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

must be near the half of common life. Balthasar says he was a child on his mother’s lap when he saw him, and gave him presents and worship; and Ilderim holds it was twenty-seven years ago last December when Balthasar and his companions came to his tent asking a hiding-place from Herod. Wherefore the coming cannot now be long delayed. Tonight⁠—tomorrow it may be. Holy fathers of Israel, what happiness in the thought! I seem to hear the crash of the falling of old walls and the clamor of a universal change⁠—ay, and for the uttermost joy of men, the earth opens to take Rome in, and they look up and laugh and sing that she is not, while we are”; then he laughed at himself. “Why, Esther, heard you ever the like? Surely, I have on me the passion of a singer, the heat of blood and the thrill of Miriam and David. In my thoughts, which should be those of a plain worker in figures and facts, there is a confusion of cymbals clashing and harp-strings loud beaten, and the voices of a multitude standing around a new-risen throne. I will put the thinking by for the present; only, dear, when the king comes he will need money and men, for as he was a child born of woman he will be but a man after all, bound to human ways as you and I are. And for the money he will have need of getters and keepers, and for the men leaders. There, there! See you not a broad road for my walking, and the running of the youth our master?⁠—and at the end of it glory and revenge for us both?⁠—and⁠—and”⁠—he paused, struck with the selfishness of a scheme in which she had no part or good result; then added, kissing her, “And happiness for thy mother’s child.”

She sat still, saying nothing. Then he remembered the difference in natures, and the law by which we are not permitted always to take delight in the same cause or be equally afraid of the same thing. He remembered she was but a girl.

“Of what are you thinking, Esther?” he said, in his common homelike way. “If the thought have the form of a wish, give it me, little one, while the power remains mine. For power, you know, is a fretful thing, and hath its wings always spread for flight.”

She answered with a simplicity almost childish,

“Send for him, father. Send for him tonight, and do not let him go into the Circus.”

“Ah!” he said, prolonging the exclamation; and again his eyes fell upon the river, where the shadows were more shadowy than ever, since the moon had sunk far down behind Sulpius, leaving the city to the ineffectual stars. Shall we say it, reader? He was touched by a twinge of jealousy. If she should really love the young master! Oh no! That could not be; she was too young. But the idea had fast grip, and directly held him still and cold. She was sixteen. He knew it well. On the last natal day he had gone with her to the shipyard where there was a launch, and the yellow flag which the galley bore to its bridal with the waves had on it “Esther”; so they celebrated the day together. Yet the fact struck him now with the force of a surprise. There are realizations which come to us all painfully; mostly, however, such as pertain to ourselves; that we are growing old, for instance; and, more terrible, that we must die. Such a one crept into his heart, shadowy as the shadows, yet substantial enough to wring from him a sigh which was almost a groan. It was not sufficient that she should enter upon her young womanhood a servant, but she must carry to her master her affections, the truth and tenderness and delicacy of which he the father so well knew, because to this time they had all been his own undividedly. The fiend whose task it is to torture us with fears and bitter thoughts seldom does his work by halves. In the pang of the moment, the brave old man lost sight of his new scheme, and of the miraculous king its subject. By a mighty effort, however, he controlled himself, and asked, calmly, “Not go into the Circus, Esther? Why, child?”

“It is not a place for a son of Israel, father.”

“Rabbinical, rabbinical, Esther! Is that all?”

The tone of the inquiry was searching, and went to her heart, which began to beat loudly⁠—so loudly she could not answer. A confusion new and strangely pleasant fell upon her.

“The young man is to have the fortune,” he said, taking her hand, and speaking more tenderly; “he is to have the ships and the shekels⁠—all, Esther, all. Yet I did not feel poor, for thou wert left me, and thy love so like the dead Rachel’s. Tell me, is he to have that too?”

She bent over him, and laid her cheek against his head.

“Speak, Esther. I will be the stronger of the knowledge. In warning there is strength.”

She sat up then, and spoke as if she were Truth’s holy self.

“Comfort thee, father. I will never leave thee; though he take my love, I will be thy handmaid ever as now.”

And, stooping, she kissed him.

“And more,” she said, continuing: “he is comely in my sight, and the pleading of his voice drew me to him, and I shudder to think of him in danger. Yes, father, I would be more than glad to see him again. Still, the love that is unrequited cannot be perfect love, wherefore I will wait a time, remembering I am thy daughter and my mother’s.”

“A very blessing of the Lord art thou, Esther! A blessing to keep me rich, though all else be lost. And by his holy name and everlasting life, I swear thou shalt not suffer.”

At his request, a little later, the servant came and rolled the chair