There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. " "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, paralysed by her cries. ” She took a step. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. The above description of —the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains— may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough.
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