Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. You have made for yourself a unique place upon the stage. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. "Allow me to assist you, Sir James," said Hogarth. " CHAPTER XVIII.
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