“The clouds are not hurt,” he thought, “by the bark of dogs.”

Thus did his brethren of Judah revile him, and thus did they torture him; yet there was one among them who did neither.  This was the daughter of their Grand Rabbi, David ben Ohana.  Her name was Ruth.  She was young, and God had given her grace and she was beautiful, and many young Jewish men, of Tetuan had vied with each other in vain for he favour.  Of Israel’s duty she knew little, save what report had said of it, that it was evil; and of the act which had made him an outcast among his own people, and an Ishmael among the sons of Ishmael she could form no judgment.  But what a woman’s eyes might see in him, without help of other knowledge, that she saw.

She had marked him in the synagogue, that his face was noble and his manners gracious; that he was young, but only as one who had been cheated of his youth and had missed his early manhood, the when he was ignored he ignored his insult, and when he was reviled he answered not again; in a word, the he was silent and strong and alone, and, above all that he was sad.

These were credentials enough to the true girl’s favour, and Israel soon learnt that the house of the Rabbi was open to him.  There the lonely man first found himself.  The cold eyes of his little world had seen him as his father’s son, but the light and warmth of the eyes of Ruth saw him as the son of his mother also.  The Rabbi himself was old, very old—­ninety years of age—­and length of days had taught him charity.  And so it was that when, in due time, Israel came with many excuses and asked for Ruth in marriage, the Rabbi gave her to him.

The betrothal followed, but none save the notary and his witnesses stood beside Israel when he crossed hands over the handkerchief; and, when the marriage came in its course, few stood beside the Chief Rabbi.  Nevertheless, all the Jews of the quarter and all the Moors of Tetuan were alive to what was happening, and on the night of the marriage a great company of both peoples, though chiefly of the rabble among them, gathered in front of the Rabbi’s house that they might hiss and jeer.

The Chacham heard them from where he sat under the stars in his patio, and when at last the voice of Rebecca the prophetess came to him above the tumult, crying, “Woe to her that has married the enemy of her nation, and woe to him that gave her against the hope of his people!  They shall taste death.  He shall see them fall from his side and die,” then the old man listened and trembled visibly.  In confusion and fierce anger he rose up and stumbled through the crooked passage to the door, and flinging it wide, he stood in the doorway facing them that stood without.

“Peace!  Peace!” he cried, “and shame! shame!  Remember the doom of him that shall curse the high priest of the Lord.”

This he spoke in a voice that shook with wrath.  Then suddenly, his voice failing him, he said in a broken whisper, “My good people, what is this?  Your servant is grown old in your service.  Sixty and odd years he has shared your sorrows and your burdens.  What has he done this day that your women should lift up their voices against him?”