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Mrs. "That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. 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 idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple.
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