A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground. “How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. By the middle of July he was in full health. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Let me see my child, if he is really here?" "Behold him!" returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her. He stopped abruptly. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. “How?” 106 “The other person makes the mistake of going to sleep.
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