A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. " 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. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. Then the distant relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of proprietorship in the girl. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it.
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