Before her was a great Gothic portal. But it was only six-thirty. Activity in the hall intensified. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy.
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