Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. I’m sorry to disappoint you. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned.
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