Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. "If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard. "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. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him. ’ ‘I could have done so at the first and saved you the pain,’ she told him merrily. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him.
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