" "It'll be over in a few minutes," rejoined Jonathan, impatiently; "in fact, it'll be over too soon for me. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. ‘What a fate he finds for me. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. ’ ‘Lord, yes,’ agreed Gerald, in mock horror. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr.
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