forward--his foot grated on the pavement--and he called
to the singer--

"Naomi!"

The girl bent forward, as if peering down into the darkness below, but
Israel could see that her fixed eyes were blind.

"My father!" she whispered.

"Where did you learn it?" said Israel.

"Fatimah, she taught me," Naomi answered; and then she added quickly,
as if with great but childlike pride, saying what she did not mean, "Oh
yes, it was I! Was I not beautiful?"

After that night Naomi's shyness of speech dropped away from her, and
what was left was only a sweet maidenly unconsciousness of all faults
and failings, with a soft and playful lisp that ran in and out among the
simple words that fell from her red lips like a young squirrel among the
fallen leaves of autumn. It would be a long task to tell how her lisping
tongue turned everything then to favour and to prettiness. On the coming
of the gift of hearing, the world had first spoken to her; and now, on
the coming of the gift of speech, she herself was first speaking to the
world. What did she tell it at that first sweet greeting? She told it
what she had been thinking of it in those mute days that were gone, when
she had neither hearing nor speech, but was in the land of silence as
well as in the land of night.

The fancies of the blind maid so long shut up within the beautiful
casket of her body were strange and touching ones. Israel took delight
in them at the beginning. He loved to probe the dark places of the mind
they came from, thinking God Himself must surely have illumined it
at some time with a light that no man knew, so startling were some of
Naomi's replies, so tender and so beautiful.

One evening, not long after she had first spoken, he was sitting with
her on the roof of their house as the sun was going down over the
palpitating plains towards Arzila and Laraiche and the great sea beyond.
Twilight was gathering in the Feddan under the Mosque, and the last
light of day, which had parleyed longest with the snowy heights of the
Reef Mountains, was glowing only on the sky above them.

"Sweetheart," said Israel, "what is the sun?"

"The sun is a fire in the sky," Naomi answered; "my Father lights it
every morning."

"Truly, little one, thy Father lights it," said Israel; "thy Father
which is in heaven."

"Sweetheart," he said again, "what is darkness?"

"Oh, darkness is cold," said Naomi promptly, and she seemed to shiver.

"Then the light must be warmth