"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. ’ The lady stamped her foot. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter.
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