Go away!” “Why kill this one, Lucia? She shall be missed. Spurling and Marvel rose too. 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. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Then he had gone away. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture.
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