"'I see, madam,' said I, 'Ayto Aylo has informed you of a few words that some time ago dropped from me. I do certainly believe the miracles of Christ and his apostles, otherwise I am no Christian; but I do not believe these miracles of latter times, wrought upon trifling occasions, like sports and jugglers' tricks.' 'And yet,' says she, 'our books are full of them.' 'I know they are,' said I; 'but I never can believe that a saint converted the devil, who lived, forty years after, a holy life as a monk; nor the story of another saint, who, being sick and hungry, caused a brace of partridges, ready roasted, to fly upon his plate that he might eat them.' 'He has been reading the Synaxar,' says Ayto Aylo. 'I believe so,' says she, smiling; 'but is there any harm in believing too much, and is not there great danger in believing too little?' 'Certainly,' continued I; 'but all I meant to say to Ayto Aylo was, that I did not believe laying a picture upon Welled Hawaryat would recover him when delirious in a fever.' She answered, 'There was nothing impossible with God.' I made a bow of assent, wishing heartily the conversation might end there." Bruce, leaving Aylo with the queen, now returned to the Moors' town. In the afternoon he heard that Welletta Selasse was dead; and at night, Welled Hawaryat died also. The contagion from Masuah and Adowa had spread itself all over Gondar. The daughter of Ozoro Altash was now sick, and a violent fever had fallen upon Koscam. The next morning Aylo came to Bruce, and told him that all faith in the saint, who had not eaten or drank for twenty years, was abandoned since Welled Hawaryat's death; and that it was the desire of the queen and Ozoro Esther that he should remove to Koscam, to the iteghe's palace, where all their children and grandchildren would be placed under his care.