e the goodness of the Lord in the land of the
living.' 'My flesh faileth, but God is the strength of my heart, and my
portion forever.'"

So, uttering exclamations from the pages of Scripture, did the devout
Jew pass onward to his home, which was once more filled with "joy and
gladness, thanksgiving and the voice of melody." Before leaving, Yusuf
presented him with the ring containing the little stone, as a memento of
his deliverance.

And Abraham? He received the full weight of the scourge; and may we be
pardoned in anticipating, and say that for two days he lay nursing his
wrath and his wounds; but, on the third day after his imprisonment, his
agility suddenly returned. He managed in some inexplicable way known
only to himself to work free of his fetters, and when the keeper came
with food in the evening, blinded by the dim light of the cell, he did
not perceive the little peddler crouched in a heap in the middle of the
floor.

Scarcely was the door opened when the Jew bounced like a ball past the
keeper's feet, almost upsetting him; then, darting like an arrow between
the astonished guards without, he was off. A hue and cry was raised, but
the little peddler had disappeared as completely as if the earth had
opened up and swallowed him.

CHAPTER IX.

AMZI AT MEDINA.

"With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half dream!
To dream and dream like yonder amber light
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height."

--_Tennyson._

Without entering into detail it may be briefly stated that the success
of Mohammed's disciples in Medina was simply marvelous. Converts joined
them every day, while those who were not prepared to believe in the
Meccan's divine mission were at least anxious to see and hear the
prophet.

Amzi did no work in behalf of the new religion. He was simply an
onlooker, though not an unsympathetic one; and, it must be confessed, he
spent most of his time in that voluptuous do-nothingness in which the
wealthy Oriental dreams away so much of his time,--sitting or reclining
on perfumed cushions, a fan in his hand and a long pipe at his mouth,
too languid, too listless, even to talk; listening to the soft murmur of
Nature's music, the night-wind sighing through the trees beneath a
star-gemmed sky, the song of a solitary bulbul warbling plaintively
among the myrtle and oleander blooms, the plash of a fountain rippling
near with "a