"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. He was snoring stupidly. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. You shall tell me if I am wrong.
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