They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Then she came a few steps to meet him. I’ve told you that practically already. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. The above description of —the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains— may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance. "'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad.
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