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F. I’m sorry. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. ‘That is, if she’s gone that way. 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 remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. "I have sworn to see him hanged," he said, "and nothing shall keep me away— nothing, by——. To reach it would be a most difficult undertaking. I want my freedom. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels.
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