" 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. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. Ennison was deeply interested. He was asleep. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. "Your sympathy is being wasted.
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