She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. Between her and the fair, far prospect of freedom and self-development manoeuvred Mr. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. ” “Perhaps,” he said, “you had better let me have your key, and I will go up and explore. ” “Why?” asked Hetty. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. You won’t settle and I’m going mad. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights.
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