Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. 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. But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. What were your findings?” Lucy asked. However, I'll make a last effort to save the poor little creature, if it costs me my life.
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