I—I hurt myself. “But it’s a long business. 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. Jack could hardly be accounted good-looking: Thames, on the contrary, was one of the handsomest boys possible. " "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. She felt the need to get dressed, sensing that his parents would be home soon. I've got to know why. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed.
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