By the time he had finished, it was past noon, and he wondered at the stillness of the house. Once more he made a tour of the other part of the premises, calling the names of both the man and woman of the house. They were still absent. It was very mysterious! He could not know that they were among the scores of those who had been trampled to death in the horrible darkness on the Temple mount that morning. Passing back to his room, he listened at the hanging over that inner room, where the rescued girl lay. He could hear her softly, regularly snoring, and decided to get his message off while she slept. He was a little dubious about leaving the house door unlocked, yet feared to lock it lest the man and wife should return. He was gone an hour. Both going and returning, he had been struck with the general desertedness of the streets, but realized that in all probability every one would be resting after the scenes of the morning. Entering the house he found it exactly as he had left it, and beginning to feel hungry, he hunted about for the wherewithal to make a meal. Deciding that his _protege_ might soon be stirring, he carried into his living-room all the materials for a meal. When he had spread his table, he remembered the clothes for his _protege_ (he had spread them in the sun to dry, having found them where she had dropped them, by his instructions, out of the window.) Passing quietly back to the hanging between the two rooms, he listened again. This time she was awake and softly humming the air of "The sands of Time are sinking." Lifting the hanging a few inches at the bottom he thrust the clothes underneath, and called: "Do you feel well enough to get up, Rose? If you do, I will make coffee, and we will have a meal!" "Thank you, thank you, good George!" she cried, with the _naivete_ of an innocent child. "I will dress and come out, for oh, I am so hungry and thirsty!" He smiled to himself at her sweet child-likeness, and hurried away to make the coffee. Whether the aroma of the coffee reached her senses and hurried her, it would be impossible to say, but certainly, in an incredibly short space of time (for a woman) she drew aside the hanging a little, and asked: "May I come, please?" He flung aside the hanging, his smile, as well as his voice saying: "Come!" Then as she appeared before him, bright, fresh from her sound restful sleep, her hair carefully groomed and coiled in a crown on her head, her cheek glowing with the prettiest, tenderest blushes, he thought how beautiful she was! A woman, evidently in years, (as she would be judged _in the east_) yet a pure child in character and manner. "How do you feel, little Rose?" he asked, taking her hand in greeting. "A little stiff," she answered, "but that is more from the bruises than ought else, I think, for--" Her cheeks warmer to a deeper tint, as she said: "I have a dozen or more bruises!"