He stepped back further. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. The strong potation he had taken, combined with fatigue and anxiety he had previously undergone, made him oversleep himself, and when he awoke it was just beginning to grow light. Her faithful servant struggled, with her assistance, to rise. 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. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. ‘Melusine. Good-bye aunt. You’ll need that.
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