" 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. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. Anna went out. . I followed you in. Sheppard. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. “Perhaps. The young lady I was with is not married at all. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him.
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