He had nearly reached the centre of the wood, when he stopped to take out his pipe and pouch, and he was about to strike a match, when he saw something white passing between the trees at a little distance from him.
At first he thought it was Celia, and, with a leap of the lover's heart, he took a step forward; then he stopped short; the figure was that of a man in flannels; and a moment or two afterwards, he had recognised Heyton.

The disappointment was great; he had no desire to meet Heyton; the sight of him recalled the bitter past; and Derrick stood, frowning as he watched Heyton on his way to the lake.

He saw Heyton stop and look round him, and then he lost sight of him, for Heyton was bending down in the act of hiding the jewel-case.

When he rose, Derrick got a clear sight of the man's face, and something in its expression impressed Derrick curiously, painfully.
Nothing stops still in this world of ours; and men must go up or down.
It was evident to Derrick that Heyton had gone very much down since he had last seen him.

Heyton's face had coarsened, his lips had grown looser and more sensual, there were bags under his eyes; but it was not these grosser changes which struck Derrick so much, as the expression of the man's face; it was that of one burdened by some oppression of mind or body; it seemed to Derrick that the light, prominent eyes had in them a look of fear, the look a man wears when he is hunted and driven.
And why, just before he had disappeared, had Heyton looked round him, secretively, cautiously, as if he did not wish to be seen?
It was ridiculous, Derrick told himself; but it seemed to him as if Heyton were hiding something.