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. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. Brendon and I are great chums,” he went on nervously. ’ Then all at once remembrance made her smile. ’ ‘No.
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