The Bishop halloed and knocked, but there was no response from within. It was strange. For there was every sign of life about the place. After knocking a second time without result, he 9 lifted the heavy wooden latch and pushed quietly into the cabin.
A great fire blazed in the fireplace directly opposite the door. On the hearth stood a big black and white shepherd dog. The dog gave not the slightest heed to the intruder. He stood rigid, his four legs planted squarely under him, his whole body quivering with fear. His nose was pointed upward as though ready for the howl to which he dared not give voice. His great brown eyes rolled in an ecstasy of fright but seemed unable to tear themselves from the side of the room where he was looking.
Along the side of the room ran a long, low couch covered with soft, well worn hides. On it lay a very long man, his limbs stretched out awkwardly and unnaturally, showing that he had been dragged unconscious to where he was. A candle stood on the low window ledge and shone down full into the man’s face.
At the head of the couch knelt a young girl, her arm supporting the man’s head and shoulder, her wildly tossed hair falling down across his chest.
She was speaking to the man in a voice low and even, but so tense that her whole slim body seemed to vibrate with every word. It was as though her very soul came to the portals of her lips and shouted its message to the man. The power of her voice, the breathless, compelling strength 10 of her soul need seemed to hold everything between heaven and earth, as she pleaded to the man. The Bishop stood spellbound.
“Come back, Daddy Tom! Come back, My Father!” she was saying over and over. “Come back, come back, Daddy Tom! It’s not true! God doesn’t want you! He doesn’t want to take you from Ruth! How could He! It’s not never true! A tree couldn’t kill my Daddy Tom! Never, never! Why, he’s felled whole slopes of trees! Come back, Daddy Tom! Come back!”
For a time which he could not measure the Bishop stood listening to the pleading of the girl’s voice. But in reality he was not listening to the sound. The girl was not merely speaking. She was fighting bitterly with death. She was calling all the forces of love and life to aid her in her struggle. She was following the soul of her loved one down to the very door of death. She would pull him back out of the very clutches of the unknown.
And the Bishop found that he was not merely listening to what the girl said. He was going down with her into the dark lane. He was echoing every word of her pleading. The force of her will and her prayer swept him along so that with all the power of his heart and soul he prayed for the man to open his eyes.
Suddenly the girl stopped. A great, terrible fear seemed to grip and crush her, so that she 11 cowered and hid her face against the big, grizzled white head of the man, and cried out and sobbed in terror.
The Bishop crossed the room softly and touched the girl on the head, saying: