Only Ruth was permitted to enter the sick-chamber. Zillah would look at her intently, evidently dividing her thoughts between wonder and admiration for the beautiful face of her attendant. "Where am I?" she would ask. "With me," would be the reply. A kiss upon her brow was enough to restore perfect tranquillity, and with a smile the patient would go to sleep. "What do I hear?" she one day asked. "They are chanting our praises to the Lord for your recovery," said Ruth. "Listen!" Old Ben Yusef was evidently the precentor, and the strong voice of Elnathan followed, accompanied by the well-known accent of Marduk: "Bless the Lord, O my soul: ... Who healeth all thy diseases, Who redeemeth thy life from destruction." "Shall I sing to you?" and the sweet child-voice sang: "Jehovah my shepherd is." So the time passed, except that, after a few days, Marduk took his place by the couch. One day he bore Zillah in his arms, and laid her upon the cot under the terebinth. Then he told how he had lain there with the same little angel of Jehovah watching him, the gentle Ruth. The pure air of the hill country of Galilee; the simplicity of life among the peasants; the uplifting influence of their faith, so sublime, yet so consoling and soul-freeing; and the love of one whose heart was welded to hers in the fire of their mutual afflictions--these were the medicines which did more to bring health to the invalid's cheeks than all the arts of Egypt and Greece could have accomplished. To remain themselves as peasants, communing with nature, with no cares beyond those of the fields and the flocks, was a pleasing dream that the lovers repeated to themselves, with such variations as the landscape has of cloud and shadow and color, while it remains the same in substantial contour.