3. It was the blouse that gave Lucy away. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. 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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