It was then six times tied up and carried with anxiety and hope to a publisher's office, only to re-appear six times in Montague Street, an unwelcome visitor, bringing with it depression and disappointment.
Derrick said little, but suffered much.

However, nothing daunted him.
When it came back from the sixth publisher he took it to a seventh, then returned and wrote away like a Trojan at his third book.

The one thing that never failed him was that curious consciousness that he HAD to write; like the prophets of old, the 'burden' came to him, and speak it he must.
The seventh publisher wrote a somewhat dubious letter: the book, he thought, had great merit, but unluckily people were prejudiced, and historical novels rarely met with success.

However, he was willing to take the story, and offered half profits, candidly admitting that he had no great hopes of a large sale.

Derrick instantly closed with this offer, proofs came in, the book appeared, was well received like its predecessor, fell into the hands of one of the leaders of Society, and, to the intense surprise of the publisher, proved to be the novel of the year.