Israel was in the way of bribing God again, forgetting, in the heat of his desire, the shame of his journey to Shawan.  He made his preparations, and they were few.  His money was gone already, and so were his dead wife’s jewels.  He had determined that he would keep his house, if only as a shelter to Naomi (for he owed something to her material comfort as well as her spiritual welfare), but that its furniture and belongings were more luxurious than their necessity would require or altered state allow.

So he sold to a Jewish merchant in the Mellah the couches and great chairs which he had bought out of England, as well as the carpets from Rabat, the silken hangings from Fez, and the purple canopies from Morocco city.  When these were gone, and nothing remained but the simple rugs and mattresses which are all that the house of a poor man needs in that land where the skies are kind, he called his servants to him as he sat in the patio—­Ali as well as the two bondwomen—­for he had decided that he must part with them also, and they must go their ways.

“My good people,” he said, “you have been true and faithful servants to me this many a year—­you, Fatimah, and you also, Habeebah, since before the days when my wife came to me—­and you too, Ali, my lad, since you grew to be big and helpful.  Little I thought to part with you until my good time should come; but my life in our poor Barbary is over already, and to-morrow I shall be less than the least of all men in Tetuan.  So this is what I have concluded to do.  You, Fatimah, and you, Habeebah, being given to me as bondwomen by the Kaid in the old days when my power, which now is little and of no moment, was great and necessary—­you belong to me.  Well, I give you your liberty.  Your papers are in the name of Ben Aboo, and I have sealed them with his seal—­that is the last use but one that I shall put it to.  Here they are, both of them.  Take them to the Kadi after prayers in the morning, and he will ratify your title.  Then you will be free women for ever after.”

The black women had more than once broken in upon Israel’s words with exclamations of surprise and consternation.  “Allah!” “Bismillah!” “Holy Saints!” “By the beard of the Prophet!” And when at length he put the deeds of emancipation into their hands they fell into loud fits of hysterical weeping.

“As for you, Ali, my son,” Israel continued, “I cannot give you your freedom, for you are a freeman born.  You have been a son to me these fourteen years.  I have another task for you—­a perilous task, a solemn duty—­and when it is done I shall see you no more.  My brave boy, you will go far, but I do not fear for you.  When you are gone I shall think of you; and if you should sometimes think of your old master who could not keep you, we may not always be apart.”