They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. It was still possible the child might be in safety. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. “No, I’m fine. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. And I have no more the pistol. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. Mr.
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