b, they watched. Madness
was creeping upon them rampant. Like a mighty tide, the ocean weight
behind it, hurling itself against flood-gates that could never stand, it
mounted higher and higher; and already, as the water first seeps between
the gates, grim forecast of what was to come, it showed itself now in
that long, sobbing, convulsive inhalation, in that strange, sinuous,
restless movement.

On went the Flopper. There was still a yard to go--two feet--_one_.
Stopped in a sudden deathless hush was all sound. The Flopper flung
himself forward upon his face at the Patriarch's feet. Stopped was all
movement, haggard and tense every face, strained every eye. For a moment
that seemed to span eternity, in a huddled heap, that crippled, twisted
thing lay there before them motionless, without sign of life--the
venerable face above it, still intent, still listening, turned slowly
downwards. Then there was a movement, a movement that blanched the
watching faces to a more pallid white--that dangling, wobbling leg drew
inward slowly, very slowly, and hip and knee, as though guided by some
mighty power, immutable, supreme, came deliberately into normal form.

A shriek, a cry, a wail, a sob, a prayer--it came now
unrestrained--hysteria was loosed in a mad ungovernable orgasm--men
clutched at each other and cowered, hiding their faces with their
hands--women dropped to their knees and, sobbing, screaming, prayed.
Loud it rose, the turmoil of human souls aghast and quailing before a
manifestation that seemed to fling them face to face, uncovered, naked,
before the awful power and majesty and might of Heaven itself.

They looked again--fearfully. The twisted thing was standing now,
standing but still deformed--with crooked neck, with curved, bent,
palsied arm. And nearer had drawn little Holmes, his head thrust
forward, shaking as with the ague as he gazed on the group before him,
oblivious to all else around him.

A twinge of frightful torture swept the Flopper's face--and with that
same slow, awful deliberation the misshapen arm straightened out. Men
cried aloud again and again--a woman fainted, another here, another
there--children wailed and ran, some shrieking, some whimpering, for the
woods.

Again the spasm crossed the Flopper's face, a shuddering, muscular
contortion--and from the shoulder rose his head.

Inward drew the ends of the line of paroxysm-stricken people--not far,
not near to that hallowed group for somethin