第82章

Naomi was sick.Her head ached.The smell of rotten fish, the stench of the manure heap, the braying of the donkeys, the barking of the dogs, the grunt of the camels, and the tumult of human voices made her light-headed.She could neither eat nor sleep.Almost as soon as it was light she was up and out and on her way."I must lose no time,"she thought, trying not to realise that the blue sky was spinning round her, that noises were ringing in her head, and that her poor little heart, which had been so stout only yesterday, was sinking very low.

"He must be starving," she told herself again, and that helped her to forget her own troubles and to struggle on.But oh, if the world were only not so cruel, oh, if there were anyone to give her a word of cheer, nay, a glance of pity! But nobody had looked at her except the women who stole her bread and the men who shamed her with their wicked eyes.

That one day's experience did more than all her life before it to fill her with the bitter fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.Her illusions fell away from her, and her sweet childish faith was broken down.She saw herself as she was:

a simple girl, a child ignorant of the ways of the world, going alone on a long journey unknown to her, thinking to succour her father in prison, and carrying a handful of eggs and a few poor cakes of bread.When at length the scales fell from the eyes of her mind, and as she trudged along on her bony mule, afraid to ask her way, she saw herself, with all her fine purposes shrivelled up, do what she would to be brave, she could not help but cry.

It was all so vain, so foolish; she was such a weak little thing.

Her father knew this, and that was why he told her to stay where he left her.What if he came home while she was absent!

Should she go back?

She had almost resolved to return, struggle as she might to push forward, when going close under the town walls, near to the very gate, the Bab Toot whereat she had been cast out with her father remembering this scene of their abasement with a new sense of its cruelty and shame born of her own simple troubles, she lit upon a woman who was coming out.

It was Habeebah.She was now the slave of Ben Aboo, and was just then stealing away from the Kasbah in the early morning that she might go in search of Naomi, whose whereabouts and condition she had lately learned.

The two might have passed unknown, for Habeebah was veiled, but that Naomi had forgotten her blanket and was uncovered.

In another moment the poor frightened girl, with all her brave bearing gone, was weeping on the black woman's breast.

"Whither are you going?" said Habeebah.

"To my father," Naomi began."He is in prison; they say he is starving;I was taking food to him, but I am lost, I don't know my way;and besides--"

"The very thing!" cried Habeebah.

Habeebah had her own little scheme.It was meant to win emancipation at the hands of her master, and paradise for her soul when she died.

Naomi, who was a Jewess, was to turn Muslima.That was all.

Then her troubles would end, and wondrous fortune would descend upon her, and her father who was in prison would be set free.

Now, religion was nothing to Naomi; she hardly understood what it meant.

The differences of faith were less than nothing, but her father was everything, and so she clutched at Habeebah's bold promises like a drowning soul at the froth of a breaker.

"My father will be let out of prison? You are sure--quite sure?"she asked.

"Quite sure," answered Habeebah stoutly.

Naomi's hopes of ever reaching her father were now faint, and her poor little stock of eggs and bread looked like folly to her new-born worldliness.

"Very well," she said."I will turn Muslima."A few minutes afterwards she was riding by Habeebah's side into the town, through the Bab Toot across the Feddan, and up to the courtyard of the Kasbah, which had witnessed the beginning of her own and her father's degradation.Then, tethering the beast in the open stables there, Habeebah took Naomi into her own little room and left her alone for some minutes, while she hastened to Ben Aboo in secret with her wondrous news.

"Lord Basha," she said, "the beautiful Jewess Naomi, the daughter of Israel ben Oliel, will turn Muslima.""Where is she?" said Ben Aboo.

"Sidi," said Habeebah, "I have promised that you will liberate her father.""Fetch her," said Ben Aboo, "and it shall be done."But meanwhile Fatimah had gone to Habeebah's room and found Naomi there, and heard of the vain hope which had brought her.

"My sweet jewel of gold and silver," the black woman cried, "you don't know what you are doing.Turn Muslima, and you will be parted from your father for ever.He is a Jew, and will have no right to you any more.You will never, never see him again.He will be lost to you--lost--I say--lost!"Habeebah, with two of the guard, came back to take Naomi to Ben Aboo.

The poor girl was bewildered.She had seen nothing but her father in Fatimah's protest, just as she had seen nothing but her father in Habeebah's promises.She did not know what to do, she was such a poor weak little thing, and there was no strong hand to guide her.

They led her through dark passages to an open place which she thought she had seen before.It was a great patio, paved and walled with tiles.

Men were standing together there in red peaked caps and flowing white kaftans.And before them all was one old man in garments that were of the colour of the afternoon sun, with sleeves like the mouths of bells, a silver knife at his waistband, and little leather bags, hung by yellow cords, about his neck.

Beside this man there was a woman of a laughing cruel face, and she herself, Naomi, stood in the midst, with every eye upon her.

Where had she seen all this before?