"He is easier now," she said. "You will try to be glad for me, will you not?" Gabriel whispered; "you know it is best." "You will soon be with them all--your father and mother, and my Shushan," Jack answered. "I shall be--with Christ," Gabriel said. "For whom you have given your life." "Who gave His life for me." But his dark, wistful eyes turned away, even from the beloved Yon Effendi, to rest upon his brother's face. "There is some one else I want to see," he murmured. "Stoop down, Anna Hanum." He whispered a name into her ear. She said, "Yes, dear," and glided softly away. "It is Miss Celandine he wants," both the young men thought. Jack took the place beside him. He lay still, with closed eyes, resting. Only once he opened them, when a moan from the crowded space outside was heard through the curtain. "Some one is suffering, Yon Effendi," he said. "Please go and help." Kevork was left with him alone, his tears falling without restraint. "_Don't_, Kevork," he whispered; "there is comfort coming, for you." Jack returned presently. Miss Celandine, who had _not_ been sent for, came in also, and with her--Elmas Stepanian. At the sight of the beloved teacher, Gabriel tried to raise himself; but it was more than he could do. He looked at her appealingly. "The hand--that has saved us all--to my lips--once more," he prayed. Instead of giving him her hand, she stooped down and kissed him, lip to lip, and motioned to Elmas to do the same. In _her_ face he looked earnestly, while he gathered all his remaining strength to speak. "Oriort Elmas, Kevork has loved you ever since he was at school in Aintab. All the rest are gone from him; I am going now. It is too hard for him to stay here alone. Will _you_ comfort him, Oriort Elmas?" "If I can," she answered soothingly, as one speaks to the dying. "But I want to hear the Promise--on the Book--before I go." She drew back, her face flushing crimson, and looked at Miss Celandine in perplexity. Kevork drew a step nearer and spoke. "Oriort Elmas, it is quite true. Though I would not have dared to say it _now_, had not he said it for me; for we stand together in the shadow of the grave. But if this dear lady, who is a mother to us all, will allow it, and you will give me your promise, there is nothing man may do"--(his voice quivered and thrilled with suppressed feeling)--"nothing man may do that I will not do for you, and find my joy in it, for I love you more than life." Elmas Stepanian's character, strong by nature, had been annealed in the furnace of affliction. That furnace had burned away the bonds of those timid conventions that usually held the daughters of her race. In a low but firm voice she answered, "If Miss Celandine approves, I will give it."