Death played sad havoc with women burdened with motherhood, and the priestesses and vestals were overworked in their efforts to take care of the motherless, whose pinched and frightened faces peered from everywhere. The people were too stupefied to formulate any definite plans for themselves, and lived in hourly expectation of a final summons. Military discipline, instituted by Akaza, prevented frenzied acts of self-destruction, while the fleet of balsas found it necessary to protect the granaries and stores. The first upheavals produced some curious phenomena in the honeycombed hillsides containing the jars and baskets. After being buried for a quarter century, many of the former were thrown up on the surface with such force as to break and scatter their contents hopelessly. The baskets were also tossed and rolled about in a surprising manner. By right of seniority, Setos assumed command of the land forces, while Hanabusa coöperated heartily from the sea. The Observatory tower was a complete wreck, and there was no way of predicting changes of weather, the knowledge of which added much to the horror of the situation. It was a nameless, undefined dread—a something they could not determine, which appalled and overwhelmed even the stout-hearted. For the first time since his bereavement, Yermah showed an interest in his surroundings. His heart was wrung by the scenes about him, but it was no longer a self-centered grief. “Our Dorado is beginning to share the woes of his fellows,” said one of the bystanders as he approached. “He no longer walks apart speechless with sorrow. Let us greet him as of old.” The crowd uncovered and shouted: “Haille! Haille! Haille!” so weak and feebly that the sound seemed to die in their throats. Yermah was too much moved for words, but he made a pitiful effort to smile, as he raised his hands in benediction in return. “Peace be with thee!” they answered, trying manfully to conceal their anxieties and fears. “Yermah!” called a familiar voice. “Give thy servant greeting.” “Orondo! Brother in all save blood—” The Dorado staggered and would have fallen had not Orondo caught and embraced him. “Thy hollow, wasted cheeks and thy shrunken frame pierce my heart like a dagger!” cried Orondo, while the tears ran unrestrained down his weather-beaten face. “Anxiety and fear for thee urged me here. Speak!—Surely thou wilt not snap the slender thread!” he continued, alarmed at Yermah’s silence. He held the Dorado up, searching his haggard countenance anxiously. “Long have I stood within the shadow,” murmured Yermah feebly, struggling to overcome great weakness. “The body refuses to support the spirit in manifesting joy in seeing thee—Thy pardon—” “No need of words ’twixt thee and me,” answered Orondo. “Thy heart is like a crystal spring, and I know its full depths.”