“There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. "Where are you going?" she asked. ’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Ah Coom. ‘You mean there isn’t any evidence of a break-in. He looked eager and flushed and troubled.
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