"I strangled him—ha! ha! ha!—strangled him while he was at my breast—ha! ha!"—And then with a sudden and fearful change of look, she added, "That's what has driven me mad, I killed my child to save him from the gallows—oh! oh! One man hanged in a family is enough. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. Every rule is against me—Why did I let you begin this? I might have told—” “I don’t see that you could help—” “I might have helped—” “You couldn’t. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. I don’t want to bother you, of course.
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