" "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. Lucy was silent. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. I thought that I was marrying Meysey Hill, not that creature. Mr. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. "I'd forgotten. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. " The words were scarcely pronounced, when Rowland disappeared.
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