I can’t forget about your sister. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Had this not been the case, he must have refused even to see his Frenchified granddaughter. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains.
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