taken from me.

At length on one blessed jom, the Kohen came to me with a bright
smile.

"Our darling Almah is better," said he. "Eat, I beseech you. She is
very dear to all of us, and we have all felt for her and for you. But
now all danger is past. The physicians say that she will soon be
well." There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. It may have been
caused by the bright light, but I attributed this to his loving heart,
and I forgot that he was a cannibal. I took his hands in mine and
pressed them in deep emotion. He looked at me with a sweet and gentle
smile.

"I see it all," said he, in a low voice--"you love her, Atam-or."

I pressed his hands harder, but said nothing. Indeed, I could not
trust myself to speak.

"I knew it," said he; "it is but natural. You are both of a different
race from us; you are both much alike, and in full sympathy with one
another. This draws you together. When I first saw you I thought that
you would be a fit companion for her here--that you would lessen her
gloom, and that she would be pleasant to you. I found out soon that I
was right, and I felt glad, for you at once showed the fullest
sympathy with one another. Never till you came was Almah happy with
us; but since you have come she has been a different being, and there
has been a joyousness in her manner that I never saw before. You have
made her forget how to weep; and as for yourself, I hope she has made
your life in this strange land seem less painful, Atam-or."

At all this I was so full of amazement that I could not say one word.

"Pardon me," continued he, "if I have said anything that may seem like
an intrusion upon your secret and most sacred feelings. I could not
have said it had it not been for the deep affection I feel for Almah
and for you, and for the reason that I am just now more moved than
usual, and have less control over my feelings."

Saying this, he pressed my hand and left me. It was not the custom
here to shake hands, but with his usual amiability he had adopted my
custom, and used it as naturally as though he had been to the manner
born.

I was encouraged now. The mild Kohen came often to cheer me. He talked
much about Almah--about her sweet and gracious disposition, the love
that all felt for her, the deep and intense interest which her illness
had aroused. In all this he seemed more like a man of my own race than
before, and in his eager desire for her recovery he failed to exhibit
that love fo