He had tried to speak of her, even with that death-like rattling of the breath in his throat; and the memory of the old councilor's frantic struggle for words brought Nathaniel quickly back to the cabin.

He bent over Obadiah's shriveled form and spoke the girl's name again and again in his ears.

There came no response, no quiver of life to show that the old man was conscious of his presence.

As he worked over him, bathing his face and chest in cool water, the feeling became strong in him that he was fighting death in this gloomy room for Marion's sake.

It was like the whispering of an invisible spirit in his ears--something more than presentiment, something that made his own heart grow faint when death seemed winning in the struggle.