The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. "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. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. The contact is disturbing; and we prefer going around the fact to facing it. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. "I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. All through the night an entirely impossible and monumental Capes confronted her, and she argued with him about men and women.
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