The first gleam of hope that had appeared on the face of the wounded Nihál Chand brightened it as he listened to the account of the dream of his sister. Leaning heavily, very heavily, on a staff of Prayer, he struggled to his feet, and in a voice faint yet resolute he said,—“Let us go, and at once. If I, poor wounded sinner, must die, I will at least die at the foot of the Cross!”