To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. "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. Without Sheila, the denizens of the neighborhood might forget they had the ability to communicate with each other. About them quickly. It makes me desire life beyond measure. After a while he spoke again.
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