Orondo’s strong right arm upheld the Dorado, but his prompt, soldier-like habit stood him in good stead. By a nod he beckoned to the warrior-priests waiting, to bring forward a palanquin, which they had gone into the temple to procure. Gently as a woman could have done, he seated the Dorado and motioned the attendants to go on. Yermah’s look of gratitude made his strong chin tremble, and brought the old haunted expression back to his face. A cold, clammy perspiration stood out on Yermah’s lips and brow as he sank back utterly exhausted. When he closed his eyes, Orondo said to himself: “He will never be paler in death. Poor heart-broken soul!” Orondo had a good profile view as he trudged beside the chair. He observed the ravages that illness of body and mind had wrought, and wondered in a vague sort of way if he could not share some of his own vitality. Loyalty forbade direct speech, but he had learned from others enough to understand the situation. His owns wounds bled anew, but they were rated second in comparison. “Thy master has need of sleep,” he said to the attendants as Yermah was carried into the private apartments. “Should solicitude find utterance, tell him that I am waiting his pleasure in my old quarters.” Wandering through familiar rooms, he was able to estimate the effect of constant shaking on walls and ceilings. He saw many evidences of their being out of plumb. Despite everything Orondo had a comfortable sense of being at home again. He busied himself unpacking his surveying instruments, and looked over a pile of hieratic picture-writings, containing reports on the mounds, earthworks, and temples he had been inspecting. Two hours later, while Orondo was still absorbed in the work a tamane came and asked if he would receive the Dorado. “Rather entreat thy master to summon me,” replied Orondo. “Care sits heavily upon him, and it were better to encourage health and strength.” Still intent upon additions to, and corrections of, the documents in hand, Orondo did not look up when he heard the door open and close. “Thou art always unselfish,” declared Yermah, coming close to him; “but thou art prohibited from inciting me to shirk duty. Not a word hast thou spoken of thine own case. Acquaint me with all which hath befallen thee.” There was a touch of his old self in tone and gesture, but he seated himself like an old man. “Wilt thou insist on a detailed account of my journey hence and sojourn in the great valley?” “Leave dry circumstance to the custodian of archives. But tell me if success full and complete crowned thy efforts.” “The mounds and the earthworks are perfect in location and design, and where finished are of enduring workmanship. Only a few temples have been erected; but when the flood subsides, work will go on again—slowly now, because of depleted numbers.” “Has the dread scourge touched that fair land, too?”