spensing his charities.

"Take what you need; eat, drink, do not stint; there is more where this
has come from; it is not mine; God has lent it me for the good of all."

With such words, graciously spoken, he served out the provisions
according to his habit, and only departed from his daily custom in
piling the measures higher, and in saluting the people by titles--Sid,
Sidi, Mulai, and the like--in degree as their clothes were poor and
ragged. It was a mad heart that spoke so, but also it was a big one.

From that time forward he looked upon the prisoners as his guests, and
when fresh prisoners came to the prison he always welcomed them as if
he were host there and they were friends who visited him. "Welcome!" he
would say; "you are very welcome. The place is your own. Take all. What
you don't see, believe we have not got it. A thousand thousand welcomes
home!" It was grim and painful irony.

Israel's comrades began to lose sense of their own suffering in
observing the depth of his, and they laid their heads together to
discover the cause of his madness. The most part of them concluded
that he was repining for the loss of his former state. And when one
day another prisoner came from Tetuan with further tales of the Basha's
tyranny, and of the people's shame at thought of how they had dealt by
Israel, the prisoners led the man back to where Israel was standing in
the accustomed act of dispensing bounty, that he might tell his story
into the rightful ears.

"They're always crying for you," said the Tetawani; "'Israel ben Oliel!
Israel ben Oliel!' that's what you hear in the mosques and the streets
everywhere.' Shame on us for casting him out, shame on us! He was our
father!' Jews and Muslimeen, they're all saying so."

It was useless. The glad tidings could not find their way. That black
page of Israel's life which told of the people's ingratitude was sealed
in the book of memory. Israel laughed. What could his good friend mean?
Behold! was he not rich? Had he not troops of comrades and guests about
him?

The prisoners turned aside, baffled and done. At length one man--it was
no other than 'Larby the wastrel--drew some of them apart and said, "You
are all wrong. It's not his former state that he's thinking of. _I_ know
what it is--who knows so well as I? Listen! you hear his laughter! Well,
he must weep, or he will be mad for ever. He must be _made_ to weep.
Yes, by Allah! and I must do it."

That same night, wh