Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. "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. . Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat.
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