"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. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. "This is your work," said the knight, sternly. She tore open the envelope and read it. "Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. "I should as soon have expected the bones of Tom Sheppard to reunite themselves and walk out of that case, as Thames Darrell to return. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening.
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