Perhaps Ramage was the more astonished. While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow. ’ ‘Uh-oh,’ came from her infuriating suitor and his eyes dropped to the weapon she was dragging from the holster under her petticoat. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. Don’t try. 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 this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. ‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII.
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