and big white eyes that looked at you for all they couldn’t see.  Well a bleeder came from Soos—­curse his great-grandfather!  Looked at little Hosain—­’Scales!’ said he—­burn his father!  Bleed him and he’ll see!  So they bled him, and he did see.  By Allah! yes, for a minute—­half a minute!  ’Oh, ‘Larby,’ he cried—­I was holding him; then he—­he—­’ ‘Larby,’ he cried faint, like a lamb that’s lost in the mountains—­and then—­and then—­’Oh, oh, ‘Larby,’ he moaned Sidi, Sidi, I paid that bleeder—­there and then—­this way!  That’s why I’m here!”

It was a lie, but ’Larby acted it so well that his voice broke in his throat, and great drops fell from his eyes on to Israel’s hand.

The effect on Israel himself was strange and even startling.  While ’Larby was speaking, he was beating his forehead and mumbling:  “Where?  When?  Naomi!” as if grappling for lost treasures in an ebbing sea.  And when ’Larby finished, he fell on him with reproaches.  “And you are weeping for that?” he cried.  “You think it much that the sweet child is dead—­God rest him!  So it is to the like of you, but look at me!”

His voice betrayed a grim pride in his miseries.  “Look at me!  Am I weeping?  No; I would scorn to weep.  But I have more cause a thousandfold.  Listen!  Once I was rich; but what were riches without children?  Hard bread with no water for sop.  I asked God for a child.  He gave me a daughter; but she was born blind and dumb and deaf.  I asked God to take my riches and give her hearing.  He gave her hearing; but what was hearing without speech?  I asked God to take all I had and give her speech.  He gave her speech, but what was speech without sight?  I asked God to take my place from me and give her sight.  He gave her sight, and I was cast out of the town like a beggar.  What matter?  She had all, and I was forgiven.  But when I was happy, when I was content, when she filled my heart with sunshine, God snatched me away from her.  And where is she now?  Yonder, alone, friendless, a child new-born into the world at the mercy of liars and libertines.  And where am I?  Here, like a beast in a trap, uttering abortive groans, toothless, stupid, powerless, mad.  No, no, not mad, either!  Tell me, boy, I am not mad!”

In the breaking waters of his madness he was struggling like a drowning man.  “Yet I do not weep,” he cried in a thick voice.  “God has a right to do as He will.  He gave her to me for seventeen years.  If she dies she’ll be mine again soon.  Only if she lives—­only if she falls into evil hands—­Tell me, have I been mad?”

He gave no time for an answer.  “Naomi!” he cried, and the name broke in his throat.  “Where are you now?  What has—­who have—­your father is thinking of you—­he is—­No, I will not weep.  You see I have a good cause, but I tell you I will never weep.  God has a right—­Naomi!—­Na—­”

The name thickened to a sob as he repeated it, and then suddenly he rose and cried in an awful voice, “Oh, I’m a fool!  God has done nothing for me.  Why should I do anything for God?  He has taken all I had.  He has taken my child.  I have nothing more to give Him but my life.  Let Him take that too.  Take it, I beseech Thee!” he cried—­the vault of the prison rang—­“Take it, and set me free!”