\"I wasn't aware that I had rejected him, or so harshly. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. ’ ‘On the contrary. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. 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. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. Good night.
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