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The Scapegoat-Part42_Hall Caine(1853-1931)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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but in the distance, far across the town in the direction

of the Bab el Marsa, the gate that goes out to Marteel,



they heard a low hum as of vast droves of sheep. The Spaniard was coming,

and the townsmen were going out to meet him. Casual passers-by



challenged them, and though Ali knew that even if recognised

they had nothing to fear from the people, yet more than once



his voice trembled when he answered, and sometimes with a feeling

of dread he turned to see that no one was following.



As he did so he became aware of something which brought back the shame

of that awful moment when he stood with the key in hand at the door



of Naomi's prison. By the light of the lamps in the hands

of the passers-by Naomi was looking at him. Again and again,



as the glare fell for an instant, he felt the eyes of the girl

upon his face. At such moments he thought she must be drawing away



from him, for the space between them seemed wider. But he firmly held

to the outstretched arm, kept his head aside, and hastened on.



"What matter about me?" he whispered again. But the brave word

brought him no comfort. "Now she's looking at my hand," he told himself,



but he could not draw it away. "She is doubting if I am Ali after all,"

he thought. "Naomi!" he tried to say with averted head,



so that once again the sound of his voice might reassure her;

but his throat was thick, and he could not speak. Still he pushed on.



The dark town just then was like a mountain chasm when a storm

that has been gathering is about to break. In the air a deep rumble,



and then a loud detonation. Blackness overhead, and things around

that seemed to move and pass.



Drawing near to the Bab Toot, the gate that witnessed the last scene

of Israel's humiliation and Naomi's shame, Ali, with the girl beside him,



came suddenly into a sheet of light and a concourse of people.

It was the Mahdi and his vast following with lamps in their hands,



entering the town on the west, while the Spaniards whom they had brought

up to the gates were coming in on the east. The Mahdi himself



was locking the synagogues and the sanctuaries.

"Lock them up," he was saying. "It is enough that the foreigner



must burn down the Sodom of our tyrant; let him not outrage the Zion

of our God."



Ali led Naomi up to the Mahdi, who saw her then for the first time.

"I have brought her," he said breathlessly; "Naomi, Israel's daughter,



this is she." And then there was a moment of surprise and joy,

and pain and shame and despair, all gathered up together into one look



of the eyes of the three.

The Mahdi looked at Naomi, and his face lightened. Naomi looked at Ali,



and her pale face grew paler, and she passed a tress of her fair hair

across her lips to smother a little nervous cry that began to break



from her mouth. Then she looked at the Mahdi, and her lips parted

and her eyes shone. Ali looked at both, and his face twitched and fell.



This was only the work of an instant, but it was enough.

Enough for the Mahdi, for it told him a secret that the wisdom



of life had not yet revealed; enough for Naomi, for a new sense,

a sixth sense, had surely come to her; enough for Ali also,



for his big little heart was broken.

"What matter about me?" thought Ali again. "Take her, Mahdi,"



he said aloud in a shrill voice. "Her father is waiting for her--

take her to him."



"Lady," said the Mahdi, "can you trust me?"

And then without a word she went to him; like the needle to the magnet



she went to the Mahdi--a stranger to her, when all strangers were

as enemies--and laid her hand in his.



Ali began to laugh, "I'm a fool," he cried. "Who could have believed it?

Why, I've forgotten to lock the Kasbah! The villains will escape.



No matter, I'll go back."

"Stop!" cried the Mahdi.



But Ali laughed so loudly that he did not hear. "I'll see to it yet,"

he cried, turning on his heel. "Good night, Sidi! God bless you!



My love to my father! Farewell!"

And in another moment he was gone.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE FALL OF BEN ABOO



The roysterers in the Kasbah sat a long half-hour in ignorance

of the doom that was impending. Squatting on the floor in little circles,



around little tables covered with steaming dishes, wherein each plunged

his fingers, they began the feast with ceremonious wishes,



pious exclamations, cant phrases, and downcast eyes. First,




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