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. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. " "How do you spell the last name?" He spelt it. “It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg-tm work.
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