“Thou wilt make thyself more ill,” said Walda. “Think not of the past.” Taking a pewter cup of water from the table, she moistened his lips. The old man clinched his fists and closed his eyes. He lay as if he were dead. The frightened girl ran to the door of the room to summon help. Stephen Everett was coming up the stairs. “Oh, hasten to my father!” Walda implored. “I fear greatly for him.” Everett went to the bedside, felt the old man’s pulse, listened to his heart, and discovered that his patient had, indeed, some serious symptoms. “Has anything happened to disturb your father?” he asked, turning to Walda, who stood with hands clasped around one of the head-posts of the bed while she watched him with breathless interest. “He began to talk to me of the past,” said the girl, with hesitation, and Everett saw tears in her eyes. “And he recalled some memory that troubled him?” asked Everett. “Yea, yea; he would have told me something of my mother,” said the girl, as she turned to go into the outer room. Everett administered a soothing-potion, and went out of the alcove to find that Walda was sitting by the old carven table with her head bowed upon her hands. “Do not be alarmed,” he said, “your father will recover from this temporary relapse.” His voice and manner were so sympathetic that the girl began to weep. “Be blind to my weakness, O stranger in Zanah,” she said, presently lifting her head proudly and biting her trembling lips. “My faith teacheth me that nothing which belongeth to earth is worth a tear. The people of Zanah are trained to accept the decrees of God. For an hour I have been thinking of self. Strength will be given me to put these rebellious impulses from me.” She went to the window, where the chaffinch was hanging in his wicker cage. “Piepmatz, thou hast no foolish tears; thou canst teach me a lesson that I need; thou art undisturbed by any distrust in thy nature.” Piepmatz, thrusting his head forward, looked out between the bars of his little prison. Then he chirped a cheery note. Everett went close to the cage and whistled to the bird, which paid no attention to him. “If I can be of service to you, you must command me,” he said to Walda Kellar. “You must not think of me as the stranger in Zanah. Have I not earned the right to be called a friend?” He did not look at her as he spoke lest she might be awakened to the fact that he took more than a passing interest in her. “We use not the word friend in Zanah,” said Walda. “Here we are all brothers and sisters. And what dost thou mean by being a friend?” Out in the world Everett had the reputation of being ever ready with words, but when the future prophetess of Zanah looked up at him with questioning eyes he was abashed. “I mean,” he began—“I mean that I want you to feel you can trust me even more than if I were a brother of Zanah,” he replied, rather lamely. Walda looked puzzled.