Mrs. Lucas Cullen, Junior. Clearly it was old Lucas Cullen, himself. If any one had doubt, a glance at old Lucas was quite sufficient to find it confessed; he sat, attempting to appear unmoved, indifferent. But Barney saw him grow rigid in his struggle with sensations he was attempting to down. Jaccard, from three seats off, appreciated this; his grandson and his daughter-in-law felt it, and she endeavored to relieve him.
"I asked," she said, her smooth, assured voice as steady as before, "for communication, if possible, with Agnes D. Cullen who—"
Lucas's hand came up with a jerk and thrust against her leg. "Hush!" he whispered to her. "Myra, hush!"
Undoubtedly he meant his aspirate only for her; but he had such poor control of his enunciation, as of the muscles of his thrusting hand, that the rasp of his voice reached over the room. Several of those seated in front turned about and gazed at him; every one at the sides and in the rear watched him. Few of them—if any of them, indeed—could know what dismay connected itself in Lucas Cullen's conscience with a vision of a quarrel in the Michigan woods with a man who possessed a Book of Mormon.
The Voice, which had halted, spoke on.
"Another stands near you. He was there before, He wants to say he has often been beside you; shorter with light hair and gray eyes; energetic looking; a good face. He builds up an L to show to you. He wants you to know without a doubt who he is. L—A-Y, he builds up. Another L— Now he shows a space with trees about; great trees; a forest; men cut some of the trees where is a stream of water
