Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. The name of his father's murderer is also known to me. The doctor drew out the contents hopefully. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily.
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