" Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you. “Thank you, ma’am. JACK SHEPPARD. “Let’s go outside.
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