Victoria Street he took the same turn as on one miserable night, one which he had taken on many a night since then.  But he was far too early at the prison gate.  He strayed about the little streets of the neighbourhood, his eyes gazing absently in this or that direction, his hot breath steaming up in the grey light.  When it was drawing near the time, he made some inquiries from a policeman whom he passed.  Then he went to the spot whither he was directed, and watched.  Two or three people, of poor appearance, were also standing about, waiting.  Julian kept apart from them.  First, a miserable old woman, huddling herself in a dirty shawl; looking on all sides with a greedy eye; hastening off no one knew whither.  Then two young girls, laughing aloud at their recovered liberty; they repaired at once to the nearest public-house.  Then a figure of quite different appearance, coming quickly forward, hesitating, gazing around; a beautiful face, calm with too great self-control, sad, pale.  Towards her Julian advanced.

“Mr. Waymark was unavoidably prevented from coming,” he said quickly.  “But he has taken rooms for you.  You will let me go with you, and show you the house?”

“Thank you,” was Ida’s only reply.

They walked together into the main street, and Julian stopped the first empty cab that passed.  As he sat opposite to her, his eyes, in spite of himself, kept straying to her face.  Gazing at her, Casti’s eyes grew dim.  He forced himself not to look at her again till the cab stopped.