He pointed them out to Miss Celandine, who only said, "'_Of the Lord's hand_,'--it is _that_ that makes it possible to live. But, Mr. Grayson, what will you do now?" "Anything _you_ tell me." "For the present, you will stay here with us, until the way opens for your safe return home." "Miss Celandine, _you_ did not go home." "The passport, which I asked for more than two months ago, was only sent to me on Saturday, one hour before the massacre began. Then the Pasha was most anxious to get me away; he advised, he even urged me to go. So I knew that evil was determined against this people; and, of course, I stayed." "If you had gone, I suppose that not one of them would now be left alive," Jack said. "Certainly not one of the three hundred that were in our premises then," Miss Celandine answered quietly. "Mr. Grayson, it is but poor hospitality I have to offer you. Not a room even, only a place to lie down in somewhere, and day by day a morsel of bread." "_And_ safety, _and_ peace," Jack said. "If you permit me, Miss Celandine, I might spread a mat in the church, and give a little help, especially at night, to the wounded who are lying there. Then I could be near Gabriel, the only living thing left to me--of my own." "So you can. Here you _must_ work, or you will die. But here also, if you serve Christ in His brethren, you will find Him. Another thing you can do for us: your strength is sorely needed to bring to us our out-door patients, and to help them back again to their homes, or rather to the desolated ruins that were once their homes." All this John Grayson did faithfully. In body he was never alone, by day and by night he lived in a crowd--a crowd of suffering men. But in spirit he "sat alone, and kept silence," because he bore "upon him the yoke," or rather, the Cross of Christ. He "put his mouth in the dust, if so there might be hope." And there _was_ hope for him, though the light was kindled at no earthly shrine. It was his greatest comfort to wait upon Gabriel; but Gabriel did not think it well that time and trouble should be spent on him. "It is waste," he said to Jack; "there are so many wanting your help who have hands to work with; better go to them, for what should _I_ do, if I live?" "God will see to that, brother." "I know; only, if you drop a handful of piastres in the street, you try to pick up the good ones first." Elmas Stepanian loved well to steal a few moments from the care of her young brothers, to sit by Gabriel and minister to his wants. His eyes used to brighten wonderfully when he saw her. "You are so good and sweet," he used to say. Once he added, "And, Oriort Elmas, our Kevork loved you so." Elmas did not blush or turn her face away; she only said quietly, "My dear father liked your brother well." For indeed-- "Death was so near them, life cooled from its heat."