Yet all this time the man’s soul was yearning with pity for the people.  Since the death of Ruth his heart had grown merciful.  The care of the child had softened him.  It had brought him to look on other children with tenderness, and looking tenderly on other children had led him to think of other fathers with compassion.  Young or old, powerful or weak, mighty or mean, they were all as little children—­helpless children who would sleep together in the same bed soon.

Thinking so, Israel would have undone the evil work of earlier years; but that was impossible now.  Many of them that had suffered were dead; some that had been cast into prison had got their last and long discharge.  At least Israel would have relaxed the rigour whereby his master ruled, but that was impossible also.  Katrina had come, and she was a vain woman and a lover of all luxury, and she commanded Israel to tax the people afresh.  He obeyed her through three bad years; but many a time his heart reproached him that he dealt corruptly by the poor people, and when he saw them borrowing money for the Governor’s tributes on their lands and houses, and when he stood by while they and their sons were cast into prison for the bonds which they could not pay to the usurers Abraham or Judah or Reuben, then his soul cried out against him that he ate the bread of such a mistress.

But out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness, and out of this coming of the Spanish wife of Ben Aboo came deliverance for Israel from the torment of his false position.

There was an aged and pious Moor in Tetuan, called Abd Allah, who was rumoured to have made savings from his business as a gunsmith.  Going to mosque one evening, with fifteen dollars in his waistband, he unstrapped his belt and laid it on the edge of the fountain while he washed his feet before entering, for his back was no longer supple.  Then a younger Moor, coming to pray at the same time, saw the dollars, and snatched them up and ran.  Abd Allah could not follow the thief, so he went to the Kasbah and told his story to the Governor.

Just at that time Ben Aboo had the Kaid of Fez on a visit to him.  “Ask him how much more he has got,” whispered the brother Kaid to Ben Aboo.

Abd Allah answered that he did not know.

“I’ll give you two hundred dollars for the chance of all he has,” the Kaid whispered again.

“Five bees are better than a pannier of flies—­done!” said Ben Aboo.

So Abd Allah was sold like a sheep and carried to Fez, and there cast into prison on a penalty of two hundred and fifty dollars imposed upon him on the pretence of a false accusation.

Israel sat by the Governor that day at the gate of the hall of justice, and many poor people of the town stood huddled together in the court outside while the evil work was done.  No one heard the Kaid of Fez when he whispered to Ben Aboo, but every one saw when Israel drew the warrant that consigned the gunsmith to prison, and when he sealed it with the Governor’s seal.