"Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. 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. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Sheppard, who seemed to be crouching upon the floor. It'll be your turn to save mine next. But, be like a son to her. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. She tore open the envelope and read it. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. He was all alone, too. ” They remained looking at each other for three or four seconds. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. Then he sensed the trap.
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