“Arise,” he said; “I mean you no harm! See! Here is bread! Take it, and God bless you!”
So saying, he motioned with his trembling hand to where Ali and the muleteer brought in the burden of food behind him.
And when the poor souls could believe it at last, that he whom they had looked for as their judge had come as their saviour, their hearts surged within them. Their hunger left them, and only the children could eat. For a moment they stood in silence about Israel, and their tears stained their wasted faces. And Israel, in their midst, tasted a new joy in his new poverty such as his riches had never brought him—no, not once in all the days of his old prosperity.
At length an old man—he was a Muslim—looked steadily into Israel's face and said, “May the God of Jacob bless thee also, brother!”
After that they all recovered their voices and began to thank him out of their blind gratitude, falling to their knees at his feet as before, yet with hearts so different.
“May the Father of the fatherless requite thee!”
“May the child of thy wife be blessed!”
“Stop,” he cried; “stop! you don't know what you are saying.”
He turned away from them with a look of pain, as if their words had stung him. They followed him and touched his kaftan with their lips; they pushed their children under his hands for his blessing.
“No, no,” he cried; “no, no, no!”