Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. 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. I tried. I’m not a lovesick boy. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. Having heard from Thames that you were better, and that your sole anxiety was about me, I came to give you the first intelligence of my escape. Meantime, the Stone Hall was crowded by all the inmates of the jail, debtors, felons, turnkeys, and officers who could obtain permission to witness the ceremony of the prisoner's irons being struck off.
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