At other times she would lie awake and listen to the wind
and the rain,--sometimes with such a wild look upon her face, and with
such sudden starts and exclamations, that it seemed as if she heard
spirit-voices and were answering the whispers of unseen visitants. With
all this were mingled hints of her old superstition,--forebodings of
something fearful about to happen,--perhaps the great final catastrophe
of all things, according to the prediction current in the kitchens of
Rockland.
"Hark!" Old Sophy would say,--"don' you hear th' crackin' 'n' th'
snappin' up in Th' Mountain, 'n' th' rollin' o' th' big stones? The' 's
somethin' stirrin' among th' rocks; I hear th' soun' of it in th' night,
when th' wind has stopped blowin'. Oh, stay by me a little while, Miss
Darlin'! stay by me! for it's th' Las' Day, maybe, that's close on us,
'n' I feel as if I could n' meet th' Lord all alone!"
It was curious,--but Helen did certainly recognize sounds, during the
lull of the storm, which were not of falling rain or running
streams,--short snapping sounds, as of tense cords breaking,--long uneven
sounds, as of masses rolling down steep declivities.
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