Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town. 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 had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. If that's true, she's not long for this world. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name.
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