“And yet I do it without compunction. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. You will be—my wife. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. 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. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. " "Very well," replied Thames, about to depart.
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