By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. “Oh, it is okay. A wrathful God was watching him. 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. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. ” “I feel—All this is the rightest of all conceivable things.
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