" "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. "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.
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