” She glanced at Brendon, who stood by her side, tall and threatening. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. 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. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I.
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