The floor was strewn over with rubbish--cans, kettles, water-bottles, a woman's handkerchief, and a dainty red slipper.On the ragged grass in the court within there were some little stones built up into tiny squares, and bits of stick stuck into the ground in lines.
A young girl had lived in that house; children had played there;the gaunt and silent place breathed of their spirits still.
"Poor souls!" thought Israel, but the troubles of others could not really touch him.At that very moment his heart was joyful.
The day was warm, but not too hot for walking.Israel did not feel weary, and so he went on without resting.He reckoned how far it was from Shawan to his home near Semsa.It was nearly seventy miles.
That distance would take two days and two nights to cover on foot.
He had left the prison on Wednesday night, and it would be Friday at sunset before he reached Naomi.It was now Thursday morning.
He must lose no time."You see, the poor little thing will be waiting, waiting, waiting," he told himself."These sweet creatures are all so impatient; yes, yes, so foolishly impatient.God bless them!"He met people on the road, and hailed them with good cheer.
They answered his greetings sadly, and a few of them told him of their trouble.Something they said of Ben Aboo, that he demanded a hundred dollars which they could not pay, and something of the Sultan, that he had ransacked their houses and then gone on with his great army, his twenty wives, and fifteen tents to keep the feast at Tetuan.
But Israel hardly knew what they told him, though he tried to lend an ear to their story.He was thinking out a wonderful scheme for the future.
With Naomi he was to leave Morocco.They were to sail for England.