"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. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. Besides ——” She stopped short. ” The stranger came over to them smiling. \" He took his milk and cookies to bed. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. He singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir. My garden-close would be a better thing than that.
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