"The king had better take to heart," Alma finished grimly. "Would that the scales might fall from his eyes, as they have from mine!"
"He is going to put Abinadi to death?"
"So I fear."
"And you?"
"Oh, I shall take up the work where he left off. I'm afraid his mantle will fall on unworthy shoulders. I have carefully written down all his words, and I shall teach them to the people when he is gone. I consecrate my life to the work. God grant me strength and light to do it well!"
"Does Abinadi know?"
"Yes; I go now to visit him in his cell."
"Tarry a little, Sir Prophet," she commanded, running her hand through his yellow hair.
Together they watched the sun rise. The mocking birds sang riotously. The lavender flowers of the bougainvilaea drooped in the garden, while from the patio below the air came laden with the heavy odor of the blossom called "The Perfume of the Night." The lovers did not notice that with it was mingled the scent of the illomened "Flower of the Dead."