"Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. The mode of destruction makes no difference. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. Take, if you please, your own pistol. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat.
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