Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. 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. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. " "As you please, Sir," replied the tapstress, coolly. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale.
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