he father of
five very little children, and their mother had died the week before.
The nurse had looked at the orphans, and said: "_He's got to live._"
This man had blessed him this morning, and called the love of heaven
on his head and its tender mercy on his whole long life. Zerviah
walked with quick step. He lifted his head, with its short, black,
coarse hair. His eyes, staring for sleep, flashed, fed with a food the
body knows not of. He felt almost happy, as he turned to climb the
stairs that led to the attic shelter where he had knelt and watched
the dawn come on that first day, and given himself to God and to the
dying of Calhoun. He had always kept that attic, partly because he had
made that prayer there. He thought it helped him to make others since.
He had not always been a man who prayed. The habit was new, and
required culture. He had guarded it rigidly since he came South, as
he had his diet and regimen of bathing, air, and other physical needs.

On this morning that I speak of, standing with his almost happy face
and lifted head, with his foot upon the stairs, he turned, for no
reason that he could have given, and looked over his shoulder. A man
behind him, stepping softly, stopped, changed color, and crossed the
street.

"I am followed," said the nurse.

He spoke aloud, but there was no one to hear him. A visible change
came over his face. He stood uncertain for a moment; then shut the
door and crawled upstairs. At intervals he stopped on the stairs to
rest, and sat with his head in his hands, thinking. By and by he
reached his room, and threw himself heavily upon his bed. All the
radiance had departed from his tired face, as if a fog had crept over
it. He hid it in his long, thin, humane hands, and lay there
for a little while. He was perplexed--not surprised. He was not
shocked--only disappointed. Dully he wished that he could get five
minutes' nap; but he could not sleep. Not knowing what else to do, he
got upon his knees presently, in that place by the window he liked to
pray in, and said aloud:

"Lord, I didn't expect it; I wasn't ready. I should like to sleep long
enough to decide what to do."

After this, he went back to bed and lay still again, and in a little
while he truly slept. Not long; but to those who perish for rest, a
moment of unconsciousness may do the work of a cup of water to one
perishing of thirst. He started, strengthened, with lines of decision
forming about his mouth and c