Yorke stayed--one of the last.

As he went out he caught sight of a solitary figure walking moodily ahead, with hands dug in pockets and head down, the picture of dejection.
Yorke could hardly recognise in this back view his old rival and enemy, Clapperton.

Yet he it was.

A few weeks ago, and he always marched to and from his house in the boisterous company of friends and admirers.
Now he was left alone.
A flush of something like shame mounted to the captain's cheeks.

He had no love for this fellow.