" "He'll have hard work to do it by that time, father," remonstrated Thames; "you'd better let me help him. 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. Do not disquiet yourself. “I am sure of it. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. “Cheveney!” she repeated. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being.
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