I shall see her soon.God is wise beyond all wisdom.
I must lose no time.Jailer can I leave the town to-night?
I wish to start on my journey.To-night?--yes, to-night!
Are the gates open? No? You will open them? You are very good.
Everybody is very good.God is good.God is mighty."Then half in shame, and partly as apology for his late intemperate outburst, with a simpleness that was almost childish, he said, "A man's a fool when he loses his only child.I don't mean by death.Time heals that.But the living child--oh, it's an unending pain! You would never think how happy we were.
Her pretty ways were all my joy.Yes, for her voice was music, and her breath was like the dawn.Do you know, I was very fond of the little one--I was quite miserable if I lost sight of her for an hour.And then to be wrenched away !....But I must hasten back.The little one will be waiting.Yes, I know quite well she'll be looking out from the door in the sunshine when she awakes in the morning.It's always the way of these tender creatures, is it not? So we must humour them.Yes, yes, that's so that's so."His fellow-prisoners stood around him each in his night-headkerchief knotted under his chin--gaunt, hooded figures, in the shifting light of the jailer's lantern.
"Farewell, brothers!" he cried; and one by one they touched his hand and brought it to their breasts.
"Farewell, master!" "Peace, Sidi!" "Farewell!" "Peace!" "Farewell!"The light shot out; the door clasped back; there were footsteps dying away outside; two loud bangs as of a closing gate, and then silence--empty and ghostly.
In the darkness the hooded figures stood a moment listening, and then a croaking, breaking, husky, merry voice began to sing--El Arby was a black man, They called him "'Larby Kosk;"He loved the wives of the Kasbah, And stole slippers in the Mosque.