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. Wood heard the cry. ’ ‘We are not all of us so empty-headed, Melusine,’ pleaded Miss Froxfield. "Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. ‘Sapristi. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. ” “I hope,” he answered, looking at her in some surprise, “that we shall have many more such to think about. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution.
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