"He will live," answered Ruth. . “We can be alone?” She inquired. 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. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. CHAPTER XII.
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