As the youth looked upon it all with no little curiosity he observed the crowd give way before a man clothed wholly in white, who proceeded directly to the Caaba and, pausing beneath the door, gave utterance to a loud prayer, while the people about fell prostrate on the ground.  Then, in a loud voice, he commanded that the stair be brought.  Attendants hastened to roll the bulky structure into its place, and the priest, or guardian of the temple, ascended, and received from his attendants several buckets of water which he carried into the edifice.

Presently, small streams began to trickle from the doorway, and the guardian’s white vestments again appeared, as he proceeded to sweep the water out, dashing it far over the steps.  The people rushed beneath it, crowding over one another in their anxiety holding their upturned faces towards it and counting themselves blessed if a drop of it fell upon them.  It was the ceremony of washing the Caaba.

[Illustration:  “Be not discouraged, my son,” was Yusuf’s reply.—­See page 87.]

The youth beside the pillar, though he wore Moslem garb, looked on in contempt; and, barely waiting for the conclusion of the ceremony, walked proudly from the enclosure, merely pausing to examine somewhat critically the Black Stone, which, deserted for the moment, was visible in the red light of a torch above.  Then, passing through the nearest gate, he walked, rather feebly, towards the house of Amzi.

Yusuf, wearied after a long day’s work, was resting upon the carpeted Mastabah (platform) which forms a part of the vestibule of every comfortable house in Mecca.  There was no light in the apartment save that afforded by the dim glimmer of a fire-pan, over which bubbled a fragrant urn of coffee.  His thoughts had been wandering back over the events of his changeful life; events which would culminate, as far as his immediate history was concerned, in his early banishment from this city of his adoption.  The little Jewish band would go together—­precisely where, they did not know,—­Amzi, Manasseh, the family of Asru, a few other devoted souls, and, it was to be hoped, Kedar.

Yusuf’s thoughts dwelt upon Kedar.  To-night he seemed to feel a sweet assurance that his prayers in the youth’s behalf were soon to be answered; and, in the darkness, he cried out for the lad’s salvation, until the blessed Lord seemed so near that he almost fancied he could put forth his hand and feel the strong, loving, helping touch of Him who said, “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine....  And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold; them also I must bring; and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.”

A step sounded on the door-stone, and the very youth of whom Yusuf was thinking entered.

“Well, my Kedar,” said the priest, “have you been enjoying the moon?”

“I have been to the Caaba,” returned Kedar, with amused contempt in his voice, “yet I have neither swung by the kiswah nor drenched myself, like a rain-draggled hen, at Zem-Zem.”