There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. "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. "Get up, mother," cried Jack; "do not kneel to him. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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