” “You are,” he answered unconsciously. 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. “Quite right,” she said. "At the bottom of that big envelope I found this one. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. But that was all over. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. Melusine flew after him, the sword held out before her and pointing directly at his retreating back. She began to want to lay her head down on his chest but absolutely denied herself. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. Rank ingratitude, I call it. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. Forgive me. And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little love-story for a respectable titled lady! Have you read of it?” “Never.
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