‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. " 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. His hands came up, his face broke apart. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. " "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly.
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