"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. " Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly. She sat perfectly still, however. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. How can you protect me? Moreover, it is stealing that you have done, and therefore—’ ‘Don’t tell me you expect me to arrest myself again. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves.
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