And after that quiet there came suddenly a cry that
ended in the exultant chattering of a name.
At the sound of that name Nathaniel sprang forward again. It was
Marion's name and he strained his ears to catch the words that might
follow it. As he listened, his head thrust half in at the door,
Obadiah's voice became lower and lower, until at last it ceased
entirely. Not a step, not a deep breath, not the movement of a hand
disturbed the stillness of the little room. By inches Nathaniel drew
himself inside the door. His heavy boot caught in a sliver on the step
but the rending of wood brought no response. It was the quiet of death
that pervaded the cabin, it was a strange, growing fear of death that
entered Nathaniel as he now hurried across the room and peered through
the narrow aperture. The old councilor was half stretched upon the
table, his arms reaching out, his long, thin fingers gripping its edges,
his face buried under his shoulders. It looked as if death had come
suddenly to him during some terrible convulsion, but after a moment
Nathaniel saw that he was breathing. He went over and placed a hand on
the old man's twisted back.
"Hello, Obadiah! Hello--hello!" he called cheerfully.
A shudder ran through the councilor's frame, as if the voice had
startled him, his arms and body stiffened and slowly he lifted his head.
Nathaniel tried to stifle the cry on his lips, tried to smile--to
speak, but the terrible face that stared up into his own held him
silent, motionless.
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