Twice he passes the gatehouse,
reluctant to enter. At length, the Cathedral clock chiming one
quarter, with a rapid turn he hurries in.
And so HE goes up the postern stair.
Edwin Drood passes a solitary day. Something of deeper moment than
he had thought, has gone out of his life; and in the silence of his
own chamber he wept for it last night. Though the image of Miss
Landless still hovers in the background of his mind, the pretty
little affectionate creature, so much firmer and wiser than he had
supposed, occupies its stronghold. It is with some misgiving of
his own unworthiness that he thinks of her, and of what they might
have been to one another, if he had been more in earnest some time
ago; if he had set a higher value on her; if, instead of accepting
his lot in life as an inheritance of course, he had studied the
right way to its appreciation and enhancement. And still, for all
this, and though there is a sharp heartache in all this, the vanity
and caprice of youth sustain that handsome figure of Miss Landless
in the background of his mind.
That was a curious look of Rosa's when they parted at the gate.
Did it mean that she saw below the surface of his thoughts, and
down into their twilight depths? Scarcely that, for it was a look
of astonished and keen inquiry. He decides that he cannot
understand it, though it was remarkably expressive.
As he only waits for Mr. Grewgious now, and will depart immediately
after having seen him, he takes a sauntering leave of the ancient
city and its neighbourhood.
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