The young Jew, advancing in front of his companion, walked first to Balthasar, and saluted him, and received his reply; then he turned to Simonides, but paused at sight of Esther. It is not often we have hearts roomy enough for more than one of the absorbing passions at the same time; in its blaze the others may continue to live, but only as lesser lights. So with Ben-Hur, much study of possibilities, indulgence of hopes and dreams, influences born of the condition of his country, influences more direct—that of Iras, for example— had made him in the broadest worldly sense ambitious; and as he had given the passion place, allowing it to become a rule, and finally an imperious governor, the resolves and impulses of former days faded imperceptibly out of being, and at last almost out of recollection. It is at best so easy to forget our youth; in his case it was but natural that his own sufferings and the mystery darkening the fate of his family should move him less and less as, in hope at least, he approached nearer and nearer the goals which occupied all his visions. Only let us not judge him too harshly.
He paused in surprise at seeing Esther a woman now, and so beautiful; and as he stood looking at her a still voice reminded him of broken vows and duties undone: almost his old self returned.
For an instant he was startled; but recovering, he went to Esther, and said,
“Peace to thee, sweet Esther— peace; and thou, Simonides”— he looked to the merchant as he spoke— “the blessing of the Lord be thine, if only because thou hast been a good father to the fatherless.”
Esther heard him with downcast face; Simonides answered,
“I repeat the welcome of the good Balthasar, son of Hur— welcome to thy father’s house; and sit, and tell us of thy travels, and of thy work, and of the wonderful Nazarene— who he is, and what.
If thou art not at ease here, who shall be?
Sit, I pray— there, between us, that we may all hear.”
Esther stepped out quickly and brought a covered stool, and set it for him.
“Thanks,” he said to her, gratefully.
When seated, after some other conversation, he addressed himself to the men.
“I have come to tell you of the Nazarene.”
The two became instantly attentive.
“For many days now I have followed him with such watchfulness as one may give another upon whom he is waiting so anxiously.
I have seen him under all circumstances said to be trials and tests of men; and while I am certain he is a man as I am, not less certain am I that he is something more.”
“What more?” asked Simonides.
“I will tell you— ”
Some one coming into the room interrupted him; he turned, and arose with extended hands.
“Amrah!
Dear old Amrah!” he cried.
She came forward; and they, seeing the joy in her face, thought not once how wrinkled and tawny it was.
She knelt at his feet, clasped his knees, and kissed his hands over and over; and when he could he put the lank gray hair from her cheeks, and kissed them, saying,
“Good Amrah, have you nothing, nothing of them— not a word— not one little sign?”
Then she broke into sobbing which made him answer plainer even than the spoken word.
“God’s will has been done,” he next said, solemnly, in a tone to make each listener know he had no hope more of finding his people.
In his eyes there were tears which he would not have them see, because he was a man.
When he could again, he took seat, and said,
“Come, sit by me, Amrah— here.
No? then at my feet; for I have much to say to these good friends of a wonderful man come into the world.”
But she went off, and stooping with her back to the wall, joined her hands before her knees, content, they all thought, with seeing him.
Then Ben-Hur, bowing to the old men, began again:
“I fear to answer the question asked me about the Nazarene without first telling you some of the things I have seen him do; and to that I am the more inclined, my friends, because to-morrow he will come to the city, and go up into the Temple, which he calls his father’s house, where, it is further said, he will proclaim himself.
So, whether you are right, O Balthasar, or you, Simonides, we and Israel shall know to-morrow.”
Balthasar rubbed his hands tremulously together, and asked,
“Where shall I go to see him?”
“The pressure of the crowd will be very great.
Better, I think, that you all go upon the roof above the cloisters— say upon the Porch of Solomon.”
“Can you be with us?”
“No,” said Ben-Hur, “my friends will require me, perhaps, in the procession.”
“Procession!” exclaimed Simonides. “Does he travel in state?”
Ben-Hur saw the argument in mind.
“He brings twelve men with him, fishermen, tillers of the soil, one a publican, all of the humbler class; and he and they make their journeys on foot, careless of wind, cold, rain, or sun.
Seeing them stop by the wayside at nightfall to break bread or lie down to sleep, I have been reminded of a party of shepherds going back to their flocks from market, not of nobles and kings.
Only when he lifts the corners of his handkerchief to look at some one or shake the dust from his head, I am made known he is their teacher as well as their companion— their superior not less than their friend.
“You are shrewd men,” Ben-Hur resumed, after a pause. “You know what creatures of certain master motives we are, and that it has become little less than a law of our nature to spend life in eager pursuit of certain objects; now, appealing to that law as something by which we may know ourselves, what would you say of a man who could be rich by making gold of the stones under his feet, yet is poor of choice?”
“The Greeks would call him a philosopher,” said Iras.
“Nay, daughter,” said Balthasar, “the philosophers had never the power to do such thing.”
“How know you this man has?”
Ben-Hur answered quickly,
“I saw him turn water into wine.”