"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. “We can be alone?” She inquired. The thought of beauty became an obsession. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. ‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard.
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