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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"The Hosts of the Air"


Again he realized how fortunate they had been to arrive so early. As he
looked from an upper window he saw that the storm was driving with
tremendous fury. Even behind the huge logs he heard the wind roaring and
thundering, and now and then, through the thick glass of the windows, he
caught a glimpse of a young pine torn up by its roots and whirled past.
Where was Muller, the forester, who had charge of the lodge and who
lived there, and what kind of a man was he? It was the only question
that was troubling him now. If he did not come soon he could not come
that night, nor perhaps the next day. The snowfall was immense, with
every sign of heavy continuance, and by morning it certainly would lie
many feet deep on the mountain. Traveling would be impossible. He heard
the distant sound of a bell, and knowing that the telephone was calling,
he ran down the stairway to the great room. Julie had risen and was
looking at the instrument with dilated eyes, as if it sounded a note of
alarm, as if their happy escape was threatened by a new danger. John
believed that she had fallen asleep before the heat of the fire, and
that the ring of the telephone had struck upon her dreaming ear like a
shell.
"It's he! It's the terrible prince himself!" she exclaimed, her
faculties not yet fully released from cloudy sleep.


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