The woman I wanted was another man's wife. “Yes. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. 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.
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