Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. 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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