" 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. . I want you beyond measure or reckoning. You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. "But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. “Oh, much better.
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