Chapter 5

‘This morning a hungry and ragged camel-boy appeared on one of Simon’s ships,’ began Hannah nervously, ‘and Simon—you know, sir, how big-hearted he is—took pity on the young fellow and brought him home—to rest and be properly fed for a day or two. I made him take a bath; and, while he was doing that, I washed his clothing. These strange figures were embroidered on one of his garments.’

‘I should like to see it,’ said David.

‘It’s still wet, sir—from the washing,’ said Hannah.

David impatiently assured her that it wouldn’t matter at all if the garment was wet. He wanted to see it, and he wanted to see it now! So Hannah brought it and handed it over.

‘This is a woman’s raiment!’ said David.

Hannah dropped her eyes—and nodded.

‘You will keep it a secret, sir, won’t you?’ she entreated. ‘I gave her my word I wouldn’t tell.’

‘I should have no motive for betraying you, Hannah.’ He handed back the garment. ‘It is better that no one be told—about this insignia.’

‘Not even Simon? When he discovers that his waif is a girl, he will ask many questions. She has consented to wear my daughter’s clothing while she is here.’

‘Let Simon think whatever he likes about the girl’s having disguised herself. She may or may not confide. If I were you, I should not press her for her story.’ David was again on the point of moving away, but paused to inquire, ‘Is she Jewish in appearance?’

‘Yes, sir. She told Simon she was from Idumea. That’s Jewish, is it not?’

‘Idumea? Nonsense!’ snorted David. ‘Had she been from Idumea she wouldn’t have wanted to bathe. No, indeed! That shirt did not originate in Idumea!…I shall see you again tomorrow…I bid you good-day.’ He turned slowly and was retracing his steps toward home, with bent head, and hands clasped behind him. After he had gone a little way, he suddenly straightened, turned about, and came back.

‘You say the girl looks Jewish. Think hard now! If someone were to tell you she is part Jewish—and part Arabian—what would you say?’ David’s eyes invaded Hannah’s earnestly.

‘I wouldn’t know, sir,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know how the Arabians look. The girl is a little taller than most Jewish women of her age—and more slender, too.’

‘What—would you say—is her age, Hannah?’

‘Sixteen, perhaps; or seventeen, maybe.’