"Let us fly from this frightful place. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. I packed them with the other few things I owned. In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice.
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