The day of the feast came at length, and then Ali's impatience rose to fever.All day he longed for the night, that the thing he had to do could be done.At last the sunset came and the darkness fell, and from his place of concealment Ali saw the soldiers of the assaseen going through the streets with lanterns to lead honoured guests to the banquet.Then he set out on his errand.His foresight and wit had arranged everything.The negro at the gate of the Kasbah pretended to recognise him as a messenger of the Vizier's, and passed him through.
He pushed his way as one with authority along the winding passages to the garden where the Mahdi had called on Abd er-Rahman and foretold his fate.The garden opened upon the great hall, and a number of guests were standing there, cooling themselves in the night air while they waited for the arrival of the Sultan.
His Shereefian Majesty came at length, and then, amid salaams and peace-blessings, the company passed in to the banquet.
"Peace on you!" "And on you the peace!" "God make your evening!""May your evening be blessed!"
Did Ali shrink from the task at that moment? No, a thousand times no!
While he looked on at these men in their muslin and gauze and linen and scarlet, sweeping in with bows and hand-touchings to sup and to laugh and to tell their pretty stories, he remembered Israel broken and alone in the poor hut which had been described to him, and Naomi lying in her damp cell beyond the wall.
Some minutes he stood in the darkness of the garden, while the guests entered, and until the barefooted servants of the kitchen began to troop in after them with great dishes under huge covers.Then he held a short parley with the negro gatekeeper, two keys were handed to him, and in another minute he was standing at the door of Naomi's prison.