" "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. Dorling said. "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. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption.
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