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. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. Consternation gripped him. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. 1 through 1. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself.
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