the door, and then in the distance he could descry the procession
approaching--a moving black shadow against the sky. Also over their
billowy heads he could see a red glow far away in the clouds. It was the
last smouldering of the fire of the modern Sodom.

While he stood there he was startled by the sound of a thick voice
behind him. It was Israel's voice. He was speaking to Naomi. "Yes," he
was saying, "it is hard to part. We were going to be very happy. . . .
But you must not cry. Listen! When I am there--eh? you know, _there_--I
will want to say, 'Father, you did well to hear my prayer. My little
daughter--she is happy, she is merry, and her soul is all sunshine.'
So you must not weep. Never, never, never! Remember! . . . . Ah! that's
right, that's right. My simple-hearted darling! My sunny, merry, happy
girl!"

Naomi was trying to laugh in obedience to her father's will. She
was combing his white beard with her fingers--it was knotted and
tangled--and he was labouring hard to speak again.

"Naomi, do you remember?" he said; and then he tried to sing, and even
to lisp the words as he sang them, just as a child might have done. "Do
you remember--

Within my heart a voice
Bids earth and heaven rejoice,
Sings 'Love'--"

But his strength was spent, and he had to stop.

"Sing it," he whispered, with a poor broken smile at his own failure.