l dead, well-nigh six hundred years ago," returned the Jew,
indifferently.

Yusuf's hopes sank again. He longed for even one kindred spirit to whom
he could unfold the thoughts that harassed him.

"I do not know much about what they taught," continued the Jew. "Never
read it; it does not help in my business. But I got a bit of manuscript
the other day from Sergius, an old Nestorian monk away up in the Syrian
hills. I am taking it down to Mecca. I just peeped into it, but did not
read it; because it is the people who live now, who have gold and silver
for Abraham, that interest him, not those who died centuries ago; and
the bit of writing is about such. However, you seem to be interested
that way, so I will give it to you to read."

So saying, the Jew unpacked a heavy bundle, and, after searching for
some time, upsetting tawdry jewelry, kerchiefs, and boxes of perfume,
he at last succeeded in finding the parchment.

He handed it to the Persian. "I hope it may be of use to you, stranger.
Abraham the Jew knows little and cares less for religion, but he would
be sorry to see you bowing with yon heathen Arab herd at Mecca."

"Dog! Son of a dog!"

It was Musa. Able to restrain his passion no longer, he had sprung to
his feet and stood, with flashing eyes and drawn scimitar, in resentment
of the slur on his countrymen.

With a howl of fear, the little Jew sprang through the door and
disappeared in the darkness.

Musa laughed contemptuously.

"Ha, lack-brained cur!" he said, "I would not have hurt him, having
broken bread with him in mine own tent! Yet, friend Persian, one cannot
hear one's own people, and one's own temple, the temple of his fathers,
desecrated by the tongue of a lack-brained Jew trinket-vender."

"You know, then, of this Caaba--of the God they worship there?" asked
the priest.

Musa shook his head, and made a gesture of denial.

"Musa knows little of such things," he replied. "Yet the Caaba is a name
sacred in Arabian tradition, and as such, it suits me ill to hear it on
the tongue of a craven-hearted Jew. In sooth, the coward knave has left
his trumpery bundle all open as it is. I warrant me he will come back
for it in good time."

A dark-haired lad in a striped silk garment here passed through the
tent.

"Hither, Kedar!" called the Sheikh. "Recite for our visitor the story of
Moses."

The lad at once began the story, reciting it in a sort of chant, and
accompanying his words with many a g