“On a long journey, brother?” said the man.

“No, oh no, no,” said Israel.  “Only to Semsa, no farther.”

“Well, you must sleep here to-night,” said the Arab.

“Ah, I cannot do that,” said Israel.

“No?”

“You see, I am going back to my little daughter.  She is alone, poor child, and has not seen her old father for months.  Really it is wrong of a man to stay away such a time.  These tender creatures are so impatient, you know.  And then they imagine such things, do they not?  Well, I suppose we must humour them—­that’s what I always say.”

“But look, the night is coming, and a dark one, too!” said the woman.

“Oh, nothing, that’s nothing, sister,” said Israel.  “Well, peace!  Farewell all, farewell!”

Waving his hand he went away laughing, but before he had gone far the darkness overtook him.  It came down from the mountains like a dense black cloud.  Not a star in the sky, not a gleam on the land, darkness ahead of him, darkness behind, one thick pall hanging in the air on every side.  Still for a while he toiled along.  Every step was an effort.  The ground seemed to sink under him.  It was like walking on mattresses.  He began to feel tired and nervous and spiritless.  A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and at length, when the sound of a river came from somewhere near, though on which side of him he could not tell, he had no choice but to stop.  “After all, it is better,” he thought.  “Strange, how things happen for the best!  I must sleep to-night, for to-morrow night I will get no sleep at all.  No, for I shall have so many things to say and to ask and to hear.”

Consoling him thus, he tried to sleep where he was, and as slumber crept upon him in the darkness, with five-and-twenty heavy miles of dense night between him and his home, he crooned and talked to himself in a childish way that he might comfort his aching heart.  “Yes, I must sleep—­sleep—­to-morrow she must sleep and I must watch by her—­watch by her as I used to do—­used to do—­how soft and beautiful—­how beautiful—­sleeping—­sleep—­Ah!”

When he awoke the sun had risen.  The sea lay before him in the distance, the blue Mediterranean stretching out to the blue sky.  He was on the borders of the country of the Beni-Hassan, and, after wading the river, which he had heard in the night, he began again on his journey.  It was now Friday morning, and by sunset of that day he would be back at his home near Semsa.  Already he could see Tetuan far away, girt by its white walls, and perched on the hillside.  Yonder it lay in the sunlight, with the snow-tipped heights above it, a white blaze surrounded by orange orchards.

But how dizzy he was!  How the world went round!  How the earth trembled!  Was the glare of the sun too fierce that morning, or had his eyes grown dim?  Going blind?  Well, even so, he would not repine, for Naomi could see now.  She would see for him also.  How sweet to see through Naomi’s eyes!  Naomi was young and joyous, and bright and blithe.  All the world was new to her, and strange and beautiful.  It would be a second and far sweeter youth.