The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. The child was still safe. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. “I refuse. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. I have to see if you carry any more weapons. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. .
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