He had heard the voice of madness, now he looked
upon madness in the eyes that glared at him. In them was no sign of
recognition, no passing flash of sanity. The white face was lined with
purplish veins, the mouth was distorted and the lips bleeding.
Involuntarily he stepped back to the end of the table.
At his movement the councilor stretched out his arms with a sobbing
moan.
"Nat--Nat--don't--go--"
He fell again upon his face, clutching the table in a sudden convulsion.
In the next room Nathaniel had noticed a pail of water and he brought
this and wet the old man's head. For a long time Obadiah did not move,
and when he did it was to reach out with a groping hand to find
Nathaniel. A change had come into his face when he lifted it again, the
mad fire had partly burned itself out of his eyes, the old chuckling
laugh came from between his lips.
"A little weakness, Nat--a little weakness," he gasped faintly. "I have
it now and then. Excitement--great excitement--" He straightened himself
for a moment and stood, swaying free from the table, then collapsed into
a chair his head dropping upon his breast.
Without arousing him from the stupor into which he had fallen, Nathaniel
again concealed himself in the shadows outside the cabin where he could
better guard himself against the possible approach of Mormon visitors.
But he did not remain long. He struck a match and saw that it was nearly
eleven and a sudden resolution turned him back to the cabin door.
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