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Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. I am so much obliged to you for your projected benevolence. Remember that. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. . She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons.

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