" "A jewel-case!" exclaimed Jonathan. 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. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. It will do its best to overlook things—” “If we let it, poor dear. A new thought checked her steps and she froze. He looked fiercely and inquiringly from one to the other of his companions; but, though both of them were excessively frightened, neither appeared guilty. The man was my husband.
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