For when the gates of the prison had been opened, and the
prisoners had gone free, Ali was neither to come back to Tetuan nor to
remain in Morocco, but with the money that Israel gave him out of the
last wreck of his fortune he was to make haste to Gibraltar by way
of Ceuta, and not to consider his life safe until he had set foot in
England.
"England!" cried Ali. "But they are all white men there."
"White-hearted men, my lad," said Israel; "and a Jewish man may find
rest for the sole of his foot among them."
That same day the black boy bade farewell to Israel and to Naomi. He was
leaving them for ever, and he was broken-hearted. Israel was his father,
Naomi was his sister, and never again should he set his eyes on either.
But in the pride of his perilous mission he bore himself bravely.
"Well, good-night," he said, taking Naomi's hand, but not looking into
her blind face.
"Good-night," she answered, and then, after a moment, she flung her arms
about his neck and kissed him. He laughed lightly, and turned to Israel.
"Good-night, father," he said in a shrill voice.
"A safe journey to you, my son," said Israel; "and may you do all my
errands."
"God burn my great-grandfather if I do not!" said Ali stoutly.
But with that word of his country his brave bearing at length broke
down, and drawing Israel aside, that Naomi might not hear, he whispered,
sobbing and stammering, "When--when I am gone, don't, don't tell her
that I was black.
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