‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. 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. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. "Where did you get this from?" asked Wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation.
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