She felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the best means of accomplishing her purpose. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. "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. All the linen was new and stamped with the mark of Whiteaway, Laidlaw & Co. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it.
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