At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. There was no rush. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. She may afford us some necessary information. 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.
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