“Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. "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. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me.
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