But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. He knew. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. "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 tell you, if you do not help me this instant, you will find that your major he will very likely shoot you. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer.
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