"I suppose if I got from this man the information I am most anxious about," thought Deronda, "I should be contented enough if he felt no disposition to tell me more of himself, or why he seemed to have some expectation from me which was disappointed. The sort of curiosity he stirs would die out; and yet it might be that he had neared and parted as one can imagine two ships doing, each freighted with an exile who would have recognized the other if the two could have looked out face to face. Not that there is any likelihood of a peculiar tie between me and this poor fellow, whose voyage, I fancy, must soon be over. But I wonder whether there is much of that momentous mutual missing between people who interchange blank looks, or even long for one another's absence in a crowded place. However, one makes one's self chances of missing by going on the recruiting sergeant's plan."
When the wherry was approaching Blackfriars Bridge, where Deronda meant to land, it was half-past four, and the gray day was dying gloriously, its western clouds all broken into narrowing purple strata before a wide-spreading saffron clearness, which in the sky had a monumental calm, but on the river, with its changing objects, was reflected as a luminous movement, the alternate flash of ripples or currents, the sudden glow of the brown sail, the passage of laden barges from blackness into color, making an active response to that brooding glory.
Feeling well heated by this time, Deronda gave up the oar and drew over him again his Inverness cape. As he lifted up his head while fastening the topmost button his eyes caught a well-remembered face looking toward him over the parapet of the bridge--brought out by the western light into startling distinctness and brilliancy--an illuminated type of bodily emaciation and spiritual eagerness. It was the face of Mordecai, who also, in his watch toward the west, had caught sight of the advancing boat, and had kept it fast within his gaze, at first simply because it was advancing, then with a recovery of impressions that made him quiver as with a presentiment, till at last the nearing figure lifted up its face toward him--the face of his visions--and then immediately, with white uplifted hand, beckoned again and again.

"If I got information about Mirah's family from Mordecai," thought Deronda, "I should be content if he did not tell me more about himself, or why he seemed to have some expectation from me which was disappointed. My curiosity would die; and yet it might be that we had neared and parted like two ships, each carrying an exile who would have recognized the other if the two met. Poor fellow; his voyage, I fancy, must soon be over."
When the wherry was approaching Blackfriars Bridge, where Deronda meant to land, it was half-past four. The grey day was dying gloriously, its western clouds broken into narrowing purple strata before a wide-spreading saffron clearness, which in the sky had a monumental calm, but on the river was reflected as a luminous, rippling movement.
Deronda gave up the oar to draw on his Inverness cape. As he lifted his head while fastening the button, his eyes caught a well-remembered face looking toward him over the parapet of the bridge - a face of emaciated eagerness illuminated by the western light into startling distinctness and brilliancy. It was the face of Mordecai, who in his watch toward the west, had caught sight of the advancing boat, and had kept it within his gaze, at first simply because it was advancing, then with a quivering presentiment, till at last the nearing figure lifted up the face of his visions - and then immediately, with white uplifted hand, beckoned again and again.
