” For the moment her aunt could not think of any reply to this counterstroke, and Ann Veronica followed up her advantage by a sudden inquiry about her abandoned boots. ” “Against your will?” He asked. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. 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. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. .
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