Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. She rolled to one side. “It is very doubtful,” he said. ” Annabel pulled down her veil to hide the tears. 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. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. “This has almost killed your father. ” He was intrigued.
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