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!