‘Well, only look what’s come of it. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. 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. " "Thank'ee, Sir," grinned Sheppard. You're an angel of goodness. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. She could not part with dignity.
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