"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. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you. "How!" exclaimed Sheppard. Anna was singing as she used to sing. “But your sister,” he said. “Dare!” she said. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me.
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