“Hello, Obadiah!  Hello—­hello!” he called cheerfully.

A shudder ran through the councilor’s frame, as if the voice had startled him, his arms and body stiffened and slowly he lifted his head.  Nathaniel tried to stifle the cry on his lips, tried to smile—­to speak, but the terrible face that stared up into his own held him silent, motionless.  He had heard the voice of madness, now he looked upon madness in the eyes that glared at him.  In them was no sign of recognition, no passing flash of sanity.  The white face was lined with purplish veins, the mouth was distorted and the lips bleeding.  Involuntarily he stepped back to the end of the table.

At his movement the councilor stretched out his arms with a sobbing moan.

“Nat—­Nat—­don’t—­go—­”

He fell again upon his face, clutching the table in a sudden convulsion.  In the next room Nathaniel had noticed a pail of water and he brought this and wet the old man’s head.  For a long time Obadiah did not move, and when he did it was to reach out with a groping hand to find Nathaniel.  A change had come into his face when he lifted it again, the mad fire had partly burned itself out of his eyes, the old chuckling laugh came from between his lips.

“A little weakness, Nat—­a little weakness,” he gasped faintly.  “I have it now and then.  Excitement—­great excitement—­” He straightened himself for a moment and stood, swaying free from the table, then collapsed into a chair his head dropping upon his breast.

Without arousing him from the stupor into which he had fallen, Nathaniel again concealed himself in the shadows outside the cabin where he could better guard himself against the possible approach of Mormon visitors.  But he did not remain long.  He struck a match and saw that it was nearly eleven and a sudden resolution turned him back to the cabin door.  He believed that Obadiah would not easily arouse himself from the strange stupor into which he had fallen.  Meanwhile he would find food and then conceal himself near the path to intercept Marion.

As he mounted the step he heard for the second time since landing upon the island the solemn tolling of the great bell at St. James, and as he paused for an instant to listen, peal upon peal followed the first until its brazen thunder rolled in one long booming echo through the forests of the Mormon kingdom.  There came a shrill cry at his back and he whirled about to see the councilor standing in the center of the big room, his arms outstretched, his face lifted as it had been raised in prayer at the tolling of that same bell the night before—­but this time it was not prayer that fell from his lips.

“Nat, ye have returned in the hour of vengeance!  The hand of God is descending upon the Mormon kingdom!”

His words came in a gasping, but triumphant cry.

“And to-morrow—­to-morrow—­” He stepped forward, his voice crooning a wild joy, “To-morrow—­I—­shall—­be—­king!”