foreshadowed. The prefigured friend had come from the golden background, and had signalled to him: this actually was: the rest was to be.
In three minutes Deronda had landed, had paid his boatman, and was joining Mordecai, whose instinct it was to stand perfectly still and wait for him.
"I was very glad to see you standing here," said Deronda, "for I was intending to go on to the book-shop and look for you again. I was there yesterday—perhaps they mentioned it to you?"
"Yes," said Mordecai; "that was the reason I came to the bridge."
This answer, made with simple gravity, was startlingly mysterious to Deronda. Were the peculiarities of this man really associated with any sort of mental alienation, according to Cohen's hint?
"You knew nothing of my being at Chelsea?" he said after a moment.
"No: but I expected you to come down the river I have been waiting for you these five years." Mordecai's deep-sunk eyes were fixed on those of the friend who had at last arrived, with a look of affectionate dependence, at once pathetic and solemn. Deronda's sensitiveness was not the less responsive because he could not but believe
