If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. "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. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. ’ ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. You'll live to hate chicken; and the man in you will rise up and demand strong drink.
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