"That's sing'lar," said the Judge in an awed whisper.
The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his hands in his
trousers' pockets, managed to suggest that he knew perfectly the meaning
of it, had always known it; but that being now, so to speak, in the
hands of Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at least, the elder
brother read in his attitude. But anxiety at that moment was the
controlling impulse of the Right Bower, as a certain superstitious
remorse was the instinct of the two others, and without heeding the
cynic, the three started at a rapid pace for the cabin.
They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the heavens,
seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose of a tomb.
It was with something of this feeling that the Right Bower softly pushed
open the door; it was with something of this dread that the two others
lingered on the threshold, until the Right Bower, after vainly trying
to stir the dead embers on the hearth into life with his foot, struck a
match and lit their solitary candle.
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