She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. ’ She threw a melting look at Roding. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. But, answer me. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. Sheppard had been interred. But you will, you will. 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. . "I merely asked the question," he said, after he had enjoyed the boy's suspense for a moment.
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