She was on her way to the front hall and the
stairs. Emily rushed after her and would have detained her if she could,
but Thankful would not be detained. Up the stairs they went together and
along the narrow dark hall. At the end of the hall was the door of the
back bedroom, or the larger room adjoining it. The door was closed,
but from beneath it shone lamplight in sharp, yellow streaks. And from
behind it came faintly the sound of a deep groan, the groan of a soul in
agony.
"He's sick," whispered Thankful. "The man's sick. I'm goin' to him."
"He isn't sick. It--it's something else. I tell you I heard--"
Thankful did not wait to learn what her cousin had heard. She tiptoed
down the hall and Emily followed. The two women crouched beside
the closed door of Mr. Cobb's room. And within that room they heard
Solomon's voice, now rising almost to a shriek, now sinking to a groan,
as its owner raved on and on, talking, pleading, praying.
"Oh, don't--don't, Abner!" cried Mr. Cobb. "Don't, no more! PLEASE
don't! I know what you mean. I know it all. I'm sorry. I know I ain't
done right. But I'll MAKE it right; I swear to the Almighty I will! I
know I've broke my word to you and acted wicked and mean, but I give you
my solemn word I'll make everything right. Only just quit and go away,
that's all I ask. Just quit that--Oh, there you GO again! QUIT! PLEASE
quit!"
It was dreadful to hear, but this was not the most dreadful. Between the
agonized sentences and whenever the wind lulled, the listeners at the
door heard another sound, a long-drawn gasp and groan, a series of gasps
and groans, as of something fighting for breath, the unmistakable sound
of snoring.
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