At the sound of that word, never before spoken, though every ear had waited for it, the shouts of the crowd rose to madness.  But suddenly in the midst of the wild vociferations there was a shrill cry of “He is there!” and then there was a great silence.

It was Israel himself.  He was coming afoot down the lane under the town walls from the gate called the Bab Toot, where the road comes in from Shawan.  At fifty paces behind him Ali, the black boy, was riding one mule and leading another.

He was returning from the prison, and thinking how the poor followers of Absalam, after he had fed them of his poverty, had blest him out of their dry throats, saying, “May the God of Jacob bless you also, brother!” and “May the child of your wife be blessed!” Ah! those blessings, he could hear them still!  They followed him as he walked.  He did not fly from them any longer, for they sang in his ears and were like music in his melted soul.  Once before he had heard such music.  It was in England.  The organ swelled and the voices rose, and he was a lonely boy, for his mother lay in her grave at his feet.  His mother!  How strangely his heart was softened towards himself and-all the world And Ruth!  He could think of nothing without tenderness.  And Naomi!  Ah! the sun was nigh two hours down, and Naomi would be waiting for him at home, for she was as one that had no life without his presence.  What would befall if he were taken from her?  That thought was like the sweeping of a dead hand across his face.  So his body stooped as he walked with his staff, and his head was held down, and his step was heavy.

Thus the old lion came on to the market-place, where the people were gathered together as wolves to devour him.  On he came, seeing nothing and hearing nothing and fearing nothing, and in the silence of the first surprise at sight of him his footsteps were heard on the stones.

Naomi heard them.

Then it seemed to Naomi’s ears that a voice fell, as it were, out of the air, crying, “God has given him into our hands!” After that all sounds seemed to Naomi to fade far-away, and to come to her muffled and stifled by the distance.

But with a loud shout, as if it had been a shout out of one great throat, the crowd encompassed Israel crying, “Kill him!” Israel stopped, and lifted his heavy face upon the people; but neither did he cry out nor make any struggle for his life.  He stood erect and silent in their midst, and massive and square.  His brave bearing did not break their fury.  They fell upon him, a hundred hands together.  One struck at his face, another tore at his long grey hair, and a third thrust him down on to his knees.

No one had yet observed on the outer rim of the crowd the pale slight girl that stood there—­blind, dumb, powerless, frail, and so softly beautiful—­a waif on the margin of a tempestuous sea.  Through the thick barriers of Naomi’s senses everything was coming to her ugly and terrible.  Her father was there!  They were tearing him to pieces!