There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. “You poor thing. "Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. "Get in wid ye, ye villin!" And, despite his resistance, Shotbolt was thrust into the chair, which was instantly fastened upon him. ‘What we have to find out is whether or not the wretched female is in fact Lord Charvill’s granddaughter.
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