"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. “I am sorry. "No, I don't. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit.
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