" So saying, he advanced towards the window, threw open the sash, and called out in the voice of Thames Darrell, "Who's there?" He was answered by a shot from a pistol. Twice we hired caterers. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. The likeness was ridiculous. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. "I'm not worth it.
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