Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. " "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night. The Well Hole. I have since received a most extraordinary letter from her. 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. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself.
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