He scarcely dared yet to believe that this God was one really with him at all times and in all places, seeing, hearing, knowing, sympathizing.  He scarcely dared to realize the possibility of a companionship with him, or the fact that the mediation of the planet-spirits was but a myth.  Yet he did feel, in a vague way, that the light was breaking, and a tumultuous, undefined, hopeful ecstasy took possession of his being.  Yusuf’s heart was ready for the reception of the truth.  He was unprejudiced.  He had cast aside all dependence upon the tenets of his former belief.  He had become as a little child anxious for rest upon its father’s bosom.  He sought only God, and to him the light came quickly.

There was an infinity of blessed truth to learn yet, but, as he went out into the night, he knew that a something had come into his life, transforming and ennobling it.  The divinity within him throbbed heart to heart with the Divinity that is above all, in all, throughout all good.  Though vaguely, he felt God; he knew that now, at last, he had entered upon the right road.

Then he thought of Amzi.  He must try to tell him all this.  Surely Amzi the learned, the benevolent, would rejoice too in hearing the story of Jesus’ life on earth, of his coming as an expression of the love of God to man, that man might know God.

Through the dark streets he hastened, thinking, wondering, rejoicing.  He sought the bedside of Amzi on the flat roof.

“Amzi, awake!” he cried.

“What now, night-hawk?” said the Meccan, in his good-natured, half-railing tone.  “Why pounce upon a man thus in the midst of his slumbers?”

“Amzi, I have heard glorious news of him—­that Jesus of whom we have talked!”

“Well?”

“He seems indeed to be the God for whom I have longed.  They have been telling me of his life, yet I realize little save that he came to earth that men might know him; that he died to show men the depth of his love; and that he is with us at every time, in every place—­even here, now, on this roof!  Only think of it, Amzi!  He is close beside us, seeing us, hearing us, knowing our very hearts!  There is no need more of appealing to the spirits of the stars.  Ah, they were ever far, far off!”

“And where learned you all this, friend priest?” There was an indifferent raillery in the tone which chilled Yusuf to the heart.

“From Nathan, a Christian Jew, and his wife—­people who live close to God if any one does.”

“In the Jewish quarter?”

“Even so.”

Amzi laughed.  “Truly, friend, you have chosen a fair spot for your revelation—­a quarter of filth and vice.  A case of good coming out of evil, truly!”

“Will you not grant that there are some good even in the Jewish quarter?”

“Some, perhaps; yet there are some good among all peoples.”

“Amzi, can you not believe?”

“No, no, friend Yusuf; I am glad for your happiness—­believe what you will.  But it is foreign to Amzi’s nature to accept on hearsay that which he has not inquired into—­probed to the bottom even.  He cannot accept the testimony of any passing stranger, however plausible it may seem.  Rejoice if you will, Yusuf, in the spring of a night-tune, but leave Amzi to seek for the deep waters still.”