With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own selfpossession. You needn’t be in any doubt about it. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. "I do," replied Thames, in the same tone; "we haven't a moment to lose.
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