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. John did not see her until the last period. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. The pistol fell to the floor. He had very nearly cleared the board, when a knock was heard below, and descending at the summons, he found his two janizaries. He knew it to be St. Her mind left her.
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