In the beginning, Oman always hoped that a few days would see the old man recovering, in some measure, his strength. But little by little that hope faded away. The illness, however, was never very alarming. By night there was always low fever, by day sometimes an abnormal chilliness, which Oman frequently strove to overcome by the heat of his own body. He would lie by the hour stretched along the bed, clasping the old form to his own, literally feeding his strength into the other. The stranger never tried his patience, at least. He was perfectly passive, obeyed every suggestion of his guardian, ate and drank whatever was given him, and never asked for more. Much of the time, indeed, Oman was in doubt as to whether he knew what was going on around him. By night his mind wandered, and he talked in his dreams; but by day he generally lay like one in a stupor, heeding nothing that passed. The one hour when he seemed to regain possession of his faculties, was at sunset. Usually, at this time, he would open his eyes, and, if Oman were not already beside him, would call for him, and ask a few questions, or address him on topics of interest to himself, the significance of which was lost on his listener. For a few days, just at first, he would often ask to sleep apart from his companion, would suggest vague dangers that were surrounding him, and certain suspicious circumstances that he believed himself to have noticed. From the general tenor of this talk, Oman gathered that he was in constant fear of being robbed; and, from watching the hands that were forever fumbling and playing with the string about his neck, he guessed that this string must be attached to the object of his anxiety. He was, therefore, scrupulously careful never to mention, and, so far as was possible, not even to look at this string; and the result of his consideration was what he hoped for:—very soon the old man dropped his suspicions, and seemed to feel for Oman a spirit of friendliness, almost affection. The latter half of October and the first fortnight in November were wild weeks on the mountain top. It seemed as if the very elements were struggling over that soul in the cave. Never had such storms of hail, rain, wind, and snow raged round the Silver Peak. In all that time, however, Oman’s weaker nature never once manifested itself. He was using all the man and all the strength in him for the wanderer, whom the wild weather greatly disturbed. Indeed, often, during the storms, he would lie cowering with terror in his far corner of the shelter, talking deliriously of strange things, or uttering wild and terrified cries that wrung Oman’s very heart.