Terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of Mrs. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. "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 a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks.
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