" "But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. 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. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. If only—Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. ’ Melusine’s eyes flashed. One would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. I haven’t taken much account of it until now. "Tush!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, angrily. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. "Good-bye, Mac. "Descend and take charge of the body," said Rowland, conquering his emotion by a great effort, "I will join you in a moment.
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