At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. " "A secret!" exclaimed Trenchard. " "Ha! hussy, dare you threaten?" cried Wild; but, checking himself, he turned to Ireton and asked, "How long have the women been gone?" "Scarcely five minutes," replied the latter. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. “Yes. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. I'll tell you what. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone.
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