that the Flopper's control over the Patriarch was gone. He reached the
Patriarch and touched the other's arm--and at the touch the Patriarch
halted instantly, his hand went out and lay upon Madison's sleeve in
recognition, and he turned his face, and it was smiling and there was
relief upon it--and confidence and trust, as, suffering himself to be
guided, they started back toward the cottage.

And then upon Madison came again that sense of awe, but now intensified.
From every hand tear-stained faces greeted him, white faces, faces full
of sorrow and suffering through which struggled hope--hope--hope. They
flung themselves before the Patriarch--yet never blocked the way. They
cried, they wept, they prayed--and some were silent. It seemed that
souls, naked, stripped, bare, held themselves up to his gaze. Men,
prostrate on stretchers, tried to rise and stagger nearer--and fell.
Friends, where there were friends to help, tugged and dragged
desperately at cots--and from the cots in piteous, agonized appeal the
helpless cried out to the Patriarch to come to them. All of human agony
and fear and hope and despair and terror seemed loosed in a mad and
swirling vortex. And ever the cries arose, and ever around them, giving
way, closing in again, pressed the soul-rent throng.

And presently to Madison it seemed as though he had awakened from some
terrifying dream, as, in the Patriarch's room again, he swept away a
bead of sweat from his forehead, and stood and looked at the Patriarch
and the Flopper.

The Flopper licked his lips, and pulled the Patriarch's chair
forward--but his hands trembled violently.

"It's been gettin' me, Doc," he whispered, "an' I can't help it. It's