Israel slept in that poor bed as he had never slept under the purple canopy of his own chamber, and all night long one angel form seemed to hover over him.
It was Naomi.

He could see her clearly.

They were together in a little cottage somewhere.

The house was a mean one, but jasmine and marjoram and pinks and roses grew outside of it, and love grew inside.

And Naomi! How bright were her eyes, for they could see! Yes, and her ears could hear, and her tongue could speak! Two days after Israel left Wazzan he was back in the bashalic of Tetuan.
Each night he had dreamt the same dream, and though he knew each morning when he awoke with a sigh that his dream was only a reflection of his dead wife's vision, yet he could not help but think of it the long day through.