The blood will rest on your head. . She ought to have leapt back on guard. "I am not, by Heaven!" replied Sheppard, firmly. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. 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. He remained talking with her however. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her.
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