"Go on first with the light," he said. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. Nothing has been touched since. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. You square the G. Then he paused. He seemed to be thinking hard.
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