If Jack Sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, I leave it—that's all. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. "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. ” She seated herself in a loose and easy attitude and surveyed the backs of the Avenue houses; then her eyes wandered to where the new red-and-white villas peeped among the trees. You make yourself charming for help. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it.
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