Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. “You have been very kind to me,” she said. "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. So it would always be between herself and Manning. They would suffer amazing hardships to hunt the snow-leopard; but in the Temple of Five Hundred Gods they would not take the trouble to ask the name of one! But this girl, she was alone.
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