It did not take a mind reader to glean that she had suddenly gained the boy’s obsessive attention. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. "This is your work," said the knight, sternly. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. It is no good going into that. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. I don't think. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight.
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