The fireplace and entrance to the cave were so arranged that it was easy to produce a draught; so, when Akaza renewed by meditation and prayer, returned to the fire, the atmosphere surrounding him was fresh and pure. He made the door fast and prepared to remain for the night, for it would tax his physical strength too much to walk back to Tlamco in the storm. As familiar objects outside seemed to be swallowed up in a black pit, he drew a stool up beside the zodiacal wheel in the center of the living-room, and by the light of a lowered lamp began to carefully compare and compute the bearings of the planets and houses of the horoscope before him. Presently he looked up and listened intently. Could it be that he heard some one calling him? Was it an unseen entity, or was it the wind shrieking through the crevices about the entrance? Regaining his feet, he groped his way toward the sound. There could be no mistake—it was near the door. “Akaza! Akaza! Hear me! Open—open the door, I beseech thee!” It was a human voice in dynamic utterance, which the roar of the ocean nearly drowned, despite the efforts of the wind to hurl it through the doorway. Akaza hastened to comply with the request. Suddenly he stood face to face with Yermah, shivering, wet and mud-stained. “Oh, Akaza!” he cried, kneeling before the old man and kissing the hem of his garment, “say that thou wilt forgive me! I can have no peace until I am restored to thy favor.” Akaza laid his hands upon the head that had been bared to the storm. “Thou standest always in the shelter of my love, Yermah,” he said, gently. “Offense were not possible from thy lips. Be no longer humble in my presence.” He helped the Dorado to arise, and leading him toward the fire, continued: “Let genial warmth restore thy peace of mind. The elements have undone thee.” “Distemper vanished with reflection,” returned Yermah, anxiously, as he drew off his wet mantle and threw it to one side, “but remorse tortured me and drove me to thy feet, sad and repentant.” Akaza patted him affectionately on the shoulder, and occupied himself with the change of clothing he was improvising from his own garments. He substituted a purple robe for the water-soaked tunic, gave Yermah sandals, and finally wrapped his own cloak around him. “Thy attendants, Yermah? It were not well to leave them to the mercies of air and water lashed to fury.” “None saw me leave Iaqua. Neither man nor beast shall suffer because of my misdeeds,” said the Dorado. “It has taken all this time to find my way. The dying day left me resolved.” “Thy spirit called to mine at that hour,” said Akaza with a glad smile. “I felt it then.” “And wilt thou have me for thy companion for the night?” questioned Yermah, happy in the restoration of harmony between them. “That were the wish nearest my heart,” said Akaza, pouring hot water into a silver cup, into which he had already measured some spirits of maguey, some spices, and a bit of lemon.