"I do."
"Enough!" rejoined Blueskin. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand.
Hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly obtained, Thames returned to the room to apprize Winifred of his good fortune. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp.
Winifred instantly picked it up.
"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon."
"My father was of the blood-royal of France," exclaimed Thames.
"Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?"
"Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
"And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames.
"O, Lord!" ejaculated Wood. "My head fairly turns round. So many distresses—so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. Read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire. You've nothing to do but to take possession."