"Is your father alive?" "No," returned Thames; "he was assassinated while I was an infant. So, adroitly and patiently, he pulled Ruth apart; that is, he plucked forth a little secret here, another there, until he had quite a substantial array. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. 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.
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