"I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified. "Oh! if I had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might have been spared me!" "Repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned Wild, bitterly. She picked up the hand cannon. 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. "Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. You would suffer the torments of the damned for what you had done. The commissionaire smiled. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack.
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