Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild. And now— I suppose I should be considered too old. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand.
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