"You have given my son back to me. I want no further proof."
Molly bore her down the stairs, as she retired, with some loss of dignity, her face tearful, her cheek flushed, but clutching the bundle.
"Now she knows the whole," said Lady Woodroffe. "And I defy her to move a step. She may look at the boy from afar off." She rang her hand-bell, and called her secretary, and resumed her struggle against sin.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
A CABINET COUNCIL.
"I don't like it," said Richard. "The thing is proved down to the ground. But I don't like it."
On the table lay the bundle of baby-clothes recovered by the true mother. It was untied. The little flannels, the little frock, the little woollen socks, the little cap—a touching little bundle to one who had memories of the things. And near the table, as if guarding the spoil she had carried off, Alice lay upon the sofa, slowly recovering from the excitement of the afternoon.
"Not like it, Dick?" Molly asked. "Why?"