" "Still, you forgot something. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. " "Ah. 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. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. With a little sigh of happiness she accepted this new thing. “Kick aht at ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only the thrusting policemen’s hands.
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