"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 guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. It does not matter to him either way.
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