The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. 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. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. "How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. Now I’ll tell you what I propose. “I do not blame him. He certainly bore inspection. ” “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish.
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