"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command.
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