The whole lustre of the moon was upon her.

A look of joy beamed on her face.

She was singing her mother's song with her mother's voice, and all the air, and the sky, and the quiet white town seemed to listen:-- Within my heart a voice Bids earth and heaven rejoice Sings--"Love, great Love O come and claim shine own, O come and take thy throne Reign ever and alone, Reign, glorious golden Love." Then Israel's fear was turned to rapture.

Why had he not thought of this before?
Yet how could he have thought of it?
He had never once heard Naomi's voice save in the utterance of single words.

But again, why had he not remembered that before the tongues of children can speak words of their own they sing the words of others?
The singing ended, and then Israel, struggling with his dry throat, stepped a pace forward--his foot grated on the pavement--and he called to the singer-- "Naomi!" The girl bent forward, as if peering down into the darkness below, but Israel could see that her fixed eyes were blind.
"My father!" she whispered.
"Where did you learn it ?" said Israel.
"Fatimah, she taught me," Naomi answered; and then she added quickly, as if with great but childlike pride, saying what she did not mean, "Oh yes, it was I! Was I not beautiful ?" After that night Naomi's shyness of speech dropped away from her, and what was left was only a sweet maidenly unconsciousness of all faults and failings, with a soft and playful lisp that ran in and out among the simple words that fell from her red lips like a young squirrel among the fallen leaves of autumn.