Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. Beautiful is the girl of twelve,—who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either! Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the following circumstances. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her.
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