The Black had gone down like a log. He was dragged to his corner, apparently insensible, and it seemed impossible that he could recover in the half-minute. But Cribb, who, in spite of his disfigured countenance, seemed as full of gaiety as ever, gave away his chance, and hugely delighted the crowd by dancing a hornpipe round the stage.

Molyneux got off his second’s knee, but it was obvious that he could do no more. He made a game attempt to rally, but fell almost at once.

“I believe Cribb did break his jaw,” said Mr. Fitzjohn, who was watching the Black closely. “Damn it, the man’s done! Richmond ought to throw in the towel. No sport in this! Lord, he’s up again, full of pluck! No, he’s done for! There’ll be no getting him on his feet again. Ah, you see—Richmond knows it! He’s going to throw in his towel.” Here Mr. Fitzjohn broke off to join in the cheering.

On the stage the Champion, and Gully, his second, were engaged in dancing a Scotch reel to announce the victory. Peregrine joined Mr. Fitzjohn in waving his hat in the air, and cheering, and sat down again feeling that he had seen a great fight. The knowledge that he had lost quite a large sum of money on it did not weigh with him in the least. He exchanged cards with Mr. Fitzjohn, accepted some advice from that knowledgeable young gentleman on the best hotel to put up at in London, promised to call on him in Cork Street to pay his debts at the first opportunity, and parted from him with the agreeable conviction that he now had at least one acquaintance in London.

Chapter III

Miss Taverner spent a pleasant morning exploring the town. There was scarcely anyone about, and that circumstance, coupled with the fineness of the weather, tempted her to take another stroll after her luncheon of cakes and wine.