So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner.
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