et companionship? Of what value was life without her? And as I
asked myself these questions I learned that Almah had become dearer
to me than life itself, and that in her was all the sunshine of my
existence. While she was absent, life was nothing; all its value, all
its light, its flavor, its beauty, were gone. I felt utterly crushed.
I forgot all else save her illness, and all that I had endured seemed
as nothing when compared with this.

In the midst of my own anxiety I was surprised to find that the whole
community was most profoundly agitated. Among all classes there seemed
to be but one thought--her illness. I could overhear them talking I
could see them wait outside to hear about her. It seemed to be the one
subject of interest, beside which all others were forgotten. The Kohen
was absorbed in her case; all the physicians of the city were more or
less engaged in her behalf; and there came forward as volunteers every
woman in the place who had any knowledge of sick-duties. I was
somewhat perplexed, however, at their manner. They were certainly
agitated and intensely interested, yet not exactly sad. Indeed, from
what I heard it seemed as though this strange people regarded sickness
as rather a blessing than otherwise. This, however, did not interfere
in the slightest degree with the most intense interest in her, and the
most assiduous attention. The Kohen in particular was devoted to her.
He was absent-minded, silent, and full of care. On the whole, I felt
more than ever puzzled, and less able than ever to understand these
people. I loved them, yet loathed them; for the Kohen I had at once
affection and horror. He looked like an anxious father, full of
tenderest love for a sick child--full also of delicate sympathy with
me; and yet I knew all the time that he was quite capable of plunging
the sacrificial knife in Almah's heart and of eating her afterward.

But my own thoughts were all of Almah. I learned how dear she was.
With her the brightness of life had passed; without her existence
would be intolerable. Her sweet voice, her tender and gracious manner,
her soft touch, her tender, affectionate smile, her mournful yet
trustful look--oh, heavens! would all these be mine no more? I could
not endure the thought. At first I wandered about, seeking rest and
finding none; and at length I sat in my own room, and passed the time
in listening, in questioning the attendants, in wondering what I
should do if she should be