It was the blouse that gave Lucy away. 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. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. “I have the right to be here. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. When I awoke I followed my instinct to Athena’s temple.
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