There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. She could neither speak nor move nor cry out. . Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. At the same time Sydney and Brendon also vacated their places. 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. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling.
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