it, not
music, only sounds without measure or rhythm, which the wind carried
down the valley, causing the sheep-dog to rise up from the rock on
which he was lying and to howl dismally. Near by the old man walked,
leaning on the arm of the younger brother, a boy of sixteen. Both
wore shepherd's garb--tunics fitting tight to the waist, large
plaited hats, and sandals cut from sheep-skin. The old man's eyes
were weak and red, and he blinked them so constantly that Owen
thought he must be blind; and the boy was so beautiful that one of
the Arabs cried out to him, in the noble form of Arab salutation:

"Hail to thee, Jacob, son of Isaac; and hail to thy father."

Owen repeated the names "Jacob!" "Isaac!" a light came into his face,
and he drew himself up in his saddle, understanding suddenly that he
had fallen out of the "Odyssey," landing in the very midst of the
Bible; for there it was, walking about him: Abraham and Isaac, the
old man willing to sacrifice his son to please some implacable God
hidden behind a cloud; Jacob selling his birthright to Esau, the
birthright of camels, sheep, and goats. And down his mind floated the
story of Joseph sold by his brethren, and that of Ruth and Boaz:
"Thy people shall be my people, thy God shall be my God," a story of
corn rather than of flocks and herds. For the sake of Boaz she would
accept Yahveh. But would he accept such a God for Evelyn's sake, and
such a brute?--always telling his people if they continued to adore
him they would be given not only strength to overcome their enemies,
but even the pleasure of dashing out the brains of their enemies'
children against the stones; and thinking of the many apocalyptic
inventions, the many-headed beasts of Isaiah, the Cherubim and
Seraphim, who were not stalwart and beautiful angels, but
many-headed beasts from Babylonia, Owen remembered that these
revolting monsters had been made beautiful in the AEgean: sullen
Astaarte, desiring sacrifice and immolation, had risen from the
waters, a ravishing goddess with winged Loves marvelling about her,
Loves with conches to their lips, blowing the glad news to the world.

"How the thought wanders!" he said, "A moment ago I was among the
abominations of Isaiah. Now I am back, if not with the Greek Venus,
'whom men no longer call the Erecine,' at all events with an
enchanting Parisian, nearly as beautiful, and more delightful--a
voluptuous goddess, laughing amid her hair, drawn less austerely
t