"Ah," he said, after regarding our hero in silence for a few seconds,
"it is unmistakable!" And with that he sighed heavily.
"Pardon me, sir," said Tristram, "but the sight of me appears to
cause you sorrow."
"On the contrary, it fills me with joy."
"I am glad to hear you say so, because, as I am fastened here in
these irons, it would have been out of my power to relieve you of my
presence. Since you are glad, however--"
"Unspeakably."
"--You would do me a great favour by saying why."
"Because--look at me, dear lad--because you are my only son!"
"In that I really think you must be mistaken. There are two
gentlemen yonder in the corner who at present are asleep. Are you
quite sure one of these is not the object of your search?"
"Quite sure, my dear lad. It is unmistakable, as I said. You are
Tristram?"
"I am; though I don't see why it should be unmistakable."
"Those eyes--that voice! It is impossible you should not be
Margaret's son!"
"My mother's name was Margaret," Tristram answered; "that's true
enough. She died when I was born."
"Tristram," said his visitor, lowering the lantern and bowing his
head, "I was her unworthy husband, and am your father, Roderick
Salt."
"That would certainly be plausible, but for one difficulty.
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