256 Lucy chose her words carefully. A silence ensued. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. She no longer felt sick or dizzy, her muscles returned to a relaxed, supple state. . ’ ‘But, no,’ cried Melusine anxiously. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power.
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