A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. "I dare say she has called to inquire about Jack. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon.
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