It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. 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 will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers.
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