They should know better.
All results achieved by us are self-promised, and all self-promises are made in dreams awake.
Dreaming is the relief of labor, the wine that sustains us in act.
We learn to love labor, not for itself, but for the opportunity it furnishes for dreaming, which is the great under-monotone of real life, unheard, unnoticed, because of its constancy.
Living is dreaming.
Only in the grave are there no dreams.
Let no one smile at Ben-Hur for doing that which he himself would have done at that time and place under the same circumstances.
The sun stooped low in its course.
Awhile the flaring disk seemed to perch itself on the far summit of the mountains in the west, brazening all the sky above the city, and rimming the walls and towers with the brightness of gold.
Then it disappeared as with a plunge.
The quiet turned Ben-Hur’s thought homeward.
There was a point in the sky a little north of the peerless front of the Holy of Holies upon which he fixed his gaze: under it, straight as a leadline would have dropped, lay his father’s house, if yet the house endured.
The mellowing influences of the evening mellowed his feelings, and, putting his ambitions aside, he thought of the duty that was bringing him to Jerusalem.
Out in the desert while with Ilderim, looking for strong places and acquainting himself with it generally, as a soldier studies a country in which he has projected a campaign, a messenger came one evening with the news that Gratus was removed, and Pontius Pilate sent to take his place.
Messala was disabled and believed him dead; Gratus was powerless and gone; why should Ben-Hur longer defer the search for his mother and sister?
There was nothing to fear now.
If he could not himself see into the prisons of Judea, he could examine them with the eyes of others.
If the lost were found, Pilate could have no motive in holding them in custody— none, at least, which could not be overcome by purchase.
If found, he would carry them to a place of safety, and then, in calmer mind, his conscience at rest, this one first duty done, he could give himself more entirely to the King Who Was Coming.
He resolved at once.
That night he counselled with Ilderim, and obtained his assent.
Three Arabs came with him to Jericho, where he left them and the horses, and proceeded alone and on foot.
Malluch was to meet him in Jerusalem.
Ben-Hur’s scheme, be it observed, was as yet a generality.
In view of the future, it was advisable to keep himself in hiding from the authorities, particularly the Romans.
Malluch was shrewd and trusty; the very man to charge with the conduct of the investigation.
Where to begin was the first point.
He had no clear idea about it.
His wish was to commence with the Tower of Antonia.
Tradition not of long standing planted the gloomy pile over a labyrinth of prison-cells, which, more even than the strong garrison, kept it a terror to the Jewish fancy. A burial, such as his people had been subjected to, might be possible there.
Besides, in such a strait, the natural inclination is to start search at the place where the loss occurred, and he could not forget that his last sight of the loved ones was as the guard pushed them along the street in the direction to the Tower.
If they were not there now, but had been, some record of the fact must remain, a clew which had only to be followed faithfully to the end.
Under this inclination, moreover, there was a hope which he could not forego.
From Simonides he knew Amrah, the Egyptian nurse, was living.
It will be remembered, doubtless, that the faithful creature, the morning the calamity overtook the Hurs, broke from the guard and ran back into the palace, where, along with other chattels, she had been sealed up.
During the years following, Simonides kept her supplied; so she was there now, sole occupant of the great house, which, with all his offers, Gratus had not been able to sell.
The story of its rightful owners sufficed to secure the property from strangers, whether purchasers or mere occupants.
People going to and fro passed it with whispers.
Its reputation was that of a haunted house; derived probably from the infrequent glimpses of poor old Amrah, sometimes on the roof, sometimes in a latticed window. Certainly no more constant spirit ever abided than she; nor was there ever a tenement so shunned and fitted for ghostly habitation.
Now, if he could get to her, Ben-Hur fancied she could help him to knowledge which, though faint, might yet be serviceable.
Anyhow, sight of her in that place, so endeared by recollection, would be to him a pleasure next to finding the objects of his solicitude.
So, first of all things, he would go to the old house, and look for Amrah.
Thus resolved, he arose shortly after the going-down of the sun, and began descent of the Mount by the road which, from the summit, bends a little north of east.
Down nearly at the foot, close by the bed of the Cedron, he came to the intersection with the road leading south to the village of Siloam and the pool of that name.
There he fell in with a herdsman driving some sheep to market.
He spoke to the man, and joined him, and in his company passed by Gethsemane on into the city through the Fish Gate.
Chapter 4
It was dark when, parting with the drover inside the gate, Ben-Hur turned into a narrow lane leading to the south.
A few of the people whom he met saluted him.
The bouldering of the pavement was rough.