"Mother, however it be, father was never kind until he went to the Jewish meetings."
"True. Yet many of these same Jews are wicked, thieves, low robbers, not fit for such as Asru to mingle with," said the mother haughtily.
"Yet not the Jews who attend the church," returned the girl, quickly. "I know them. Most of them are poor, but not thieves; they seem quiet, industrious people. Then, Amzi attends there now, you know, and Yusuf, who, when the plague was raging, spent weeks in attending the sick. Did he not come to father and sit with him night after night, when, mother—I shame to say it—both you and I fled!"
The mother walked in silence for a moment.
"There must be some strange power that urges a man to do such acts," she said, musingly. "It would be easier far to go out to battle, urged on by the enthusiasm of conquest, and cheered by the music and clash of timbrels to deeds of bravery. It takes a different spirit to enter the houses of filthy disease, to court death in reeking lazar-houses, to sit for weeks watching hideous faces and listening to the ravings of madmen through the long, hot nights of the plague-season."
"Mother, I am convinced that their religion prompts them to do it. What else can it be?"
"What is their religion?"
"I know not; yet we may know for the going, perhaps. See, the lights gleam in their little hall. They hold meeting to-night. Let us go."
"What! And let the proud tribe of the Koreish, the guardians of the Caaba, see a woman of the Koreish enter there?"
"We can go in long cloaks, mother, and it is well-nigh dark. Come, will you not?"