"As I could wish!" cried Jonathan. "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. Arrived at his habitation, Jonathan knocked in a peculiar manner at the door, which was instantly opened by the grim-visaged porter just alluded to. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. “Hello, Vee!” he said. I deserve pretty much what I’ve got. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying.
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