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. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. She could not run, her limbs were frozen. She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. “If you really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can. The oaken beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight. ” “Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark.
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