‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. I shall not let you go till I am quite sure. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. Now let us forget 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.
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