Orondo could not accuse Kerœcia of playing with him. She had been openly and candidly indifferent. Her effort to shield him, her kindness, were eloquent of her disinterested friendship. He groaned under her sympathy, but he was not without capacity to plan a course of action. The first watches of the night witnessed his wrestle with overwhelming grief, but as the cool morning hours came on, his thoughts turned to the future. He looked forward eagerly to his departure from Tlamco, which he knew from the beginning he must take. Hope led him to believe that he would have a companion for the exile, which now he gratefully remembered would be a lonely one. He sat motionless upon the curbing which bordered the artificial lake near the perfume-beds, utterly oblivious to their refreshing odors. His thoughts were so painfully centered that he noted neither the passing hours nor his own bodily discomfort. Finally, habit warned him that dawn was approaching, and he mechanically roused himself. He knew, without conscious effort, that he must greet the rising sun with composure; therefore he tried to rally his drooping spirits. Still like one in a dream, he removed his cloak and helmet, then washed his hands and face in the clear, cool water of the lake. His benumbed and stiffened nether limbs protested painfully against his essay at walking. He heeded them not. Instinct led him in the direction of Iaqua. Yermah, too, had passed a sleepless night. He spent the day on the water, floating and drifting with the ebb and flow of the tide, struggling to reconcile himself with the conditions confronting him. At night he came back to Iaqua, but purposely avoided meeting Orondo. Love made him humble, and he did not for a moment doubt the result of Orondo’s wooing. He knew that his countryman was a lovable man, and he could not find it in his heart to blame Kerœcia for accepting him. No—Orondo had asked his consent and blessing; he must be willing to give it with all his heart. How stern and forbidding seemed the face of duty! How hateful the precepts of honor! Yermah censured himself unsparingly. Many times as he paced the apartments, still clad as he came from the bay, he spoke his thoughts aloud. He argued with himself long and earnestly. “How beautiful, how lovely she is!” Yermah exclaimed for the hundredth time. But he was sick with the thought that she belonged to another. He told himself that he would rather give her to Orondo than to any one else. But why should she not have loved him? If such affection had blessed his life, he would hasten his appointed task, and then claim his choice for a wife according to law and custom. It would be only a few months to wait. Now what difference did it make? Orondo stood in his place.