Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. He hated the taste of it. ” She found her muscles a-tremble. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. O'Higgins was to keep track of you until I believed you had had enough punishment. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. He had but to give his orders. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. 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.
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