 CHAPTER VII When Ben Hur left the guest chamber, there was not nearly so much life in his action as when he entered it. His steps were slower, and he went along with his head quite upon his breast. Having made discovery that a man with a broken back may yet have a sound to brain, he was reflecting upon the discovery. For as much as it is easy after a calamity has befallen to look back and see the proofs of its coming strewn along the way, the thought that he had not even suspected the Egyptian as in Masala's interest, but had gone blindly on through whole years putting himself and his friends more and more at her mercy, was a sore wound to the young man's vanity. I remember, he said to himself, she had no word of indignation for the perfidious Roman at the fountain of Castalia. I remember she extolled him at the boat-ride on the lake in the orchard of palms, and—ah!—he stopped and beat his left hand violently with his right. Ah! that mystery about the appointment she made with me at the palace of iderness is no mystery now! The wound it should be observed was to his vanity, and fortunately it is not often that people die of such hurts, or even continue a long time sick. In Ben Hur's case, moreover, there was a compensation, for presently he exclaimed aloud, Praise be the Lord God that the woman took not a more lasting hold on me! I see I did not love her. Then, as if he had already parted with not a little of the weight on his mind, he stepped forward more lightly, and, coming to the place on the terrace where one stairway led down to the courtyard below, and another ascended to the roof, he took the ladder and began to climb. As he made the last step in the flight he stopped again. Can Balthazar have been her partner in the long mask she has been playing? No. No. Hypocrisy seldom goes with wrinkled age like that. Balthazar is a good man. With this decided opinion he stepped upon the roof. There was a full moon overhead, yet the vault of the sky at the moment was lurid with light cast up from the fires burning in the streets and open places of the city, and the chanting and chorusing of the old psalmody of Israel filled it with plaintive harmonies to which he could not but listen. The countless voices bearing the burden seemed to say, Thus, O son of Judah, we prove our worshipfulness of the Lord God, and our loyalties to the land he gave us, let a Gideon appear, or a David, or a Maccabeus, and we are ready. That seemed an introduction, for next he saw the man of Nazareth. In certain moods the mind is disposed to muck itself with inapposite fancies. The tearful woman-like face of the Christ stayed with him while he crossed the roof to the parapet above the street on the north side of the house, and there was in it no sign of war, but rather as the heavens of calm evenings look peace upon everything, so it looked provoking the old question, What manner of man is he? Benher permitted himself one glance over the parapet, then turned and walked mechanically towards the summer-house. Let them do their worst, he said, as he went slowly on. I will not forgive the Roman. I will not divide my fortune with him. Nor will I fly from this city of my fathers. I will call on Galilee first, and here make the fight. By brave deeds I will bring the tribes to our side. He who raised up Moses will find us a leader, if I fail, if not the Nazarene, than some other of the many ready to die for freedom. The interior of the summer-house, when Benher, slow-sauntering, came to it, was merkily lighted. The faintest of shadows lay along the floor from the pillars on the north and west sides. Looking in, he saw the arm-chair, usually occupied by Simonides, drawn to a spot from which a view of the city, over towards the marketplace, could be best had. The good man is returned. I will speak with him, unless he be asleep. He walked in, and with a quiet step, approached the chair. Peering over the high back, he beheld Esther, nestled in the seat, asleep. A small figure snugged away under her father's lap-robe. The hair disheveled fell over her face. Her breathing was low and irregular. Once it was broken by a long sigh, ending in a sob. Something, it might have been the sigh, or the loneliness in which he found her, imparted to him the idea that the sleep was a rest from sorrow rather than fatigue. Esther kindly sent such relief to children, and he was used to thinking Esther scarcely more than a child. He put his arms upon the back of the chair, and thought, I will not wake her. I have nothing to tell her. Nothing unless—unless it be my love. She is a daughter of Judah, and beautiful, and so unlike the Egyptian. For there it is all vanity. Here all truth. There ambition. Here duty. There selfishness. Here self-sacrifice. Nay, the question is not, do I love her, but does she love me? She was my friend from the beginning. The night on the terrace at Antioch, how childlike she begged me not to make Rome my enemy, and happy tell her of the villa by Mycenum and of the life there. That she should not see I saw her cunning drift I kissed her. Can she have forgotten the kiss? I have not. I love her. They do not know in the city that I have back my people. I shrank from telling it to the Egyptian, but this little one will rejoice with me over their restoration, and welcome them with love and sweet services of hand and heart. She will be to my mother another daughter. In Terza she will find her other self. I would wake her and tell her these things, but out on the sorceress of Egypt of that folly I could not command myself to speak. I will go away and wait another and a better time. I will wait. Fair Esther, dutiful child, daughter of Judah. He retired silently as he came. The streets were full of people going and coming, or grouped about the fires roasting meat and feasting and singing and happy. The odor of scorching flesh mixed with the odor of cedar wood aflame and smoking loaded the air. And as this was the occasion when every son of Israel was full brother to every other son of Israel, and hospitality was without bounds, Benher was saluted at every step, while the groups by the fires insisted, Stay and partake with us, we are brethren in the love of the Lord. But with thanks to them he hurried on, intending to take horse at the con, and return to the tents on the Cedron. To make the place it was necessary for him to cross the thoroughfare, so soon to receive sorrowful Christian perpetuation. There also the pious celebration was at its height. Looking up the street he noticed the flames of torches in motion streaming out like penins. Then he observed that the singing ceased where the torches came. His wonder rose to its highest, however, when he became certain that amidst the smoke and dancing sparks he saw the keener sparkling of burnish spear-tips, arguing the presence of Roman soldiers. What were they, the scoffing legionaries, doing in a Jewish religious procession? The circumstance was unheard of, and he stayed to see the meaning of it. The moon was shining its best. Yet as if the moon and the torches, and the fires in the streets, and the rays streaming from windows and open doors were not enough to make the way clear, some of the processionists carried lighted lanterns, and fancying he discovered a special purpose in the use of such equipments, Ben Hurst stepped into the street so close to the line of march as to bring every one of the company under view while passing. The torches and the lanterns were being borne by servants, each of whom was armed with a bludgeon or a sharpened stave. Their present duty seemed to be to pick out the smoothest paths among the rocks in the street for certain dignitaries among them, elders and priests, rabbis with long beards, heavy brows and beaked noses, men of the class potential in the councils of Caiaphas and Hannas. Where could they be going? Back to the temple, certainly, for the route to the sacred house from Zion, whence these appeared to be coming, was by the Zistis, and their business, if peaceful, why the soldiers? As the procession began to go by, Ben Hurst, his attention was particularly called to three persons walking together. They were well towards the front, and the servants who went before them with lanterns appeared unusually careful in the procession. In the person moving on the left of this group, he recognized a chief policeman of the temple. The one on the right was a priest, the middleman was not at first so easily placed, as he walked leaning heavily upon the arms of the others and carried his head so low upon his breast as to hide his face. His appearance was that of a prisoner not yet recovered from the fright of arrest, or being taken to something dreadful, to torture, or death. The dignitaries helping him on the right and left, and the attention they gave him, made it clear that if he were not himself the object moving the party, he was at least in some way connected with the object, a witness or a guide, possibly an informer. So if it could be found who he was, the business at hand might be shrewdly guessed. With great assurance Ben Hur fell in on the right of the priest and walked along with him. Now if the man would lift his head. And presently he did so, letting the light of the lanterns strike full in his face, pale, dazed, pinched with dread, the beard roughed, the eyes filmy, sunken and despairing. In much going about following the Nazarene, Ben Hur had come to know his disciples as well as the master, and now at the sight of the dismal countenance he cried out, The Ascariot! Slowly the head of the man turned until his eyes settled upon Ben Hur, and his lips moved as if he were about to speak, but the priest interfered. Who art thou? Begone! he said to Ben Hur, pushing him away. The young man took the push good-naturedly, and, waiting an opportunity, fell into the procession again. Thus he was carried passively along down the street through the crowded lowlands between the hill Bezetha and the castle of Antonia, and on by the Bethesda reservoir to the sheep-gate. There were people everywhere, and everywhere the people were engaged in sacred observances. It being pass overnight, the valves of the gate stood open. The keepers were off somewhere feasting, in front of the procession as it passed out unchallenged, was the deep gorge of the Cedron, with the Olivet behind, its dressing of cedar and olive-trees darker of the moonlight silvering all the heavens. Two roads met and merged into the street at the gate, one from the northeast, the other from Bethany. Air Ben Hur could finish wondering whether he were to go farther, and if so, which road was to be taken, he was led off down into the gorge, and still no hint of the purpose of the midnight march. Down the gorge, and over the bridge at the bottom of it, there was a great clatter on the floor as the crowd, now a straggling rabble, passed over beating and pounding with their clubs and staves, a little farther, and they turned off to the left in the direction of an olive orchard enclosed by a stone wall in view from the road. Ben Hur knew there was nothing in the place but old gnarled trees, the grass, and a trough hewn out of a rock for the treading of oil after the fashion of the country. While yet more wonder struck, he was thinking what could bring such a company at such an hour to a quarter so lonesome they were all brought to a standstill. Voices called out excitedly in front. A chill sensation ran from man to man. There was a rapid falling back and a blind stumbling over each other. The soldiers alone kept their order. It took Ben Hur but a moment to disengage himself from the mob and run forward. There he found a gateway without a gate, admitting to the orchard, and he halted to take in the scene. A man in white clothes and bare-headed was standing outside the entrance, his hands crossed before him, a slender, stooping figure, with long hair and thin face, in an attitude of resignation and waiting. It was the Nazarene. Behind him, next the gateway, were the disciples in a group. They were excited, but no man was ever calmer than he. The torchlight beat readily upon him, giving his hair a tent ruddier than was natural to it. Yet the expression of the countenance was as usual all gentleness and pity. Opposite this most unmartial figure stood the rabble, gaping, silent, odd, cowering, ready at a sign of anger from him to break and run, and from him to them, then at Judas, conspicuous in their midst, Ben Hur looked, one quick glance, and the object of the visit lay open to his understanding. Here was the betrayer, there the betrayed, and these with clubs and staves, and the legionaries, were brought to take him. A man may not always tell what he will do until the trial is upon him. This was the emergency for which Ben Hur had been for years preparing. The man to whose security he had devoted himself, and upon whose life he had been building so largely, was in personal peril. Yet he stood still. Such contradictions are there in human nature. To say truth, O reader, he was not entirely recovered from the picture of the Christ before the gate beautiful, as it had been given by the Egyptian, and besides that, the very calmness with which the mysterious person confronted the mob held him in restraint by suggesting the possession of a power in reserve more than sufficient for the peril. Peace and goodwill and love and non-resistance had been the burden of the Nazarene's teaching. What he put his preaching into practice? He was master of life. He could restore it when lost. He could take it at pleasure. What use would he make of the power now? Defend himself? And how? A word, a breath, a thought was sufficient, that there would be some signal exhibition of astonishing force beyond the natural Ben-Hur believed, and in that faith waited. And in all this he was still measuring the Nazarene by himself, by the human standard. Presently the clear voice of the Christ arose. Whom seek ye? Jesus of Nazareth, the priest replied. I am he. At the simplest of words, spoken without passion or alarm, the assailants fell back several steps, the timid among them cowering to the ground, and they might have let him alone and gone away had not Judas walked over to him. Hail, master! With his friendly speech he kissed him. Judas, said the Nazarene, mildly, Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss? Therefore art thou come. Receiving no reply the master spoke to the crowd again. Whom seek ye? Jesus of Nazareth. I have told you that I am he. If therefore you seek me, let these go their way. At these words of entreaty the rabbis advanced upon him, and, seeing their intent, some of the disciples for whom he interceded drew nearer, one of them cut off a man's ear but without saving the master from being taken, and yet Ben Hur stood still. Nay, while the officers were making ready with their ropes the Nazarene was doing his greatest charity, not the greatest indeed, but the very greatest in illustration of his forbearance, so far surpassing that of men. For ye thus far, he said to the wounded man, and healed him with a touch. Both friends and enemies were confounded, one side that he could do such a thing, the other that he would do it under the circumstances. Surely, surely he will not allow them to bind him. Thus thought Ben Hur. Put up thy sword into the sheath, the cup which my father hath given me, shall I not drink it? From the offending follower the Nazarene turned to his captors. Are you come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves to take me? I was daily with you in the temple, and you took me not. But this is your hour, and the power of darkness. The posse plucked up courage and closed about him, and when Ben Hur looked for the faithful they were gone, not one of them remained. The crowd about the deserted man seemed very busy with tongue, hand, and foot. Over their heads, between the torch-sticks, through the smoke, sometimes in openings between the restless men, Ben Hur caught momentary glimpses of the prisoner. Never had anything struck him as so piteous, so unfriended, so forsaken. Not he thought, the man could have defended himself, he could have slain his enemies with a breath, but he would not. What was the cup his father had given him to drink? And who was the father to be so obeyed? Mystery upon mystery, not one but many. Directly the mob started in return to the city, the soldiers in the lead. Ben Hur became anxious, he was not satisfied with himself. Where the torches were in the midst of the rabble he knew the Nazarene was to be found. Suddenly he resolved to see him again. He would ask him one question. Taking off his long outer garment and the handkerchief from his head he threw them upon the orchard wall, and started after the posse which he boldly joined. Through the stragglers he made way, and by littles, at length reached the man who carried the ends of the rope with which the prisoner was bound. The Nazarene was walking slowly, his head down, his hands bound behind him. The hair fell thickly over his face, and he stooped more than usual. Apparently he was oblivious to all going on around him. In advance a few steps were priests and elders talking and occasionally looking back. When at length they were all near the bridge and the gorge, Ben Hur took the rope from the servant who had it, and stepped past him. "'Master, master,' he said hurriedly, speaking close to the Nazarene's ear. "'Doesst thou hear me, master? A word, one word. Tell me!' The fellow from whom he had taken the rope, now claimed it. "'Tell me,' Ben Hur continued, "'Goest thou with these of thine own accord?' The people were come up now, and in his own ears asking angrily, "'Who art thou, man?' "'Oh, master,' Ben Hur made haste to say, his voice sharp with anxiety, "'I am thy friend and lover. Tell me, I pray thee, if I bring rescue, wilt thou accept it?' The Nazarene never so much as looked up, or allowed the slightest sign of recognition. Yet the something which when we are suffering is always telling it to such as look at us, though they be strangers, failed not now. "'Let him alone,' it seemed to say. He has been abandoned by his friends. The world has denied him. In bitterness of spirit he has taken farewell of men. He is going, he knows not where, and he cares not, let him alone.' And to that Ben Hur was now driven. A dozen hands were upon him, and from all sides there was shouting, "'He is one of them. Bring him along, club him, kill him!' With a gust of passion which gave him many times his ordinary force, Ben Hur raised himself, turned about with arms outstretched, shook the hands off, and rushed through the circle which was fast hemming him in. The hands snatching at him as he passed tore his garments from his back, so he ran off the road naked, and the gorge in keeping of the friendly darkness darker there than elsewhere received him safe. Reclaiming his handkerchief and outer garments from the orchard wall, he followed back to the city gate. Thence he went to the con, and on the good horse rode to the tents of his people out by the tombs of the kings. As he rode, he promised himself to see the Nazarene on the morrow, promised it, not knowing that the unfriended man was taken straightway to the house of Hannas to be tried that night. The heart the young men carried to his couch beat so heavily he could not sleep. For now clearly his renewed Judean kingdom resolved itself into what it was. Only a dream. It is bad enough to see our castles overthrown one after another with an interval between in which to recover from the shock, or at least let the echoes of the fall die away. But when they go all together, go as ships sink as houses tumble in earthquakes. The spirits which endure it calmly are made of stuffs sterner than common, and Benhur's was not of them. Through vistas in the future he began to catch glimpses of a life serenely beautiful, with a home instead of a palace of state, and ester its mistress. Again and again through the leaden-footed hours of the night he saw the villa by Mycenum, and with this little country woman strolled through the garden and rested in the paneled atrium, overhead the Neapolitan sky at their feet the sunniest of sunlands and the bluest of bays. In plainest speech he was entering upon a crisis with which to-morrow and the Nazarene will have everything to do. CHAPTER IX Next morning, about the second hour, two men rode full speed to the doors of Benhur's tents, and dismounting asked to see him. He was not yet risen, but gave directions for their admission. "'Peace to you, brethren,' he said, for they were of his Galileans and trusted officers. Will you be seated?' "'Nay,' the senior replied, bluntly, to sit and be at ease is to let the Nazarene die. Rise, son of Judah, and go with us. The judgment has been given. The Tree of the Cross is already at Galgotha.' And her stared at them. The Cross was all he could for the moment say. They took him last night and tried him. The man continued, at dawn they let him before Pilate. Twice the Roman denied his guilt. Twice he refused to give him over. At last he washed his hands and said, "'Be it upon you then,' and they answered. "'Who answered?' They, the priests and people. His blood be upon us and our children.' "'Holy Father Abraham!' cried Ben Hur, a Roman kinder to an Israelite than his own kin. And if—ah!—if he should indeed be the Son of God, what shall ever wash his blood from their children? It must not be. Tis time to fight!' His face brightened with resolution, and he clapped his hands. The horses, and quickly, he said to the Arab who answered the signal, and bid Amroth send me French garments and bring my sword. It is time to die for Israel, my friends, tarry without till I come.' He ate a crust, drank a cup of wine, and was soon upon the road. "'Whither would you go first?' asked the Galilean. "'To collect the legions.' "'Class!' the man replied, throwing up his hands. "'Why, alas!' "'Master,' the man spoke with shame, "'Master, I and my friend here are all that are faithful, the rest to follow the priests.' "'Seeking what?' and Ben Hur drew rain. "'To kill him?' "'Not the Nazarene!' "'You have said it.' Ben Hur looked slowly from one man to the other. He was hearing again the question of the night before. "'The cup my father hath given me, shall I not drink it?' In the ear of the Nazarene he was putting his own question. If I bring thee rescue, wilt thou accept it?' He was saying to himself, "'This death may not be averted. The man has been travelling towards it with full knowledge from the day he began his mission. It is imposed by a will higher than his. Whose but the Lord's. If he is consenting, if he goes to it voluntarily, what shall another do?' Nor lest it Ben Hur see the failure of the scheme he had built upon the fidelity of the Galileans. Their desertion, in fact, left nothing more of it. But how singular it should happen that morning of all others! I dread seized him. It was possible his scheming and labour and expenditure of treasure might have been but blasphemous contention with God. When he picked up the reins and said, "'Let us go, brethren.' All before him was uncertainty. The faculty of resolving quickly, without which one cannot be a hero in the midst of stirring scenes, was numb within him. "'Let us go, brethren. Let us go to Galgotha.' They passed through excited crowds of people going south, like themselves. All the country north of the city seemed aroused and in motion. Hearing that the procession with the condemned might be met with, somewhere near the great white towers left by Herod, the three friends rode thither, passing round southeast of Acre. In the valley below the pool of Hezekiah, passageway against the multitude became impossible, and they were compelled to dismount and take shelter behind the corner of a house and wait. The waiting was as if they were on a river bank watching a flood go by, for such the people seemed. There are certain chapters in the first book of this story which were written to give the reader an idea of the composition of the Jewish nationality as it was in the time of Christ. They were also written in anticipation of this hour and seen, so that he who has read them with attention can now see all Ben Her saw of the going to the crucifixion, a rare and wonderful sight. Half an hour, an hour, the flood surged by Ben Her and his companions, with an arm's reach, incessant, undiminished. At the end of that time he could have said, I have seen all the castes of Jerusalem, all the sects of Judea, all the tribes of Israel, and all the nationalities of earth represented by them. The Libyan Jew went by, and the Jew of Egypt, and the Jew from the Rhine. In short, Jews from all East countries and all West countries, and all islands within commercial connection. They went by on foot, on horseback, on camels, in litters and chariots, and with an infinite variety of costumes, yet with the same marvellous similitude of features which today particularizes the children of Israel, tried as they have been by climates and modes of life. They went by speaking all known tongues, for by that means only were they distinguishable group from group. They went by in haste, eager, anxious, crowding, all to behold one pornaiserine dye, a felon between felons. These were the many, but they were not all. Born along with the stream were thousands nut-Jews, thousands hating and despising them, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Syrians, Africans, Egyptians, Easterns. Though that, studying the mass, it seemed the whole world was to be represented, and in that sense, present, at the crucifixion. The going was singularly quiet. A hoof stroke upon a rock, the glide in rattle of revolving wheels, voices in conversation, and now and then a calling voice, where all the sounds heard above the rustle of the mighty movement. Yet there was, upon every countenance, the look with which men make haste to see some dreadful sight, some sudden wreck, or ruin, or calamity of war, and by such signs Ben Hurd judged that these were the strangers in the city come up to the Passover, who had had no part in the trial of the Nazarene, and might be his friends. At length, from the direction of the great towers, Ben Hurd heard, at first, faint in the distance, a shouting of many men. Hark! they are coming now, said one of his friends. The people in the street halted to hear, but as the cry rang on over their heads, they looked at each other and in shuttering silence moved along. The shouting drew nearer each moment, and the air was already full of it and trembling. When Ben Hurd saw the servants of Simonides coming with their master in his chair, and Esther walking by his side, a covered litter was next behind them. Peace to you, O Simonides, and to you, Esther, said Ben Hurd, meeting them. If you are for Golgotha, stay until the procession passes. I will then go with you. There was room to turn in by the house here. The merchant's large head rested heavily upon his breast. Rousing himself, he answered, Speak to Balthazar. His pleasure will be mine. He is in the litter. Ben Hurd hastened to draw aside the curtain. The Egyptian was lying within, his wand face so pinched as to appear like a dead man's. The proposal was submitted to him. Can we see him? He inquired faintly. The Nazarene? Yes. He must pass within a few feet of us. Dear Lord! The old man cried fervently, Once more! Once more! Oh! It is a dreadful day for the world! Shortly the whole party were in waiting under shelter of the house. They said but little, afraid probably, to trust their thoughts to each other. Everything was uncertain, and nothing so much so as opinions. Balthazar drew himself feebly from the litter, and stood supported by a servant. Esther and Ben Hurd kept Simonite's company. Meantime the flood poured along, if anything, more densely than before, and the shouting came nearer, shrill up in the air, horse along the earth, and cruel. At last the procession was up. See, said Ben Hurd bitterly, that which cometh now is Jerusalem. The advance was in possession of an army of boys, hooting and screaming, The King of the Jews! Room! Room for the King of the Jews! Simonites watched them as they whirled and danced along, like a cloud of summer insects, and said gravely, When these come to their inheritance, son of her, alas for the city of Solomon! A band of legionaries fully armed followed next, marching in sturdy indifference, the glory of burnished brass about them the while. Then came the Nazarene. He was nearly dead. Every few steps he staggered as if he would fall. A stained gown, badly torn, hung from his shoulders over a seamless undertunic. His bare feet left red splotches upon the stones. An inscription on a board was tied to his neck. A crown of thorns had been crushed hard down upon his head, making cruel wounds from which streams of blood, now dry and blackened, had run over his face and neck. The long hair, tangled in the thorns, was clotted thick. The skin, where it could be seen, was ghastly white. His hands were tied before him. Back somewhere in the city he had fallen exhausted under the transverse beam of his cross, which, as a condemned person, custom required him to bear to the place of execution. Now a countryman carried the burden in his stead. Four soldiers went with him as a guard against the mob, who sometimes nevertheless broke through and struck him with sticks, and spit upon him. Yet no sound escaped him. Neither remonstrance nor groan, nor did he look up until he was nearly in front of the house, sheltering Ben-Hur and his friends, all of whom were moved with quick compassion. Esther clung to her father, and he, strong of will as he was, trembled. Balthazar fell down speechless. Even Ben-Hur cried out, "'Oh, my God, my God!' Even as if he divined their feelings or heard the exclamation, the Nazarene turned his wand face towards the party, and looked at them each one, so they carried the look in memory through life. They could see he was thinking of them, not himself, and the dying eyes gave them the blessing he was not permitted to speak. "'Where are thy legions, son of her?' asked Simonides, aroused. Honest can tell thee better than I. "'What, faithless?' "'All but these two. Then all is lost, and this good man must die.' The face of the merchant knit confulsively, as he spoke, and his head sank upon his breast. He had borne his part in Ben-Hur's labor's well, and he had been inspired by the same hopes, now blown out, never to be rekindled. Two other men succeeded the Nazarene bearing cross-beams. "'Who are these?' Ben-Hur asked of the Galileans. "'Thieves have pointed to die with the Nazarene,' they replied. Next in the procession stalked a mitred figure clad all in the gold investments of the high priest. Policemen from the temple curtained him round about, and after him, in order, strode the Sanhedrin, and a long array of priests, the latter in their plain white garments, overwrapped by abnets of many folds and gorgeous colors. "'The son-in-law of Hannas,' said Ben-Hur, in a low voice. "'Cyaphas, I have seen him,' Simonides replied, adding, after a pause during which he thoughtfully watched the haughty pantive. "'And now am I convinced, with such assurance as proceeds from clear enlightenment of the spirit, with absolute assurance, now know I that he who first goes yonder with the inscription about his neck, is what the inscription proclaims him, king of the Jews. A common man, an impostor, a felon, was never thus waited upon. For look! Here are the nations, Jerusalem, Israel. Here is the Ephad. Here the blue robe with its fringe, and purple pomegranates, and golden bells, not seen in the street since the day Jagua went out to meet the Macedonian. Proves all that this Nazarene is king. Would I could rise and go after him?' Ben-Hur listened, surprised, and directly, as if himself awakening to his unusual display of feeling, Simonides said impatiently, "'Speak to Balthazar, I pray you, and let us be gone. The vomit of Jerusalem is coming.' Then Esther spoke, "'I see some women there, and they are weeping. Who are they?' Using the pointing of her hand, the party beheld four women in tears. One of them leaned upon the arm of a man of aspect not unlike the Nazarenes. Presently, Ben-Hur answered, "'The man is the disciple whom the Nazarene loves the best of all. She who leans upon his arm is Mary, the master's mother. The others are friendly women of Galilee.' Esther pursued the mourners with glistening eyes, until the multitude received them out of sight. It may be the reader will fancy the foregoing snatches of conversation were had in quiet, but it was not so. The talking was, for the most part, like that indulged by people at the seaside under the sound of the surf, for to nothing else can the clamour of this division of the mob be so well likened. The demonstration was the forerunner of those in which scarce thirty years later, under the rule of the factions, the holy city was torn to pieces. It was quite as great in numbers as fanatical and blood-thirsty, boiled and raved, and had in it exactly the same elements—servants, camel-drivers, marketmen, gatekeepers, gardeners, dealers in fruits and wines, proselytes and foreigners not proselytes, watchmen and menials from the temple, thieves, robbers, and the myriads not assignable to any class, but who on such occasions as this appeared no one could say wence, hungry and smelling of caves and old tombs, bare-headed wretches with naked arms and legs, hair and beard and uncombed mats, and each with one garment the colour of clay. Beasts with abysmal mouths, in outcry effective as lions calling each other across desert spaces. Some of them had swords, a greater number flourished spears and javelins, though the weapons of the many were staves and knotted clubs, and slings for which latter selected stones were stored in scripts, and sometimes in sacks improvised from the four skirts of their dirty tunics. Among the mass here and there appeared persons of high degree, scribes, elders, rabbis, Pharisees with broad fringing, Sadducees in fine cloaks, serving for the time as prompters and directors. If a throat tired of one cry they invented another for it. If brassy lungs showed sides of collapse they set them going again, and yet the clamour, loud and continuous as it was, could have been reduced to a few syllables. King of the Jews, room for the king of the Jews, defiler of the temple, blasphemer of God, crucify him, crucify him. And of these cries the last one seemed in greatest favour, because, doubtless, it was more directly expressive of the wish of the mob, and helped to better articulate its hatred of the Nazarene. Come, says Simonides, when Balthazar was ready to proceed. Come, let us forward! Ben Hurd did not hear the call. The appearance of the part of the procession then passing, its brutality and hunger for life, were reminding him of the Nazarene, his gentleness, and the many charities he had seen him do for suffering men, suggestions beget suggestions, so he remembered suddenly his own great indebtedness to the man, the time he himself was in the hands of a Roman guard going, as was supposed, to a death as certain and almost as terrible as this one of the cross, the cooling drink he had at the well by Nazareth, and the divine expression of the face of him who gave it, the later goodness, the miracle of Palm Sunday, and with these recollections, the thought of his present powerlessness to give back help for help, or make returning kind, stung him keenly, and he accused himself. He had not done all he might. He could have watched with the Galileans and kept them true and ready. And this? Ah! This was the moment to strike. A blow well given now would not merely disperse the mob and set the Nazarene free. It would be a trumpet call to Israel, and precipitate the long dreamt of war for freedom. The opportunity was going. The minutes were bearing it away. And if lost, God of Abraham, was there nothing to be done, nothing! That instant a party of Galileans caught his eye. He rushed through the press and overtook them. Follow me, he said, I would have speech with you. The men obeyed him, and when they were under shelter of the house he spoke again. You are of those who took my swords and agreed with me to strike for freedom and the king who was coming. You have the swords now, and now is the time to strike with them. Go look everywhere and find our brethren, and tell them to meet me at the tree of the cross making ready for the Nazarene. Haste all of you! Nay, stand not so. The Nazarene is the king, and freedom dies with him. They looked at him respectfully, but did not move. Hear you, he asked. Then one of them replied, Son of Judah. By that name they knew him. Son of Judah, it is you who are deceived, not we or our brethren who have your swords. The Nazarene is not the king. Neither has he the spirit of a king. We were with him when he came into Jerusalem. We saw him in the temple. He failed himself, and us, and Israel. At the gate beautiful he turned his back upon God and refused the throne of David. He is not king, and Galilee is not with him. He shall die the death. But hear you, Son of Judah. We have your swords, and we are ready now to draw them and strike for freedom, and so is Galilee. Be it for freedom, O Son of Judah, for freedom, and we will meet you at the tree of the cross. The sovereign moment of his life was upon Ben-Hur. Could he have taken the offer and said the word? History might have been other than it is. But then it would have been history ordered by men, not God. Something that never was, and never will be. A confusion fell upon him. He knew not how, though afterwards he attributed it to the Nazarene, for when the Nazarene was risen he understood the death was necessary to faith in the Resurrection, without which Christianity would be an empty husk. The confusion, as has been said, left him without the faculty of decision. He stood helpless, wordless even. Covering his face with his hand he shook with the conflict between his wish, which was what he would have ordered, and the power that was upon him. Come, we are waiting for you! said Simonides the fourth time. Thereupon he walked mechanically after the chair and the litter. Esther walked with him. Like Balthazar and his friends, the wise men, the day they went to the meeting in the desert, he was being led along the way. CHAPTER X When the party, Balthazar, Simonides, Benher, Esther, and the two faithful Galileans reached the place of crucifixion, Benher was in advance leading them. How they had been able to make way through the great press of excited people he never knew. No more did he know the road by which they came or the time it took them to come. He had walked in total unconsciousness, neither hearing nor seeing anybody or anything, and without a thought of where he was going, or the ghostly assemblance of a purpose in his mind. In such condition a little child could have done as much as he to prevent the awful crime he was about to witness. The intentions of God are always strange to us, but not more so than the means by which they are wrought out, and at last made plain to our belief. Benher came to a stop. Those following him also stopped. As occurred in Rises before an audience, the spell holding him in its sleep-awake rose, and he saw with a clear understanding. There was a space upon the top of a low knoll rounded like a skull, and dry, dusty and without vegetation except some scrubby hissop. The boundary of the space was a living wall of men, with men behind struggling, some to look over, others to look through it. An inner wall of Roman soldiery held the dense outer wall rigidly to its place. A centurion kept eye upon the soldiers. Up to the very line so vigilantly guarded Benher had been led. At the line he now stood, his face to the northwest. The knoll was the old Aromeg Golgotha. In Latin Calvaria, Anglicise Calvary, translated The Skull. On its slopes, in the low places, on the swells and higher hills, the earth sparkled with a strange enamelling. Look where he would outside the walled space. He saw no patch of brown soil, no rock, no green thing. He saw only thousands of eyes and ruddy faces, off a little way in the perspective only ruddy faces without eyes. Off a little farther only a broad, broad circle, which the nearer view instructed him was also of faces. And this was the ensemble of three millions of people, under it three millions of hearts throbbing with passionate interest in what was taking place upon the knoll, indifferent as to the thieves, caring only for the Nazarene, and for him only as he was an object of hate, or fear, or curiosity. He who loved them all, and was about to die for them. In the spectacle of a great assemblage of people there are always the bewilderment and fascination one feels while looking over a stretch of sea in agitation, and never had this one been exceeded. Yet Ben Hur gave it but a passing glance, for that which was going on in the space described would permit no division of his interest. Up on the knoll so high as to be above the living wall, and visible over the heads of an attending company of notables, conspicuous because of his miter, investments, and his haughty air, stood the high priest. Up the knoll still higher, up quite to the round summit, so as to be seen far and near was the Nazarene stooped and suffering but silent. The wit among the guard had complimented the crown upon his head by putting a reed in his hand for a scepter. Clammers blew upon him like blasts, laughter, execrations, sometimes both together indistinguishably. A man—only a man, O reader, would have charged the blasts with the remainder of his love for the race and let it go for ever. All the eyes then looking were fixed upon the Nazarene. It may have been pity with which he was moved. Whatever the cause, Ben Hur was conscious of a change in his feelings. A conception of something better than the best of this life, something so much better that it could serve a weak man with strength to endure agonies of spirit as well as of body. Something to make death welcome, perhaps another life purer than this one. Perhaps the spirit life which Balthazar held to so fast, began to dawn upon his mind clearer and clearer, bringing to him a certain sense that after all, the mission of the Nazarene was that of a guide across the boundary for such as loved him, across the boundary to where his kingdom was set up and waiting for him. Then as something born through the air out of the almost forgotten, he heard again, or seemed to hear, the saying of the Nazarene, I am the resurrection and the life. And the words repeated themselves over and over and took form, and the dawn touched them with its light and filled them with a new meaning, and as men repeat a question to grasp and fix the meaning, he asked, gazing at the figure on the hill, fainting under its crown, who the resurrection and who the life? I am, the figure seemed to say, and say it for him, for instantly he was sensible of a peace such as he had never known, the peace which is the end of doubt and mystery and the beginning of faith and love and clear understanding. From this dreamy state Benher was aroused by the sound of hammering. On the summit of the knoll he observed then what had escaped him before, some soldiers and workmen preparing the crosses. The holes for planting the trees were ready, and now the transverse beams were being fitted to their places. Bid the men make haste, said the high priest to the centurion. Trees, and he pointed to the Nazarene, must be dead by the going down of the sun and buried that the land may not be defiled, such is the law. With a better mind a soldier went to the Nazarene and offered him something to drink, but he refused the cup. Then another went to him and took from his neck the board with the inscription upon it which he nailed to the tree of the cross, and the preparation was complete. The crosses are ready, said the centurion to the pontiff, who received the report with a wave of the hand and the reply, Let the blasphemer go first. The Son of God should be able to save himself, for he will see. The people to whom the preparation in its several stages was visible, and who to this time had assailed the hill with incessant cries of impatience, permitted a lull which directly became a universal hush. The part of the inflection most shocking, at least to the thought, was reached. The men were to be nailed to their crosses. When for that purpose the soldiers laid their hands upon the Nazarene first, a shudder passed through the great concourse. The most brutalized shrank with dread. Afterwards there were those who said the air suddenly chilled and made them shiver. How very still it is! Esther said as she put her arm about her father's neck. And remembering the torture he himself had suffered, he drew her face down upon his breast and sat trembling. Avoid it, Esther, avoid it! He said, I know not but all who stand and see it. The innocent as well as the guilty may be cursed from this hour. This hour sank upon his knees. Son of her! said Simonides with increasing excitement. Son of her! If Jehovah stretched not forth his hand, and quickly! Israel is lost, and we are lost! Benher answered calmly, I have been in a dream, Simonides, and heard in it why all this should be, and why it should go on. It is the will of the Nazarene. It is God's will. Let us do as the Egyptian hear. Let us hold our peace and pray. As he looked up on the knoll again the words were wafted to him through the awful stillness, I am the resurrection and the life. He bowed reverently as to a person speaking. Up on the summit, meantime, the work went on. The guard took the Nazarene's clothes from him, so that he stood before the millions naked. The stripes of the scourging he had received in the early morning were still bloody upon his back, yet he was laid pitilessly down, and stretched upon the cross. First, the arms upon the transverse beam. The spikes were sharp, a few blows, and they were driven through the tender palms. Next, they drew his knees up until the soles of the feet rested flat upon the tree. Then they placed one foot upon the other, and one spike fixed both of them fast. The dulled sound of the hammering was heard outside the guarded space, and such as could not hear, yet saw the hammer as it fell, shivered with fear. And with all not a groan, or cry, or word of remonstrance from the sufferer, nothing at which an enemy could laugh, nothing a lover could regret. Which way wilt thou have him faced? asked a soldier, bluntly. Towards the temple, the pontiff replied, in dying I would have him see the holy house hath not suffered by him. The workmen put their hands to the cross and carried it, burden and all, to the place of planting. At a word they dropped the tree into the hole, and the body of the Nazarene also dropped heavily, and hung by the bleeding hands. Still no cry of pain, only the exclamation, divinest of all recorded exclamations. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. The cross, reared now above all other objects, and standing singly out against the sky, was greeted with a burst of delight, and all who could see and read the writing upon the board over the Nazarene's head made haste to decipher it. Soon as read, the legend was adopted by them and communicated, and presently the whole mighty concourse was ringing the salutation from side to side and repeating it with laughter and groans, King of the Jews, hail King of the Jews. The pontiff with a clearer idea of the import of the inscription protested against it, but in vain. So the titled King, looking from the knoll with dying eyes, must have had the city of his fathers at rest below him, she who had so ignominiously cast him out. The sun was rising rapidly to noon. The hills bared their brown breasts lovingly to it. The more distant mountains rejoiced in the purple with which it so regally dressed them. In the city, the temples, palaces, towers, pinnacles, and all points of beauty and prominence seemed to lift themselves into the unrivaled brilliance, as if they knew the pride they were giving the many who from time to time turned to look at them. Suddenly a dimness began to fill the sky and cover the earth, at first no more than a scarce perceptible fading of the day, a twilight out of time, an evening gliding in upon the splendors of noon. But it deepened and directly drew attention, whereat the noise of the shouting and laughter fell off, and men, doubting their senses, gazed at each other curiously. Then they looked to the sun again, then at the mountains getting farther away, at the sky and the near landscape sinking in shadow, at the hill upon which the tragedy was enacting, and from all these they gazed at each other again and turned pale and held their peace. It is only a mist or passing cloud, Simonides said soothingly to Esther, who was alarmed. It will brighten presently. Ben Hur did not think so. It is not a mist or a cloud, he said. The spirits who live in the air, the prophets and saints, art work in mercy to themselves and nature. I say to you, O Simonides, truly as God lives, he who hangs yonder is the Son of God. When leaving Simonides lost in wonder at such a speech from him, he went where Balthazar was kneeling nearby and laid his hand upon the good man's shoulder. Oh, wise Egyptian, Harkin! Thou alone worked right. The Nazarene is indeed the Son of God. Balthazar drew him down to him and replied feebly, I saw him a child in the manger where he was first laid. It is not strange that I knew him sooner than thou. But, oh, that I should live to see this day! Would I had died with my brethren. Happy Melchior! Happy, happy Gaspar! Comfort thee, said Ben Hur. Doubtless they too are here. The dimness went on deepening into obscurity and that into positive darkness, but without deterring the bolder spirits upon the knoll. One after the other the thieves were raised on their crosses and the crosses planted. The guard was then withdrawn, and the people set free closed in upon the height and surged up it like a converging wave. A man might take a look, then a newcomer would push him on and take his place to be in turn pushed on, and there were laughter and ribaldry and revilements all for the Nazarene. Ha! Ha! Ha! If thou be king of the Jews, save thyself! A soldier shouted. I, said a priest, if he will come down to us now we will believe in him. Others wagged their heads wisely, saying he would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, but cannot save himself. Others still. He called himself the Son of God, let us see if God will have him. What all there is in prejudice no one has ever said. The Nazarene had never harmed the people. Far the greater part of them had never seen him except in this his hour of calamity. Yet, singular contriarity, they loaded him with their curses and gave their sympathy to the thieves. The supernatural night dropped thus from the heavens, affected Esther as it began to affect thousands of others braver and stronger. Let us go home, she prayed, twice, three times, saying, It is the frown of God, Father. What other dreadful things may happen, who can tell? I am afraid. Simonides was obstinate. He said little, but was plainly under great excitement. Observing about the end of the first hour that the violence of the crowding up on the knoll was somewhat abated, at his suggestion the party advanced to take position nearer the crosses. Peter gave his arm to Balthazar, yet the Egyptian made the assent with difficulty. From their new stand the Nazarene was imperfectly visible, appearing to them not more than a dark, suspended figure. They could hear him, however, hear his sighing, which showed an endurance or exhaustion greater than that of his fellow sufferers, for they filled every lull on the noises with their groans and entreaties. The second hour, after the suspension, passed like the first one. To the Nazarene they were hours of insult, provocation, and slow dying. He spoke but once in the time. Some women came and knelt at the foot of his cross. Among them he recognized his mother with the beloved disciple. Woman, he said, raising his voice. Behold thy son! And to the disciple. Behold thy mother! The third hour came, and still the people surged round the hill, held to it by some strange attraction, with which in probability the night in midday had much to do. They were quieter than in the preceding hour, yet at intervals they could be heard off in the darkness shouting to each other, multitude calling unto multitude. It was noticeable also that coming now to the Nazarene they approached his cross in silence, took the look in silence, and so departed. This change extended even to the guard, who so shortly before had cast lots for the clothes of the crucified. They stood with their officers a little apart, more watchful of the one convict than of the throngs coming and going. If he but breathed heavily or tossed his head in a paroxysm of pain, they were instantly on the alert. Most marvellous of all, however, was the altered behavior of the High Priest and his following, the wise men who had assisted him in the trial and the night, and in the victim's face kept placed by him with zealous approval. When the darkness began to fall, they began to lose their confidence. There were among them many learned it in astronomy and familiar with the apparitions so terrible in those days to the masses. Much of the knowledge was descended to them from their fathers far back. Some of it had been brought away at the end of the captivity, and the necessities of the temple service kept it all bright. These closed together when the sun commenced to fade before their eyes and the mountains and hills to recede, they drew together in a group around their pontiff and debated what they saw. "'The moon is at its full,' they said, with truth, and this cannot be an eclipse. Then as no one could answer the question common with them all, as no one could account for the darkness or for its occurrence at that particular time, in their secret hearts they associated it with the Nazarene, and yielded to an alarm which the long continuance of the phenomenon steadily increased. In their place behind the soldiers they noted every word and motion of the Nazarene, and hung with fear upon his size, and talked in whispers. The man might be the Messiah, and then—but they would wait and see. In the meantime Ben-Hur was not once visited by the old spirit. The perfect peace abode with him. He prayed simply that the end might be hastened. He knew the condition of Simonite's mind that he was hesitating on the verge of belief. He could see the massive face weighed down by solemn reflection. He noticed him casting inquiring glances at the sun as seeking the cause of the darkness. Nor did he fail to notice the solicitude with which Esther clung to him, smothering her fears to accommodate his wishes. Be not afraid, he heard him say to her, but stay and watch with me. Thou mayest live twice the span of my life, and see nothing of human interest equal to this, and there may be revelations more. Let us stay to the close. When the third hour was about half gone, some men of the rudest class, wretches from the tombs about the city, came and stopped in front of the center-cross. "'This is he, the new king of the Jews,' said one of them. The others cried with laughter. Hail, all hail, king of the Jews!' Perceiving no reply, they went closer. "'If thou be king of the Jews, or son of God, come down,' they said, loudly. At this one of the thieves quit groaning and called to the Nazarene. Yes, if thou be Christ, save thyself and us!' The people laughed and applauded. Then, while they were listening for a reply, the other felon was heard to say to the first one, "'Dost thou not fear God?' We receive the due rewards of our deeds. But this man hath done nothing amiss. The bystanders were astonished. In the midst of the hush which ensued, the second felon spoke again, but this time to the Nazarene. "'Lord,' he said, "'remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.' Simonides gave a great start. "'When thou comest into thy kingdom?' It was the very point of doubt in his mind, the point he had so often debated with Balthazar. "'Dits thou here?' said Ben Hur to him. "'The kingdom cannot be of this world. Yon witness saith the king is but going to his kingdom, and in effect I heard the same in my dream.' "'Hush!' said Simonides more imperiously than ever before in speech to Ben Hur. "'Hush, I pray thee, if the Nazarene should answer!' And as he spoke the Nazarene did answer, in a clear voice, full of confidence. "'Verily I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in Paradise.' Simonides waited to hear if that were all. Then he folded his hands and said, "'No more, no more, Lord. The darkness is gone. I see with other eyes, even as Balthazar I see with eyes of perfect faith.' The faithful servant had at last his fitting reward. His broken body might never be restored, nor was there riddance of the recollection of his sufferings, or recall of the years embittered by them. But suddenly a new life was shown him, with assurance that it was for him, a new life lying just beyond this one, and its name was Paradise. There he would find the kingdom of which he had been dreaming, and the king. A perfect peace fell upon him. Through the way, in front of the cross, however, there were surprise and consternation. The cunning casualist there put the assumption underlying the question and the ambition underlying the answer together. For saying through the land that he was the Messiah, they had brought the Nazarene to the cross, and lo, on the cross more confidently than ever, he had not only reasserted himself, but promised enjoyment of his Paradise to a malefactor. They trembled at what they were doing. The pontiff with all his pride was afraid. Where got the man his confidence except from truth? And what should the truth be but God? A very little now would put them all to flight. The breathing of the Nazarene grew harder. His size became great gasps. Only three hours upon the cross, and he was dying. The intelligence was carried from man to man until everyone knew it, and then everything hushed. The breeze faltered and died. A stifling vapor loaded the air. Heat was super-added to darkness, nor might anyone unknowing the fact have thought that off the hill, out under the overhanging pall, there were three millions of people waiting awestruck what should happen next. They were so still. When there went out through the gloom, over the heads of such as were on the hill within hearing of the dying man, a cry of despair if not reproach. My God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken me? The voice startled all who heard it. One it touched uncontrollably. The soldiers in coming had brought with them a vessel of wine and water, and sent it down a little way from Ben Hur. After the sponge dipped into the liquor, and put on the end of a stick they could moisten the tongue of a sufferer at their pleasure. Ben Hur thought of the draught he had had at the well near Nazareth. An impulse seized him. Catching up the sponge he dipped it into the vessel and started for the cross. Let him be! the people in the way shouted angrily. Let him be! Without minding them he ran on and put the sponge to the Nazarene's lips. Too late. Too late. The face then plainly seen by Ben Hur, bruised and black with blood and dust as it was, lighted nevertheless with a sudden glow. The eyes opened wide, and fixed upon some one visible to them alone in the far heavens. And there were content and relief, even triumph in the shout the victim gave. It is finished! It is finished! So a hero, dying in the doing, a great deed, celebrates his success with a last cheer. The light in the eyes went out. Slowly the crowned head sank upon the laboring breast. Ben Hur thought the struggle over, but the fainting soul recollected itself, so that he and those around him caught the other and last words, spoken in a low voice, as if to one listening close by. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit. A tremor shook the torture body. There was a scream of fiercest anguish and the mission and the earthly life were over at once. The heart, with all its love, was broken. For of that a reader the man died. Ben Hur went back to his friends, saying simply, It is over. He is dead. In a space incredibly short the multitude was informed of the circumstance. No one repeated it aloud. There was a murmur which spread from the knoll in every direction. A murmur that was little more than a whispering. He is dead. He is dead. And that was all. The people had their wish. The Nazarene was dead. But they stared at each other aghast. His blood was upon them. And while they stood staring at each other the ground commenced to shake. Each man took hold of his neighbor to support himself. In a twinkling the darkness disappeared and the sun came out, and everybody, as with the same glance, beheld the crosses upon the hill all reeling drunken like in the earthquake. They beheld all three of them, but the one in the center was arbitrary. It alone would be seen. And for that it seemed to extend itself upwards, and lift its burden, and swing it to and fro higher and higher in the blue of the sky. And every man among them who had jeered at the Nazarene, every one who had struck him, every one who had voted to crucify him, every one who had marched in the procession from the city, every one who had in his heart wished him dead, and they were as ten to one. Felt that he was in some way individually singled out from the many, and that if he would live he must get away quickly as possible from that menace in the sky. They started to run. They ran with all their might, on horseback and camels, and in chariots they ran, as well as on foot, but then as if it were mad at them for what they had done. And had taken up the cause of the unoffending and friendless dead the earthquake pursued them and tossed them about, and flung them down and terrified them yet more by the horrible noise of great rocks grinding and rending beneath them. They beat their breasts and shrieked with fear. His blood was upon them. The homebred and the foreign, priest and layman, beggar, sadducee, Pharisee, were overtaken in the race, and tumbled about indiscriminately. If they called on the Lord, the outraged earth answered for him in fury, and dealt them all alike. It did not even know wherein the high priest was better than his guilty brethren. Overtaking him it tripped him up also, and smirched the fringing of his robe, and filled the golden bells with sand, and his mouth with dust. He and his people were alike in the one thing at least. The blood of the Nazarene was upon them all. When the sunlight broke upon the crucifixion, the mother of the Nazarene, the disciple, and the faithful women of Galilee, the centurion and his soldiers, and Ben-Hur and his party, were all who remained upon the hill. These had not time to observe the flight of the multitude. They were too loudly called upon to take care of themselves. "'Seat thyself here,' said Ben-Hur to Esther, making a place for her at her father's feet. Now cover thine eyes and look not up, but put thy trust in God, and the spirit of yon just man so fowly slain.' "'Nay,' said Simonides reverently. "'Let us henceforth speak of him as the Christ.' "'Be it so,' said Ben-Hur. Presently a wave of the earthquake struck the hill. The shrieks of the thieves upon the reeling crosses were terrible to hear. Though giddy with the movements of the ground, Ben-Hur had time to look at Balthazar and beheld him prostrate and still. He ran to him and called. There was no reply. The good man was dead. Then Ben-Hur remembered to have heard a cry and answer, as it were, to the scream of the Nazarene in his last moment. But he had not looked to see from whom it had proceeded, and ever after he believed the spirit of the Egyptian accompanied that of his master over the boundary into the kingdom of Paradise. The idea rested not only upon the cry heard, but upon the exceeding fitness of the distinction. If faith were worthy reward in the person of Gaspar, and love in that of Melchior, surely he should have some special mead who through a long life and so excellently illustrated the three virtues in combination—faith, love, and good works. The servants of Balthazar had deserted their master, but when all was over, the two Galileans bore the old man and his litter back to the city. It was a sorrowful procession that entered the south gate of the Palace of the Hers about the set of sun that memorable day. About the same hour the body of the Christ was taken down from the cross. The remains of Balthazar were carried to the guest chamber. All the servants hastened weeping to see him, for he had the love of every living thing with which he had in any wise to do, and when they beheld his face and the smile upon it, they dried their tears, saying, It is well. He is happier this evening than when he went out in the morning. Benher would not trust a servant to inform Iris what had befallen her father. He went himself to see her and bring her to the body. He imagined her grief. She would now be alone in the world. It was a time to forgive and pity her. He remembered he had not asked why she was not at the party in the morning, or where she was. He remembered he had not thought of her, and from shame he was ready to make any amends, the more so as he was about to plunge her into such acute grief. He shook the curtains of her door, and though he heard the ringing of the little bells echoing therein, he had no response. He called her name, and again he called. Still no answer. He drew the curtain aside and went into the room. She was not there. He ascended hastily to the roof in search of her, nor was she there. He questioned the servants. None of them had seen her during the day. After a long quest everywhere through the house, Ben-Hur returned to the guest chamber, and took the place by the dead which should have been hers. And he bethought him there how merciful the Christ had been to his aged servant. At the gate of the Kingdom of Paradise happily the afflictions of this life, even its desertions, are left behind and forgotten by those who go in and rest. When the gloom of the burial was nigh gone, on the ninth day after the healing, the law being fulfilled, Ben-Hur brought his mother and hers a home, and from that day in that house the most sacred names possible of utterance by men were always coupled worshipfully together. God the Father and Christ the Son. About five years after the crucifixion Esther, the wife of Ben-Hur, sat in her room in the beautiful villa by Mycenum. It was noon, with a warm Italian sun making summer for the roses and vines outside. Everything in the apartment was Roman, except that Esther wore the garments of a Jewish matron. Terza and two children at play upon a lion's skin on the floor were her companions, and one had only to observe how carefully she watched them to know that the little ones were hers. Time had treated her generously. She was more than ever beautiful, and in becoming mistress of the villa she had realized one of her cherished dreams. In the midst of this simple, home-like scene a servant appeared in the doorway and spoke to her. A woman in the atrium to speak with the mistress. Let her come. I will receive her here. Presently the stranger entered. At sight of her the Jewish arose and was about to speak. Then she hesitated, changed color, and finally drew back, saying, I have known you, good woman, you are. I was Eris, the daughter of Balthazar. Esther conquered her surprise and bade the servant bring the Egyptian a seat. No, said Eris coldly, I will retire directly. The two gazed at each other. We know what Esther presented, a beautiful woman, a happy mother, a contented wife. On the other side it was very plain that Fortune had not dealt so gently with her former rival. The tall figure remained with some of its grace, but an evil life had tainted the whole person. The face was coarse, the large eyes were red-imperced beneath the lower lids, there was no color in her cheeks, the lips were cynical and hard, and general neglect was leading rapidly to premature old age. Her attire was ill-chosen and draggled, the mud of the road clung to her sandals. Eris broke the painful silence. These are thy children? Esther looked at them and smiled. Yes, will you not speak to them? I would scare them. Eris replied, then she drew closer to Esther and seeing her shrink said, Be not afraid, give thy husband a message for me. Tell him, his enemy is dead, and that for the much misery he brought me I slew him. His enemy? The massala. Further, tell thy husband that for the harm I sought to do him I have been punished until even he would pity me. Esther's arose in Esther's eyes and she was about to speak. Nay, said Eris, I do not want pity or tears. Tell him, finally, I have found that to be a Roman is to be a brute. Farewell. She moved to go. Esther followed her. Stay and see my husband. He has no feeling against you. He sought for you everywhere. He will be your friend. I will be your friend. We are Christians. The other was firm. No, I am what I am of choice. It will be over shortly. But Esther hesitated. Have we nothing you would wish? Nothing to—to— The countenance of the Egyptians softened. Something like a smile played about her lips. She looked at the children upon the floor. There is something, she said. Esther followed her eyes and with quick perception answered, It is yours. Eris went to them and knelt on the lion's skin and kissed them both. Rising slowly she looked at them, then passed to the door and out of it without a parting word. She walked rapidly and was gone before Esther could decide what to do. And her, when he was told of the visit, knew certainly what he had long surmised, that on the day of the crucifixion Eris had deserted her father for Masala. Nevertheless he set out immediately and hunted for her vainly. They never saw her more or heard of her. The blue bay, with all its laughing under the sun, has yet its dark secrets. Had it a tongue it might tell us of the Egyptian. Simonides lived to be a very old man. In the tenth year of Nero's reign he gave up the business so long centred in the warehouse at Antioch. To the last he kept a clear head and a good heart and was successful. One evening in the year named he sat in his armchair on the terrace of the warehouse. Ben Hur and Esther and their three children were with him. The last of the ships swung at mooring in the current of the river. All the rest had been sold. In the long interval between this and the day of the crucifixion but one sorrow had befallen them. That was when the mother of Ben Hur died. And then and now their grief would have been greater but for their Christian faith. The ship Spokanov had arrived only the day before, bringing intelligence of the persecution of Christians begun by Nero in Rome, and the party on the terrace were talking of the news when Malak, who was still in their service, approached and delivered a package to Ben Hur. Who brings this? the latter asked after reading. An Arab. Where is he? He left immediately. Listen, said Ben Hur to Simonides. He read then the following letter. I, Ilderum, the son of Ilderum the generous and shake of the tribe of Ilderum to Judah, son of Hur. Know, O friend of my fathers, how my father loved you. Read what is herewith sent, and you will know. His will is my will. Therefore what he gave is thine. All the Parthians took from him in the great battle in which they slew him I have retaken. This writing, with other things and vengeance, and all the brood of that Myra who in his time was mother of so many stars. Peace be to you and all yours. His voice out of the desert is the voice of Ilderum, shake. Ben Hur next unrolled a scrap of papyrus, yellow as a withered mulberry leaf. It required the daintiest handling. Proceeding he read, Ilderum, sir named the generous, shake of the tribe of Ilderum, to the son who succeeds me. All I have, O son, shall be thine in the day of thy succession, but that property by Antioch, known as the orchard of palms, and it shall be to the son of her who brought us such glory in the circus, to him and his for ever. Dishonour not, thy father. Signed Ilderum the generous, shake. What say you? asked Ben Hur of Simonides. Esther took the papyrus pleased and read them to herself. These remained silent. His eyes were upon the ship, but he was thinking. At length he spoke. Son of her, he said gravely. The Lord has been good to you in these later years. You have much to be thankful for. Is it not time to decide finally the meaning of the gift of the great fortune now all in your hand and growing? I decided that long ago. The fortune was meant for the service of the giver, not a part Simonides, but all of it. The question with me has been how can I make it most useful in his cause, and of that tell me I pray you. Simonides answered, With great sums you have given to the church here in Antioch I am witness to. Now instantly almost with this gift of the generous shakes comes the news of the persecution of the brethren in Rome. It is the opening of a new field. The light must not go out in the capital. Tell me how I can keep it alive. I will tell you, the Romans, even this Nero, hold two things sacred. I know of no others they so hold. They are the ashes of the dead, and all places of burial. If you cannot build temples for the worship of the Lord above ground, then build them below the ground, and to keep them from profanation carry to them the bodies of all who die in the faith. Ben Hur arose excitedly. It is a great idea, he said. I will not wait to begin it. Time for bids waiting. The ship that brought the news of the suffering of our brethren shall take me to Rome. I will sail to-morrow. He turned to Malak. Get the ship ready, Malak, and be thou ready to go with me. It is well, said Simonides. And thou, Esther, what sayest thou? asked Ben Hur. Esther came to his side and put her hand on his arm and answered, So wilt thou best serve the Christ? O my husband, let me not hinder, but go with thee, and help. If any of my readers, visiting Rome, will make the short journey to the catacomb of San Calixto, which is more ancient than that of San Sebastiano, he will see what became of the fortune of Ben Hur, and give him thanks. Out of that vast tomb Christianity issued to supersede the Caesars.