"You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. "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. “I have given it up,” she answered. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us.
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