"Waterloo, main line," he shouted, "as hard as you can go," and in another moment he was rolling across the bridge.

Five or six minutes' drive brought him to the station, to which an enormous number of people were hurrying, collected together partly by a rumour of what was going on, and partly by that magnetic contagion of excitement which runs through a London mob like fire through dry grass.
He dismissed the hansom, throwing the driver half-a-crown, which, considering that half-crowns were none too plentiful with him, was a rash thing to do, and vigorously shouldered his way through the crush till he reached the spot where the carriage and pair were standing.

The carriage was just beginning to move on.
"Stop!" he shouted at the top of his voice to the coachman, who pulled up again.

In another moment he was alongside, and there, sweeter and more beautiful than in ever, he once more saw his love.
She started at his voice, which she seemed to know, and their eyes met.

Their eyes met and a great light of happiness shot into her sweet face and shone there till it was covered up and lost in the warm blush that followed.
He tried to speak, but could not.