tones lower—"the Nazarene will be here to-morrow, and Ben-Hur to-night."
Esther struggled to maintain her composure, but failed: her eyes fell, the tell-tale blood surged to her cheek and forehead, and she was saved sight of the triumphant smile that passed, like a gleam, over the face of the Egyptian.
"See, here is his promise."
And from her girdle she took a roll.
"Rejoice with me, my friend! He will be here to night! On the Tiber there is a house, a royal property, which he has pledged to me; and to be its mistress is to be—"
A sound of some one walking swiftly along the street below interrupted the speech, and she leaned over the parapet to see. Then she drew back, and cried, with hands clasped above her head, "Now blessed be Isis! ’Tis he—Ben-Hur himself! That he should appear while I had such thought of him! There are no gods if it be not a good omen. Put your arms about me, Esther—and a kiss!"
The Jewess looked up. Upon each cheek there was a glow; her eyes sparkled with a light more nearly of anger than ever her nature emitted before. Her gentleness had been too roughly overridden. It was not enough for her to be forbidden more than fugitive dreams of the man she loved; a boastful rival must tell her in confidence of her better success, and of the brilliant promises which were its rewards. Of her, the servant of a servant, there had been no hint of remembrance; this other could show his letter, leaving her to imagine all it breathed. So she said,
"Dost thou love him so much, then, or Rome so much better."
The Egyptian drew back a step; then she bent her haughty head quite near her questioner.
"What is he to thee, daughter of Simonides?"
Esther, all thrilling, began, "He is my—"
A thought blasting as lightning stayed the words: she paled, trembled, recovered, and answered, "He is my father’s friend."
Her tongue had refused to admit her servile condition.
