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. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. “He has asked to see some one,” he whispered to the doctor. Probably she was married years ago and is now merely on the way to her husband's house. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Tight. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped.
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