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The Admiral started from his chair to his feet. His face was full of blood, his hands were uplifted, and his fingers tightly locked. He cried, in a voice that was like mimic thunder in its power, and breaks, and falls: Billy did not follow. Something, perhaps the primitive man in him, cautioned the unwisdom of so doing. From the dim, far-back ages woman has run and man has pursued. But a few wise men have waited. "Oh, hello," he whispered, coldly. He was irritated at such unwarranted interruption of his soul-feast. He settled low in his seat and pretended to give his attention to the teacher, Cobin Keeler..

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Mrs. Wilson turned to the door, wiped her red face on her apron, and finished emptying a pan of hot cookies into the stone crock, before answering, sternly: He ran out of the cabin. The Admiral pillowed his son's head with his arm, and gazed at the marble-still features. Never could any man appear more stricken, though 'tis hard to tell by posture or by expression of face the depth of human sorrow, the pang of the wound that death alone can heal. His only son—whom he had cursed for his wickedness—whose professional life, extinguished by an act of drunken madness, had swelled the eyes of the father with the unshed tears of the spirit of[Pg 439] a man—lying dead or dying on his arm—self-slain! "Well, what is it, then? Who sent you? Come now, out with it quick, or I'll take a tarred rope-end to you." With a gasp Scroggie went to earth, where he lay writhing. After a time he struggled to a sitting posture..