He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. "My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. "Are you not content with the crimes you have committed, —but you must carry your villany to this point. 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.
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