Then, gathering courage and voice together, Ali told her hurriedly why
he was there. When he said that her father was no longer in prison, but
at their home near Semsa and waiting to receive her, she seemed almost
overcome by her joy. Half laughing, half weeping, clutching at her
breast as if to ease the wild heaving of her bosom she was transformed
by his story.

"Hush!" said Ali; "not a sound until we are outside the town," and Naomi
knitted her fingers in his palm, and they passed out of the place.

The banquet was now at its height, and hastening down dark corridors
where they were apt to fall, for they had no light to see by, and coming
into the garden, they heard the ripple and crackle of laughter from the
great hall where Ben Aboo and his servile rascals feasted together. They
reached the quiet alley outside the Kasbah (for the negro was gone from
his post), and drew a lone breath, and thanked Heaven that this much was
over. There had been no group of beggars at the gate, and the streets
around it were deserted; but in the distance, far across the town in the
direction of the Bab el Marsa, the gate that goes out to Marteel, they
heard a low hum as of vast droves of sheep. The Spaniard was coming, and
the townsmen were going out to meet him. Casual passers-by challenged
them, and though Ali knew that even if recognised they had nothing to
fear from the people, yet more than once his voice trembled when he
answered, and sometimes with a feeling of dread he turned to see that no
one was following.

As he did so he became aware of something which brought back the shame
of that awful moment when he stood with the key in hand at the door of
Naomi's prison. By the light of the lamps in the hands of the passers-by