But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. . "I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified. She was nestled under his bedspread. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. He did not come out of his chloroform coma and sailed weakly to his death. You see, I’m separated from my wife. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams.
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