Wrinkled leather buckskins and gold-bossed sandals completed his costume. Wearing no beard, his straight black hair fell well down over his shoulders. He was a patient, faithful worker, self-reliant, reserved, proud, firm in friendship, but an unrelenting foe. Slow to anger, he was like a bull when aroused. Orondo’s voice in speech and song was mellow and agreeable. A countenance that glowed with animation, added much to his dauntless appearance. It was not like him to parley or waste time in useless subterfuge; but whatever he attempted he went straight about. So, desiring to consult Yermah, he marched into his presence without any preliminaries. Noting his perturbed manner, the Dorado laid down a brush-pen he was using, and said: “Something has interrupted the even tenor of thy well-ordered life, Orondo. Can I serve thee?” There were curious white and red lines on the swarthy face, and the features looked pinched and drawn. He was exceedingly quiet, but there was an unusual brilliancy in the piercing black eyes. “I have come to ask thy advice and blessing in a matter of great import to me,” he finally answered. “The point of superior years counts but little between us; but thou art my chief, and I love thee well.” “Of that I am fully assured. My blessing and good wishes thou hast only to command. Give me to see the matter lying deep in thy heart, that I may judge for thee,” replied Yermah, fully aware that a crisis of some kind was at hand. “Duty demands that I render strict obedience to my superiors, of whom thou art one, and the command is that I shall take a wife from the native women of this country.” “I had feared from the ominous import of thy manner that some dark deed touching the honor of the state oppressed thy knowledge,” quickly responded Yermah, a feeling of relief giving place to his uncomfortable apprehension. “This is a more simple matter.” “Not without thy consent. My heart rebels at the thought of a wife among the Azes,” answered Orondo, gravely. “Then why mis-use desire? There is time enough. Thou hast fewer years than I. Let thy better parts speak, then come to me,” said Yermah, rising. “This situation confronts me,” said Orondo, with agitation. “Unmask thy feeling. I am not fully in confidence. Thou bemoanest the mandate to wed a native, yet affirm thy inner soul bespeaks its mate,” replied Yermah, shaking his head and looking perplexed. “She whom I adore is the high-priestess of the Monbas,” said Orondo, scarcely above a whisper. Yermah dropped into his seat as if he had been shot, and put his hands before his face as if to ward off a blow. Orondo, too much wrought up to detect feeling in another, asked eagerly: “Thou wilt grant me permission to woo her, and if I win, wilt bless our union?” “My vow to the Brotherhood forbids any other course. Go, go now, with my blessing, Orondo,” Yermah managed to say.