"There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. Wagstaff. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. The light!—the light!" Astounded at his cries, Thames sprang towards him. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. " "At all events, let me send her away, my dear," supplicated the carpenter, anxious to avert the impending storm. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
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