‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Sir Rowland Trenchard is aware of your return to England. 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. If he had eaten food, this wouldn't have happened. She could tell that he probably wanted to kiss her, but she did not act upon the opportunity. It had been very peaceful in the little cave for countless years. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. I bent over him. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. 266 She peered up at him. It has come,—and sooner than you expected.
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