"Mammy!" she whispered--with bated breath--"Mammy Elspeth!" Out of the
night came a whispered answer: "_Elspeth! Elspeth!_"
Zora sprang to her feet, alert, fearful. With a swing of her arm, she
pulled the great oaken door to and dropped the bar into its place. Over
the dead she spread a clean white sheet. Into the fire she thrust
pine-knots. They glared in vague red, and shadowy brilliance, waving and
quivering and throwing up thin swirling columns of black smoke. Then
standing beside the fireplace with the white, still corpse between her
and the door, she took up her awful vigil.
There came a low knocking at the door; then silence and footsteps
wandering furtively about. The night seemed all footsteps and whispers.
There came a louder knocking, and a voice:
"_Elspeth! Elspeth! Open the door; it's me._"
Then muttering and wandering noises, and silence again.
The child on the bed turned itself, murmuring uneasily in its dreams.
And then _they_ came. Zora froze, watching the door, wide-eyed, while
the fire flamed redder. A loud quick knock at the door--a pause--an oath
and a cry.
"_Elspeth! Open this door, damn you!_"
A moment of waiting and then the knocking came again, furious and long
continued. Outside there was much trampling and swearing. Zora did not
move; the child slept on. A tugging and dragging, a dull blow that set
the cabin quivering; then,--
"_Bang! Crack! Crash!_"--the door wavered, splintered, and dropped upon
the floor.
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