"Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune. Marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great distress. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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