“Listen!” she repeated, with a touching emphasis, almost childish, almost petulant.
He heard the storm.
“Yes, Marion,” he said, humoring her.
“Can’t you hear it?” she pleaded. “Listen!”
It was the delirium again; she was hearing things that were not, except in her disordered mind. Perhaps––he had read somewhere that the dying, those of them that are pure at heart, sometimes hear the calling of the––
“Somebody’s––coming!” she cried in the thinnest, most childlike treble. Her face shone; she tried to sit up; she raised one hand feebly toward him.
“Please lie down, dear!” pleaded Haig, pressing her gently back.
She resisted him, smiling and frowning at the same time.
“Be––very––still. And––listen!” she persisted.
To please her, he sat erect, and listened. They were very still then, one of her hands between both of his. And the storm was raging. It was wilder, wilder. All the fury of Thunder Mountain seemed to be behind the wind that came shrieking and bellowing down the gulch.