" "It's no use going to bed," answered Rachel. But he did not follow on with the thought. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily. \" Lucy fought to resist the compulsion to 45 fold her arms over her chest. 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. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side.
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