God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. 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.
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