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. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. I should have known at a glance if it was. ‘Therefore she cannot be the daughter of Suzanne Valade. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. At this moment, the bell began to toll in a peculiar manner, announcing the approach of the corpse.
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