Israel passed, and
called him "Dog!" and "Jew!" and commanded him to uncover his feet.

Israel slept that night in one of the three squalid fondaks of Wazzan
inhabited by the Jews. His room was a sort of narrow box, in a square
court of many such boxes, with a handful of straw shaken over the earth
floor for a bed. On the doorpost the figure of a hand was painted in
red, and over the lintel there was a rude drawing of a scorpion, with an
imprecation written under it that purported to be from the mouth of
the Prophet Joshua, son of Nun. If the charm kept evil spirits from the
place of Israel's rest, it did not banish good ones. Israel slept in
that poor bed as he had never slept under the purple canopy of his own
chamber, and all night long one angel form seemed to hover over him.
It was Naomi. He could see her clearly. They were together in a little
cottage somewhere. The house was a mean one, but jasmine and marjoram
and pinks and roses grew outside of it, and love grew inside. And Naomi!
How bright were her eyes, for they could see! Yes, and her ears could
hear, and her tongue could speak!

Two days after Israel left Wazzan he was back in the bashalic of Tetuan.
Each night he had dreamt the same dream, and though he knew each morning
when he awoke with a sigh that his dream was only a reflection of his
dead wife's vision, yet he could not help but think of it the long day
through. He tried to remember if he had ever seen the cottage with his
waking eyes, and where he had seen it, and to recall the voice of Naomi
as he had heard it in his dream, that he might know if it was the same
as he used to think he heard when he sat by her in his stolen watches of
the night while she lay asleep. Sometimes when he reflected he thought
he must be growing childish, so foolish was his joy in looking forward
to the night--for he had almost grown in love with it--that he might
dream his dream again.

But it was a dear, delicious folly, for it helped him to bear the
troubles of his journey, and they were neither light nor few. After
passing through El Kasar he had been robbed and stripped both of his
small remaining moneys and the better part of his clothes by a gang of
ruffians who had followed him out of the town. Then a good woman--the
old wife, turned into the servant of a Moor who had married a young
one--had taken pity on his condition and given him a disused Moorish
jellab. His misfortune had not been without its advantage. B