Ben Hur - Lew Wallace (sci fi books to read .TXT) 📗

“But you have influence with him. He is alone in the world. Show him his danger. Tell him what a woman she is.”

“That might save him from her. Would it give him to you, Esther? No,” and his brows fell darkly over his eyes. “I am a servant, as my fathers were for generations; yet I could not say to him, ‘Lo, master, my daughter! She is fairer than the Egyptian, and loves thee better!’ I have caught too much from years of liberty and direction. The words would blister my tongue. The stones upon the old hills yonder would turn in their beds for shame when I go out to them. No, by the patriarchs, Esther, I would rather lay us both with your mother to sleep as she sleeps!”

A blush burned Esther’s whole face.

“I did not mean you to tell him so, father. I was concerned for him alone⁠—for his happiness, not mine. Because I have dared love him, I shall keep myself worthy his respect; so only can I excuse my folly. Let me read his letter now.”

“Yes, read it.”

She began at once, in haste to conclude the distasteful subject.

“Nisan, 8th day.

“On the road from Galilee to Jerusalem.

“The Nazarene is on the way also. With him, though without his knowledge, I am bringing a full legion of mine. A second legion follows. The Passover will excuse the multitude. He said upon setting out, ‘We will go up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concerning me shall be accomplished.’

“Our waiting draws to an end.

“In haste.

“Peace to thee, Simonides.

“Ben-Hur.”

Esther returned the letter to her father, while a choking sensation gathered in her throat. There was not a word in the missive for her⁠—not even in the salutation had she a share⁠—and it would have been so easy to have written “and to thine, peace.” For the first time in her life she felt the smart of a jealous sting.

“The eighth day,” said Simonides, “the eighth day; and this, Esther, this is the⁠—”

“The ninth,” she replied.

“Ah, then, they may be in Bethany now.”

“And possibly we may see him tonight,” she added, pleased into momentary forgetfulness.

“It may be, it may be! Tomorrow is the Feast of Unleavened Bread, and he may wish to celebrate it; so may the Nazarene; and we may see him⁠—we may see both of them, Esther.”

At this point the servant appeared with the wine and water. Esther helped her father, and in the midst of the service Iras came upon the roof.

To the Jewess the Egyptian never appeared so very, very beautiful as at that moment. Her gauzy garments fluttered about her like a little cloud of mist; her forehead, neck, and arms glittered with the massive jewelry so affected by her people. Her countenance was suffused with pleasure. She moved with buoyant steps, and self-conscious, though without affectation. Esther at the sight shrank within herself, and nestled closer to her father.

“Peace to you, Simonides, and to the pretty Esther peace,” said Iras, inclining her head to the latter. “You remind me, good master⁠—if I may say it without offence⁠—you remind me of the priests in Persia who climb their temples at the decline of day to send prayers after the departing sun. Is there anything in the worship you do not know, let me call my father. He is Magian-bred.”

“Fair Egyptian,” the merchant replied, nodding with grave politeness, “your father is a good man who would not be offended if he knew I told you his Persian lore is the least part of his wisdom.”

Iras’s lip curled slightly.

“To speak like a philosopher, as you invite me,” she said, “the least part always implies a greater. Let me ask what you esteem the greater part of the rare quality you are pleased to attribute to him.”

Simonides turned upon her somewhat sternly.

“Pure wisdom always directs itself towards God; the purest wisdom is knowledge of God; and no man of my acquaintance has it in higher degree, or makes it more manifest in speech and act, than the good Balthasar.”

To end the parley, he raised the cup and drank.

The Egyptian turned to Esther a little testily.

“A man who has millions in store, and fleets of ships at sea, cannot discern in what simple women like us find amusement. Let us leave him. By the wall yonder we can talk.”

They went to the parapet then, stopping at the place where, years before, Ben-Hur loosed the broken tile upon the head of Gratus.

“You have not been to Rome?” Iras began, toying the while with one of her unclasped bracelets.

“No,” said Esther, demurely.

“Have you not wished to go?”

“No.”

“Ah, how little there has been of your life!”

The sigh that succeeded the exclamation could not have been more piteously expressive had the loss been the Egyptian’s own. Next moment her laugh might have been heard in the street below; and she said “Oh, oh, my pretty simpleton! The half-fledged birds nested in the ear of the great bust out on the Memphian sands know nearly as much as you.”

Then, seeing Esther’s confusion, she changed her manner, and said in a confiding tone, “You must not take offence. Oh no! I was playing. Let me kiss the hurt, and tell you what I would not to any other⁠—not if Simbel himself asked it of me, offering a lotus-cup of the spray of the Nile!”

Another laugh, masking excellently the look she turned sharply upon the Jewess, and she said, “The King is coming.”

Esther gazed at her in innocent surprise.

“The Nazarene,” Iras continued⁠—“he whom our fathers have been talking about so much, whom Ben-Hur has been serving and toiling for so long”⁠—her voice dropped several tones lower⁠—“the Nazarene will be here tomorrow, and Ben-Hur tonight.”

Esther struggled to maintain her composure, but failed: her eyes fell, the telltale blood surged to her cheek and forehead, and she was saved sight of the triumphant smile that passed, like a gleam, over