"Keep them," he would answer; "keep them until I come again,"

intending to tell them, when that time came, to keep their poor gifts
altogether.

And when he had passed out of the province of Tetuan into the bashalic
of El Kasar, the bareheaded country-people of the valley of the Koos

hastened before him to the Kaid of that grey town of bricks and storks
and palm-trees and evil odours, and the Kaid, with another notion

of his errand, came to the tumble-down bridge to meet him
on his approach in the early morning.

"Peace be with you!" said the Kaid. "So my lord is going again
to the Shereef at Wazzan; may the mercy of the Merciful protect him!"

Israel neither answered yea nor nay, but threaded the maze
of crooked lanes to the lodging which had been provided for him

near the market-place, and the same night he left the town
(laden with the presents of the Kaid) through a line of famished

and half-naked beggars who looked on with feverish eyes.
Next day, at dawn, he came to the heights of Wazzan (a holy city

of Morocco), by the olives and junipers and evergreen oaks
that grow at the foot of the lofty, double-peaked Boo-Hallal,

and there the young grand Shereef himself, at the gate
of his odorous orange-gardens, stood waiting to give audience

with yet another conjecture as to the intention of his journey.
"Welcome! welcome!" said the Shereef; "all you see is yours

until Allah shall decree that you leave me too soon on your happy mission
to our lord the Sultan at Fez--may God prolong his life and bless him!"

"God make you happy!" said Israel, but he offered no answer
to the question that was implied.

"It is twenty and odd years, my lord," the Shereef continued,
"since my father sent for you out of Tetuan, and many are the ups

and downs that time has wrought since then, under Allah's will;
but none in the past have been so grateful as the elevation

of Israel ben Oliel, and none in the future can be so joyful
as the favours which the Sultan (God keep our lord Abd er-Rahman!)

has still in store for him."
"God will show," said Israel.

No Jew had ever yet ridden in this Moroccan Mecca; but the Shereef
alighted from his horse and offered it to Israel, and took

Israel's horse instead and together they rode through the market-place,
and past the old Mosque that is a ruin inhabited by hawks

and the other mosque of the Aissawa, and the three squalid fondaks
wherein the Jews live like cattle. A swarm of Arabs followed

at their heels in tatteredgreasy rags, a group of Jews went
by them barefoot and a knot of bedraggled renegades leaning

against the walls of the prison doffed the caps from their
dishevelled heads and bowed.

That day, while the poor people of the town fasted according
to the ordinance of the Ramadhan, Israel's little company

of Muslimeen--guests in the house of the descendants of the Prophet--were,
by special Shereefian dispensation, permitted as travellers

to eat and drink at their pleasure. And before sunset, but at the verge
of it, Israel and his men started on their journey afresh,

going out of the town, with the Shereef's black bodyguard riding
before them for guide and badge of honour, through the dense and

noisome market-place, where (like a clock that is warning to strike)
a multitude of hungry and thirsty people with fierce and dirty faces,

under a heavy wave of palpitating heat, and amid clouds of hot dust,
were waiting for the sound of the cannon that should proclaim the end

of that day's fast. Water-carriers at the fountains stood ready
to fill their empty goats' skins, women and children sat on the ground

with dishes of greasy soup on their knees and balls of grain rolled
in their fingers, men lay about holding pipes charged with keef,

and flint and tinder to light them, and the mooddin himself
in the minaret stood looking abroad (unless he were blind)

to where the red sun was lazily sinking under the plain.
Israel's soul sickened within him, for well he knew that,

lavish as were the honours that were shown him, they were offered
by the rich out of their selfishness and by the poor out of their fear.

While they thought the Sultan had sent for him, they kissed his foot
who desired no homage, and loaded him with presents who needed no gifts.

But one word out of his mouth, only one little word, one other name,
and what then of this lip-service, and what of this mock-honour!

Two days later Israel and his company reached before dawn
the snake-like ramparts of Mequinez the city of walls. And toiling

in the darkness over the barren plain and the belt of carrion
that lies in front of the town, through the heat and fumes

of the fetid place, and amid the furious barks of the scavenger dogs
which prowl in the night around it, they came in the grey of morning

to the city gate over the stream called the Father of Tortoises.
The gate was closed, and the night police that kept it were snoring

in their rags under the arch of the wall within.
"Selam! M'barak! Abd el Kader! Abd el Kareem!" shouted

the Shereef's black guard to the sleepy gate-keepers. They had come
thus far in Israel's honour, and would not return to Wazzan until

they had seen him housed within.
From the other side of the gate, through the mist and the gloom,

came yawns and broken snores and then snarls and curses.
"Burn your father! Pretty hubbub in the middle of the night!"

"Selam!" shouted one of the black guard. "You dog of dogs!
Your father was bewitched by a hyena! I'll teach you to curse

your betters. Quick! get up,--or I'll shave your beard. Open!
or I'll ride the donkey on your head! There!--and there!--and

there again!" and at every word the butt of his long gun rang
on the old oaken gate.

"Hamed el Wazzani!" muttered several voices within.
"Yes," shouted the Shereef's man. "And my Lord Israel of Tetuan

on his way to the Sultan, God grant him victory. Do you hear,
you dogs? Sidi Israel el Tetawani sitting here in the dark,

while you are sleeping and snoring in your dirt."
There was a whispered conference on the inside, then a rattle of keys,

and then the gate groaned back on its hinges. At the next moment two
of the four gatemen were on their knees at the feet of Israel's horse,

asking forgiveness by grace of Allah and his Prophet. In the meantime,
the other two had sped away to the Kasbah, and before Israel had ridden

far into the town, the Kaid--against all usage of his class
and country--ran and met him--afoot, slipperless, wearing nothing

but selham and tarboosh, out of breath, yet with a mouth full of excuses.
"I heard you were coming," he panted--"sent for by the Sultan--Allah

preserve him!--but had I known you were to be here so soon--I--that is--"
"Peace be with you!" interrupted Israel.

"God grant you peace. The Sultan--praise the merciful Allah!"
the Kaid continued, bowing low over Israel's stirrup--" he reached Fez

from Marrakesh last sunset; you will be in time for him."
"God will show," said Israel, and he pushed forward.

"Ah, true--yes--certainly--my lord is tired," puffed the Kaid,
bowing again most profoundly. "Well, your lodging is ready--the best

in Mequinez--and your mona is cooking--all the dainties of Barbary--and
when our merciful Abd er-Rahman has made you his Grand Vizier--"

Thus the man chattered like a jay, bowing low at nigh every word,
until they came to the house wherein Israel and his people were

to rest until sunset; and always the burden of his words
was the same--the Sultan, the Sultan, the Sultan, and Abd er-Rahman,

Abd er-Rahman!
Israel could bear no more. "Basha," he said "it is a mistake;

the Sultan has not sent for me, and neither am I going to see him."
"Not going to him?" the Kaid echoed vacantly.

"No, but to another," said Israel; "and you of all men
can best tell me where that other is to be found. A great man,