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

rang within him. His heart beat fast⁠—and faster still when, searching himself, he found not a doubt either that the recital was true in every particular, or that the Child so miraculously found was the Messiah. Marvelling much that Israel rested so dead to the revelation, and that he had never heard of it before that day, two questions presented themselves to him as centring all it was at that moment further desirable to know:

Where was the Child then?

And what was his mission?

With apologies for the interruptions, he proceeded to draw out the opinions of Balthasar, who was in nowise loath to speak.

XVI

“If I could answer you,” Balthasar said, in his simple, earnest, devout way⁠—“oh, if I knew where he is, how quickly I would go to him! The seas should not stay me, nor the mountains.”

“You have tried to find him, then?” asked Ben-Hur.

A smile flitted across the face of the Egyptian.

“The first task I charged myself with after leaving the shelter given me in the desert”⁠—Balthasar cast a grateful look at Ilderim⁠—“was to learn what became of the Child. But a year had passed, and I dared not go up to Judea in person, for Herod still held the throne bloody-minded as ever. In Egypt, upon my return, there were a few friends to believe the wonderful things I told them of what I had seen and heard⁠—a few who rejoiced with me that a Redeemer was born⁠—a few who never tired of the story. Some of them came up for me looking after the Child. They went first to Bethlehem, and found there the khan and the cave; but the steward⁠—he who sat at the gate the night of the birth, and the night we came following the star⁠—was gone. The king had taken him away, and he was no more seen.”

“But they found some proofs, surely,” said Ben-Hur, eagerly.

“Yes, proofs written in blood⁠—a village in mourning; mothers yet crying for their little ones. You must know, when Herod heard of our flight, he sent down and slew the youngest-born of the children of Bethlehem. Not one escaped. The faith of my messengers was confirmed; but they came to me saying the Child was dead, slain with the other innocents.”

“Dead!” exclaimed Ben-Hur, aghast. “Dead, sayest thou?”

“Nay, my son, I did not say so. I said they, my messengers, told me the Child was dead. I did not believe the report then; I do not believe it now.”

“I see⁠—thou hast some special knowledge.”

“Not so, not so,” said Balthasar, dropping his gaze. “The Spirit was to go with us no farther than to the Child. When we came out of the cave, after our presents were given and we had seen the babe, we looked first thing for the star; but it was gone, and we knew we were left to ourselves. The last inspiration of the Holy One⁠—the last I can recall⁠—was that which sent us to Ilderim for safety.”

“Yes,” said the sheik, fingering his beard nervously. “You told me you were sent to me by a Spirit⁠—I remember it.”

“I have no special knowledge,” Balthasar continued, observing the dejection which had fallen upon Ben-Hur; “but, my son, I have given the matter much thought⁠—thought continuing through years, inspired by faith, which, I assure you, calling God for witness, is as strong in me now as in the hour I heard the voice of the Spirit calling me by the shore of the lake. If you will listen, I will tell you why I believe the Child is living.”

Both Ilderim and Ben-Hur looked assent, and appeared to summon their faculties that they might understand as well as hear. The interest reached the servants, who drew near to the divan, and stood listening. Throughout the tent there was the profoundest silence.

“We three believe in God.”

Balthasar bowed his head as he spoke.

“And he is the Truth,” he resumed. “His word is God. The hills may turn to dust, and the seas be drunk dry by south winds; but his word shall stand, because it is the Truth.”

The utterance was in a manner inexpressibly solemn.

“The voice, which was his, speaking to me by the lake, said, ‘Blessed art thou, O son of Mizraim! The Redemption cometh. With two others from the remotenesses of the earth, thou shalt see the Savior.’ I have seen the Savior⁠—blessed be his name!⁠—but the Redemption, which was the second part of the promise, is yet to come. Seest thou now? If the Child be dead, there is no agent to bring the Redemption about, and the word is naught, and God⁠—nay, I dare not say it!”

He threw up both hands in horror.

“The Redemption was the work for which the Child was born; and so long as the promise abides, not even death can separate him from his work until it is fulfilled, or at least in the way of fulfilment. Take you that now as one reason for my belief; then give me further attention.”

The good man paused.

“Wilt thou not taste the wine? It is at thy hand⁠—see,” said Ilderim, respectfully.

Balthasar drank, and, seeming refreshed, continued:

“The Savior I saw was born of woman, in nature like us, and subject to all our ills⁠—even death. Let that stand as the first proposition. Consider next the work set apart to him. Was it not a performance for which only a man is fitted?⁠—a man wise, firm, discreet⁠—a man, not a child? To become such he had to grow as we grow. Bethink you now of the dangers his life was subject to in the interval⁠—the long interval between childhood and maturity. The existing powers were his enemies; Herod was his enemy; and what would Rome have been? And as for Israel⁠—that he should not be accepted by Israel was the motive for cutting him off. See you now. What better way was there to take care of his life in the helpless growing time than by passing him into obscurity? Wherefore I say to myself,