"Away with the man!" "Away with him!" rang out on every side in countless voices, husky and clear, gruff and sharp, piping and deep.

Not a voice of them all called for mercy or for patience.
While the anger of the people surged and broke in the air, a third voice came through the tumult, and Naomi knew it, for it was the harsh voice of Reuben Maliki, the silversmith and keeper of the poor-box.
"And does God," said Reuben, "any more than Ben Aboo--blessings on his life!--love that His people should be oppressed?
How has He dealt with this Israel ben Oliel?
Does He stand steadfastly beside him, or has His hand gone out against him?
Since the day he came here, five-and-twenty years ago, has God saved him or smitten him?
Remember Ruth, his wife, how she died young! Remember her father, our old Grand Rabbi, David ben Ohana, how the hand of the Lord fell upon him on the night of the day whereon his daughter was married! Remember this girl Naomi, this offspring of sin, this accursed and afflicted one, still blind and speechless!" Then the voices of the crowd came to Naomi's ears like the neigh of a breathless horse.

Fatimah had laid hold of her gown and was whispering.
"Come! Let us away!" But Naomi only clutched her hand and trembled.
The harsh voice of Reuben Maliki rose in the air again.

"Do you say that the Lord gave him riches?
Behold him!--he swallowed them down, but has he not vomited them up?
Examine him!--that which he took by extortions has he not been made to restore?
Does God's anger smoke against him?
Answer me, yes or no!" Like a bolt out of the sky there came a great shout of "Yes!" And instantly afterwards, from another direction, there came a fourth voice, a peevish, tremulous voice, the voice of an old woman.

Naomi knew it--it was the voice of Rebecca Bensabott, ninety-and-odd years of age, and still deaf as a stone.
"Tut! What is all this talking about ?" she snapped and grunted.