And when the poor souls could believe it at last, that he
whom they had looked for as their judge had come as their saviour,

their hearts surged within them. Their hunger left them,
and only the children could eat. For a moment they stood in silence

about Israel, and their tears stained their wasted faces. And Israel,
in their midst, tasted a new joy in his new poverty such as his riches

had never brought him--no, not once in all the days of his old prosperity.
At length an old man--he was a Muslim--looked steadily

into Israel's face and said, "May the God of Jacob bless thee also,
brother!"

After that they all recovered their voices and began to thank him
out of their blind gratitude, falling to their knees at his feet

as before, yet with hearts so different.
"May the Father of the fatherless requite thee!"

"May the child of thy wife be blessed!"
"Stop," he cried; "stop! you don't know what you are saying."

He turned away from them with a look of pain, as if their words
had stung him. They followed him and touched his kaftan with their lips;

they pushed their children under his hands for his blessing.
"No, no," he cried; "no, no, no!"

Then he passed out of the place with rapid steps and fled from the town
like one who was ashamed.

CHAPTER XV
THE MEETING ON THE SOK

Although Israel did not know it, and in the hunger of his heart
he would have given all the world to learn it, yet if any man

could have peered into the dark chamber where the spirit of Naomi
had dwelt seventeen years in silence, he would have seen that,

dear as the child was to the father, still dearer and more needful
was the father to the child. Since her mother left her he had been eyes

of her eyes and ears of her ears, touching her hand for assent,
patting her head for approval, and guiding her fingers to teach them signs.

Thus Israel was more to Naomi than any father before to any daughter,
more to her than mother or sister or brother or kindred;

for he was her sole gateway to the world she lived in, the one alley
whereby her spirit gazed upon it, the key that opened the closed doors

of her soul; and without him neither could the world come in to her,
nor could she go out to the world. Soft and beautiful was the commerce

between them, mute on one side of all language save tears and kisses,
like the commerce of a mother with her first-born child, as holy in love,

as sweet in mystery as pure from taint, and as deep in tenderness.
While her father was with her, then only did Naomi seem to live,

and her happy heart to be full of wonder at the strange new things
that flowed in upon it. And when he was gone from her, she was merely

a spirit barred and shut within her body's close abode,
waiting to be born anew.

When Israel made ready to go to Shawan, Naomi clung to him to hinder him,
as if remembering his long absence when he went to Fez,

and connecting it with the illness that came to her in his absence;
or as seeming to see, with those eyes that were blind to the ways

of the world, what was to befall him before he returned.
He put her from him with many tender words, and smoothed her hair

and kissed her forehead, as though to chide her while he blessed her
for so much love. But her dread increased, and she held to him like

a child to its mother's robe. And at last, when he unloosed her hands
and pushed them away as if in anger, and after that laughed lightly

as if to tell her that he knew her meaning yet had no fear,
her trouble rose to a storm and she fell to a fit of weeping.

"Tut! tut! what is this?" he said. "I will be back to-morrow.
Do you hear, my child?--tomorrow! At sunset to-morrow."

When he was gone, the terror that had so suddenly possessed her
seemed to increase. Her face was red, her mouth was dry,

her eyelids quivered, and her hands were restless. If she sat she rose
quickly; if she stood she walked again more fast. Sometimes she listened

with head aside, sometimes moaned, sometimes wept outright,
and sometimes she muttered to herself in noises such as none had heard

from her lips before.
The bondwomen could find no-way to comfort her. Indeed, the trouble

of her heart took hold of them. When she plucked Fatimah by the gown,
and with her blind eyes, that were also wet, seemed to look sadly

into the black woman's face, as if asking for her father, like a dog
for its master that is dead, Fatimah shed tears as well, partly in pity

of her fears, and partly in terror of the unknown troubles still to come
which God Himself might have revealed to her.

"Alas! little dumb soul, what is to happen now?" cried Fatimah.
"Alack! girl," said Habeebah, "the maid is sickening again."

And this was all that the good souls could make of her restlessagitation.
She slept that night from sheer exhaustion, a deep lethargic slumber,

apparently broken once or twice by troubled dreams. When she awoke
in the morning at the first sound of the voice of the mooddin,

the evil dreams seemed to be with her still. She appeared to be moving
along in them like one spell-bound by a great dread that she could

not utter, as if she were living through a nightmare of the day.
Then long hour followed long hour, but the inquietude of her mood

did not abate. Her bosom heaved, her throat throbbed,
her excitement became hysterical. Sometimes she broke into wild,

inarticulate shouts, and sometimes the black women could have believed,
in spite of knowledge and reason, that she was muttering

and speaking words, though with a wild disorder of utterance.
At last the day waned and the sun went down. Naomi seemed to know

when this occurred, for she could scent the cool air. Then,
with a fresh intentness, she listened to the footsteps outside, and,

having listened, her trouble increased. What did Naomi hear?
The black women could hear nothing save the common sounds

of the streets--the shouts of children at play, the calls of women,
the cries of the mule-drivers, and now and again the piercing shrieks

of a black story-teller from the town of the Moors--only this varied flow
of voices, and under it the indistinct murmur of multitudinous life

coming and going on every side.
Did other sounds come to Naomi's ears? Was her spiritual power,

which was unclogged by any grosser sense than that of hearing,
conscious of some terrible undertone of impending trouble?

Or was her disquietude no more than recollection of her father's promise
to be back at sunset, and mere anxiety for his return?

Fatimah and Habeebah knew nothing and saw nothing. All that they could do
was to wring their hands.

Meantime, Naomi's agitation became yet more restless, and nothing
would serve her at last but that she should go out into the streets.

And the black women, seeing her so steadfastly minded, and being affected
by her fears, made her ready, and themselves as well, and then all three

went out together.
"Where are we going?" said Habeebah.

"Nay, how should I know?" said Fatimah.
"We are fools," said Habeebah.

It was now an hour after sunset, the light was fading, and the traffic
was sinking down. Only at the gate of the Mellah, which, contrary

to custom, had not yet been closed, was the throng still dense.
A group of Jews stood under it in earnest and passionate talk.

There was a strange and bodeful silence on every side. The coffee-house
of the Moors beyond the gate was already lit up, and the door was open,

but the floor was empty. No snake-charmers, no jugglers,
no story-tellers, with their circles of squatting spectators,

were to be seen or heard. These professors of science and magic
and jocularity had never before been absent. Even the blind beggars,

crouching under the town walls, were silent. But out of the mosques
there came a deep low chant as of many voices, from great numbers

gathered within.