‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. Jack's heart was too full to allow him to derive any pleasure from this scene; so he strolled on without raising his eyes till he arrived at Kensal Green. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking. Wild had escaped. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. . Wood started to his feet. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. Love!” He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. CHAPTER XXI.
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