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 granite in her face and agate in her eyes. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. I will see to it as I will be appointed careful watch over her. Barring that the Valade fellow had sneaked back. This roof is still open to you.
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