For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. “She has never 96 once contacted me. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. "He was thrown overboard, and perished at sea. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. ” “I promise,” Annabel declared. So he resolved to try another tack. I want my freedom. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. He took up his hat and went. Perhaps I'd better open it now. .
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