He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. She rolled to one side. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. Laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause.
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