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 gesture. The company listened breathlessly, now giving vent to deep groans as the persecution of the children of Israel was described, now bowing their heads in reverence at the revelation of the burning bush, now waving their arms in excitement and starting forward with flashing eyes as the lad pictured the passage of the Red Sea.

Yusuf had heard some vague account of the story before, but, with the passionate nature of the Oriental, he was strangely moved as he listened to the recital of how that great God whom he longed to feel and know had led the children of Israel through all their wanderings and sufferings to the promised land. He felt that he too was indeed a wanderer, seeking the promised land. He was but an infant in the true things of the Spirit. Like many another who longs vainly for a revelation of the working of the Holy Spirit, his soul seemed to reach out hopelessly.

But who can tell how tenderly the same All-wise Creator treasures up every outreaching of the struggling soul! Not one throb of the loving and longing heart is lost;—and Yusuf was yet, after trial, to rejoice in the serene fullness of such light as may fall upon this terrestrial side of death's dividing line.

Poor Yusuf, with all his Persian learning and wisdom, had, through all his life, known only a religion tinctured with idolatry. Almost alone he had broken from that idolatry, and realized the unity of God and his separation from all connected with such worship; but he was yet to understand the connection of God with man, and to taste the fullness of God's love through Christ. He had not realized that the finger of God is upon the life of every man who is willing to yield himself to Divine direction, and that there is thus an inseparable link between the Creator and the creature. He was not able to say, as said Carlyle in these later days, "A divine decree or eternal regulation of the universe there verily is, in regard to every conceivable procedure and affair of man; faithfully following this, said procedure or affair will prosper.... Not following this,... destruction and wreck are certain for every affair." And what could be better? Divine love, not divine wrath, over all! Yusuf had an idea of divine wrath, but he failed to see—because the presentation of the never-failing Fatherhood of God had not yet come—the infinite love that makes Jesus all in all to us, heaven wherever he is, and hell wherever he is not.

Since leaving Persia, this was the first definite opportunity he had had of listening to Bible truth.

"Kedar knows more of this than his father," explained Musa. "'Tis his mother who teaches him. She was a Jewess, of the people of Jesus of Nazareth, but I fear this roving life has caused my poor Lois to forget much of the teaching of her people."

"You speak of Jesus of Nazareth. I have heard something of him. Tell me more."

Musa shook his head slowly. "I know nothing," he said. "But I shall call Lois. The men have all gone from the tent, and mayhap she can tell what you want."

So saying, he entered the women's apartment, and sent his wife to Yusuf.

"You wish to know of Jesus of Nazareth?" she said. "Alas, I am but a poor teacher. I am unworthy even to speak his name. I married when but a child, and since then I have wandered far from him, for there have been few to teach me. Yet I know that he was in very truth the Son of God. He was all-good. He healed the sick on this earth, and forgave sin. Then, woe, woe to me!—he was crucified,—crucified by my people! And he went up to heaven; his disciples saw him go up in the white clouds of a bright day."

"Where dwells he now? Is he one of the spirits of the stars?"

"I know not. He is in heaven."

"And does he stoop to take notice of us, the children of earth?"

"Alas, I know not! There was once a time when Jesus was more than a name to me. When I knelt, a child, beside my mother on the grassy hills of Hebron, it seemed that Jesus was, in some vague way, a reality to me; but long years of forgetfulness have passed since then. Stranger, I wish you well. Your words have brought back to me the desire to know more of him. If you learn aught of him, and it ever lies in your way to do so, come and tell us,—my Musa and me,—that we too may learn of him."

Rising to her feet, the woman saluted the Persian and left him. Musa entered to conduct him to the rugs set apart for his couch, and soon all was silent about the encampment.

But ere he fell asleep, Yusuf went out into the moonlight. The night was filled with the peculiar lightness of an Oriental night. The moon blazed down like a globe of molten silver, and a few large stars glowed with scarcely secondary brilliance. In the silvery brightness he could easily read the manuscript given him by the Jew. It was the story of the man with the withered hand, whose infirmity was healed by Jesus in the synagogue. And there, in the starlight, the priest bowed his head, and a throng of pent-up emotions throbbed in his breast.

"Spirits of the stars, show me God. If this Jesus be indeed the Son of God, show me him. Give me faith, such faith as had he of the withered hand, that I too may stretch forth my hand and be made whole; that I may look, and in looking, see."

This was his prayer. Ah, yet, the "spirits of the stars" were as a bridge to the gulf which, he fancied, lay between him and Infinite Mercy.

CHAPTER III.

YUSUF MEETS AMZI, THE MECCAN.