" 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. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. Would there be enough in the young man's envelope to pay the doctor and the hotel bill—and in the event of his death, enough to ship the body home? So all things pointed to the happy circumstance of setting this young fool upon his feet again, of seeing him hence upon his journey. ’ Even as they watched, a shadow passed across one of the apertures. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence.
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