" "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. Let—it—fall. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. All our fraternity are afraid of him; but I laugh at his threats.
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