The Railroader’s face, set like carven granite, began to twitch. The rigid mouth relaxed its set whiteness and the eyelids flickered. Mrs. Conover, at these signs of life, prepared for a fresh attack of hysteria, but a gentle, firm pressure of Anice’s hand in hers forestalled the outburst. With an aggrieved look at the girl, Letty again turned her scared attention to her husband.
Dr. Hawes was bending once more over the prostrate man, seeking to employ a restorative. Now he rose, and as he did so, Caleb’s eyes opened.
There was no bewilderment, no surprise nor pain in the calm glance that swept his garish surroundings.
“Is he suffering?” whispered Anice. “Or——?”
“Horribly,” returned Dr. Hawes in the same tone. “He——”
The shrewd, pale eyes that scorned to show trace of physical or mental anguish, slowly took in the group beside the couch, resting first on the two physicians, then on Anice Lanier.
As he saw and recognized Anice the first change came over the dying man’s hard-set features. A look of perplexity that merged into glad surprise lighted his whole face, smoothing from it with magic touch every line of care, thought or time; transfiguring it into the countenance of a happy boy. Long he sought and held her sympathetic glance, that look of youth and gladness growing and deepening on his face, while all around stood silent and marvelling.
It was Mrs. Conover who broke the spell.
“Oh, Caleb!” she wailed querulously, “you said no horse could get the better of you. And now——”
At her words the beatific light was gone from Conover’s eyes. In its stead came a gleam of grim, ironical amusement. Then, his gaze travelling past Anice to Clive Standish, his brows contracted in a frown of displeasure. But this, too, faded. The swathed head settled lower among the cushions, the powerful body seemed to shrink and flatten. The eyes closed, and Conover lay very still.