He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared. " 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. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true.
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