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Hilary made a movement as if he would seize the opportunity to disarm the girl, but Gerald stopped him. I wonder what it was. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. 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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