You, Fatimah, and you, Habeebah, being given to me as bondwomen by the Kaid in the old days when my power, which now is little and of no moment, was great and necessary--you belong to me.
Well, I give you your liberty.Your papers are in the name of Ben Aboo, and I have sealed them with his seal--that is the last use but one that I shall put it to.Here they are, both of them.Take them to the Kadi after prayers in the morning, and he will ratify your title.
Then you will be free women for ever after."The black women had more than once broken in upon Israel's words with exclamations of surprise and consternation."Allah!""Bismillah!" "Holy Saints!" "By the beard of the Prophet!"And when at length he put the deeds of emancipation into their hands they fell into loud fits of hysterical weeping.
"As for you, Ali, my son," Israel continued, "I cannot give you your freedom, for you are a freeman born.You have been a son to me these fourteen years.I have another task for you--a perilous task, a solemn duty--and when it is done I shall see you no more.
My brave boy, you will go far, but I do not fear for you.
When you are gone I shall think of you; and if you should sometimes think of your old master who could not keep you, we may not always be apart."The lad had listened to these words in blank bewilderment.
That strange disasters had of late befallen their household was an idea that had forced itself upon his unwilling mind.But that Israel, the greatest, noblest, mightiest man in the world--let the dogs of rasping Jews and the scurvy hounds of Moors yelp and bark as they would--should fall to be less than the least in Tetuan, and, having fallen that he should send him away--him, Ali, his boy whom he had brought up, Naomi's old playfellow--Allah!
Allah! in the name of the merciful God, what did his master mean?