"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. It won't do to knock at the door, and Jonathan Wild's house is not quite so easy of entrance as Mr. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him.
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