Suddenly he blinked queerly, grabbed Powell's shoulder and
collapsed, subsiding all at once as though he had gone soft all over, as
a piece of silk stuff collapses. Powell seized his arm instinctively and
checked his fall; but as soon as Mr. Smith was fairly on the floor he
jerked himself free and backed away. Almost as quick he rushed forward
again and tried to lift up the body. But directly he raised his
shoulders he knew that the man was dead! Dead!
He lowered him down gently. He stood over him without fear or any other
feeling, almost indifferent, far away, as it were. And then he made
another start and, if he had not kept Mrs. Anthony always in his mind, he
would have let out a yell for help. He staggered to her cabin-door, and,
as it was, his call for "Captain Anthony" burst out of him much too loud;
but he made a great effort of self-control. "I am waiting for my orders,
sir," he said outside that door distinctly, in a steady tone.
It was very still in there; still as death. Then he heard a shuffle of
feet and the captain's voice "All right.
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