’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. 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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