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. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner.
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