Chapter 63 No.63

How can I tell thee, Mother mine, of the happiness within my heart! It

is passed; it was but a dream, a mirage. He is here, my boy, his hand

in mine, his cheek against my cheek; he is mine own again, my boy,

my man-child, my son.

It was not he; the culprit has been found; and in the golden morning

light my son stood free before me. I