Gwynplaine, after having searched every yard of ground, left the green,
struck into the crooked streets abutting on the site called East Point,
and directed his steps towards the Thames. He had threaded his way
through a network of lanes, bounded only by walls and hedges, when he
felt the fresh breeze from the water, heard the dull lapping of the
river, and suddenly saw a parapet in front of him. It was the parapet of
the Effroc stone.

This parapet bounded a block of the quay, which was very short and very
narrow. Under it the high wall, the Effroc stone, buried itself
perpendicularly in the dark water below.

Gwynplaine stopped at the parapet, and, leaning his elbows on it, laid
his head in his hands and set to thinking, with the water beneath him.

Did he look at the water? No. At what then? At the shadow; not the
shadow without, but within him. In the melancholy night-bound landscape,
which he scarcely marked, in the outer depths, which his eyes did not
pierce, were the blurred sketches of masts and spars. Below the Effroc
stone there was nothing on the river; but the quay sloped insensibly
downwards till, some distance off, it met a pier, at which several
vessels were lying, some of which had just arrived, others which were on
the point of departure. These vessels communicated with the shore by
little jetties, constructed for the purpose, some of stone, some of
wood, or by movable gangways. All of them, whether moored to the jetties
or at anchor, were wrapped in silence. There was neither voice nor
movement on board, it being a good habit of sailors to sleep when they
can, and awake only when wanted. If any of them were to sail during the
night at high tide, the crews were not yet awake. The hulls, like large
black bubbles, and the rigging, like threads mingled with ladders, were
barely visible. All was livid and confused. Here and there a red cresset
pierced the haze.

Gwynplaine saw nothing of all this. What he was musing on was destiny.

He was in a dream--a vision--giddy in presence of an inexorable reality.

He fancied that he heard behind him something like an earthquake. It was
the laughter of the Lords.

From that laughter he had just emerged. He had come out of it, having
received a blow, and from whom?

From his own brother!

Flying from the laughter, carrying with him the blow, seeking refuge, a
wounded bird, in his nest, rushing from hate and seeking love, what had
he found?

Darkness.