"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. ’ A trifle discomposed at being caught examining his surroundings, Gerald was provoked into retort. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. ‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. But he sobered instantly as he recollected that O'Higgins had found Spurlock once. "He has robbed him. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time.
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