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The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. " "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. " "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. Vee’s all right. You went even to our rooms and saw my sister. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. 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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