thank you! And well may this Israel ben Oliel praise the Lord
and worship Him, that He has not put it into the hearts of His people
to play the game of breaker of tyrants by the spilling of blood, as the
races around them, the Arabs and the Berbers, who are of a temper more
warm by nature, must long ago have done, and that not unjustly either,
or altogether to the displeasure of a Kaid who is good and humane and
merciful, and has never loved that his poor people should be oppressed."

At this word, though it made pretence to commend the temperance of the
crowd, the fury broke out more loudly than before. "Away with the man!"
"Away with him!" rang out on every side in countless voices, husky and
clear, gruff and sharp, piping and deep. Not a voice of them all called
for mercy or for patience.

While the anger of the people surged and broke in the air, a third voice
came through the tumult, and Naomi knew it, for it was the harsh voice
of Reuben Maliki, the silversmith and keeper of the poor-box.

"And does God," said Reuben, "any more than Ben Aboo--blessings on his
life!--love that His people should be oppressed? How has He dealt with
this Israel ben Oliel? Does He stand steadfastly beside him, or has His
hand gone out against him? Since the day he came here, five-and-twenty
years ago, has God saved him or smitten him? Remember Ruth, his wife,
how she died young! Remember her father, our old Grand Rabbi, David ben
Ohana, how the hand of the Lord fell upon him on the night of the
day whereon his daughter was married! Remember this girl Naomi, this
offspring of sin, this accursed and afflicted one, still blind and
speechless!"

Then the voices of the crowd came to Naomi's ears like the neigh of a
breathless horse. Fatimah had laid hold of her gown and was whispering.
"Come! Let us away!" But Naomi only clutched her hand and trembled.

The harsh voice of Reuben Maliki rose in the air again. "Do you say that
the Lord gave him riches? Behold him!--he swallowed them down, but has
he not vomited them up? Examine him!--that which he took by extortions
has he not been made to restore? Does God's anger smoke against him?
Answer me, yes or no!"

Like a bolt out of the sky there came a great shout of "Yes!" And
instantly afterwards, from another direction, there came a fourth voice,
a peevish, tremulous voice, the voice of an old woman. Naomi knew it--it
was the voice of Rebecca Bensabott, ninety-and-odd years of age, and
st