"You are my hero." The sound of this nearly drove him mad with joy.

He forgot all his troubles.
Prodgers, the policeman, Augustus Scarborough, and that fellow whom he hated so much, Septimus Jones;--what were they all to him now?
He had set his mind upon one thing of value, and he had got it.

Florence had promised to be his, and he was sure that she would never break her word to him.

But he felt that for the full enjoyment of his triumph he must be alone somewhere with Florence for five minutes.

He had not actually explained to himself why, but he knew that he wished to be alone with her.