Ben Hur Lew Wallace (black male authors .TXT) 📖

“Hist!” said the mother. “There is someone lying upon the step⁠—a man. Let us go round him.”

They crossed to the opposite side of the street quickly, and, in the shade there, moved on till before the gate, where they stopped.

“He is asleep, Tirzah!”

The man was very still.

“Stay here, and I will try the gate.”

So saying, the mother stole noiselessly across, and ventured to touch the wicket; she never knew if it yielded, for that moment the man sighed, and, turning restlessly, shifted the handkerchief on his head in such manner that the face was left upturned and fair in the broad moonlight. She looked down at it and started; then looked again, stooping a little, and arose and clasped her hands and raised her eyes to heaven in mute appeal. An instant so, and she ran back to Tirzah.

“As the Lord liveth, the man is my son⁠—thy brother!” she said, in an awe-inspiring whisper.

“My brother?⁠—Judah?”

The mother caught her hand eagerly.

“Come!” she said, in the same enforced whisper, “let us look at him together⁠—once more⁠—only once⁠—then help thou thy servants, Lord!”

They crossed the street hand in hand ghostly-quick, ghostly-still. When their shadows fell upon him, they stopped. One of his hands was lying out upon the step palm up. Tirzah fell upon her knees, and would have kissed it; but the mother drew her back.

“Not for thy life; not for thy life! Unclean, unclean!” she whispered.

Tirzah shrank from him, as if he were the leprous one.

Ben-Hur was handsome as the manly are. His cheeks and forehead were swarthy from exposure to the desert sun and air; yet under the light mustache the lips were red, and the teeth shone white, and the soft beard did not hide the full roundness of chin and throat. How beautiful he appeared to the mother’s eyes! How mightily she yearned to put her arms about him, and take his head upon her bosom and kiss him, as had been her wont in his happy childhood! Where got she the strength to resist the impulse? From her love, O, reader!⁠—her mother-love, which, if thou wilt observe well, hath this unlikeness to any other love: tender to the object, it can be infinitely tyrannical to itself, and thence all its power of self-sacrifice. Not for restoration to health and fortune, not for any blessing of life, not for life itself, would she have left her leprous kiss upon his cheek! Yet touch him she must; in that instant of finding him she must renounce him forever! How bitter, bitter hard it was, let some other mother say! She knelt down, and, crawling to his feet, touched the sole of one of his sandals with her lips, yellow though it was with the dust of the street⁠—and touched it again and again; and her very soul was in the kisses.

He stirred, and tossed his hand. They moved back, but heard him mutter in his dream,

“Mother! Amrah! Where is⁠—”

He fell off into the deep sleep.

Tirzah stared wistfully. The mother put her face in the dust, struggling to suppress a sob so deep and strong it seemed her heart was bursting. Almost she wished he might waken.

He had asked for her; she was not forgotten; in his sleep he was thinking of her. Was it not enough?

Presently mother beckoned to Tirzah, and they arose, and taking one more look, as if to print his image past fading, hand in hand they recrossed the street. Back in the shade of the wall there, they retired and knelt, looking at him, waiting for him to wake⁠—waiting some revelation, they knew not what. Nobody has yet given us a measure for the patience of a love like theirs.

By-and-by, the sleep being yet upon him, another woman appeared at the corner of the palace. The two in the shade saw her plainly in the light; a small figure, much bent, dark-skinned, gray-haired, dressed neatly in servant’s garb, and carrying a basket full of vegetables.

At sight of the man upon the step the newcomer stopped; then, as if decided, she walked on⁠—very lightly as she drew near the sleeper. Passing round him, she went to the gate, slid the wicket latch easily to one side, and put her hand in the opening. One of the broad boards in the left valve swung ajar without noise. She put the basket through, and was about to follow, when, yielding to curiosity, she lingered to have one look at the stranger whose face was below her in open view.

The spectators across the street heard a low exclamation, and saw the woman rub her eyes as if to renew their power, bend closer down, clasp her hands, gaze wildly around, look at the sleeper, stoop and raise the outlying hand, and kiss it fondly⁠—that which they wished so mightily to do, but dared not.

Awakened by the action, Ben-Hur instinctively withdrew the hand; as he did so, his eyes met the woman’s.

“Amrah! O Amrah, is it thou?” he said.

The good heart made no answer in words, but fell upon his neck, crying for joy.

Gently he put her arms away, and lifting the dark face wet with tears, kissed it, his joy only a little less than hers. Then those across the way heard him say,

“Mother⁠—Tirzah⁠—O Amrah, tell me of them! Speak, speak, I pray thee!”

Amrah only cried afresh.

“Thou has seen them, Amrah. Thou knowest where they are; tell me they are at home.”

Tirzah moved, but her mother, divining her purpose, caught her and whispered, “Do not go⁠—not for life. Unclean, unclean!”

Her love was in tyrannical mood. Though both their hearts broke, he should not become what they were; and she conquered.

Meantime, Amrah, so entreated, only wept the more.

“Wert thou going in?” he asked, presently, seeing the board swung back. “Come, then. I will go with thee.” He arose as he spoke. “The Romans⁠—be the curse of the Lord upon them!⁠—the Romans lied. The house is mine. Rise, Amrah, and let us go in.” A moment and they were gone, leaving