Seeing his profound faith, no one dared to tell him the truth that was
on every tongue. A wave of compassion swept over all. The deputation
stood and watched him until he had sunk under the hill.

And now, being come thus near to home, Israel's impatience robbed him
of some of his happy confidence and filled him with fears. He began
to think of all the evil chances that might have befallen Naomi. His
absence had been so long, and so many things might have happened since
he went away. In this mood he tried to run. It was a poor uncertain
shamble. At nearly every step the body lurched for poise and balance.

At last he came to a point of the path from which, as he knew, the
little rush-covered house ought to be seen. "It's yonder," he cried, and
pointed it out to himself with uplifted finger. The sun was sinking, and
its strong rays were in his face. "She's there, I see her!" he shouted.
A few minutes later he was near the door. "No, my eyes deceived me,"
he said in a damp voice. "Or perhaps she has gone in--perhaps she's
hiding--the sweet rogue!"

The door was half open; he pushed it and entered the house. "Naomi!" he
called in a voice like a caress. "Naomi!" His voice trembled now. "Come
to me, come, dearest; come quickly, quickly, I cannot see!" He listened.
There was not a sound, not a movement. "Naomi!" The name was like a
gurgle in his throat. There was a pause, and then he said very feebly
and simply, "She's not here."

He looked around, and picked up something from the floor. It was a
slipper covered with mould. As he gazed upon it a change came over his
face. Dead? Was Naomi dead? He had thought of death before--for himself,
for others, never for Naomi. At a stride the awful thing was on him.
Death! Oh, oh!

With a helpless, broken, blind look he was standing in the middle of the
floor with the slipper in his hand, when a footstep came to the door. He
flung the slipper away and threw open his arms. Naomi--it must be she!

It was Fatimah. She had come in secret, that the evil news of what had
been done at the Kasbah and the Mosque might not be broken to Israel too
suddenly. He met her with a terrible question. "Where is she laid?" he
said in a voice of awe.

Fatimah saw his error instantly. "Naomi is alive," she said, and, seeing
how the clouds lifted off his face, she added quickly, "and well, very
well."

That is not telling a falsehood, she thought; but when Israel, with a
cry of joy which was partly p