Somehow the suddenness and the self-control with which he made this
announcement carried me back to the hotel at Southampton, where,
after listening to the account of the ship's doctor, he had
announced his intention of living with his father. For more than
two years he had borne this awful life; he had lost pretty nearly
all that there was to be lost and he had gained the Major's
vindictive hatred. Now, half maddened by pain, and having, as he
thought, so hopelessly failed, he saw nothing for it but to go--and
that at once.

I packed my bag, and then went to help him. He was cramming all his
possessions into portmanteaux and boxes; the Hoffman was already
packed, and the wall looked curiously bare without it. Clearly this
was no visit to London--he was leaving Bath for good, and who could
wonder at it?

"I have arranged for the attendant from the hospital to come in at
night as well as in the morning," he said, as he locked a
portmanteau that was stuffed almost to bursting. "What's the time?
We must make haste or we shall lose the train. Do, like a good
fellow, cram that heap of things into the carpet-bag while I speak
to the landlady."

At last we were off, rattling through the quiet streets of Bath, and
reaching the station barely in time to rush up the long flight of
stairs and spring into an empty carriage. Never shall I forget that
journey. The train stopped at every single station, and sometimes
in between; we were five mortal hours on the road, and more than
once I thought Derrick would have fainted. However, he was not of