Page:Ben-Hur a tale of the Christ.djvu/409

Rh their servant, the convict, was taken away—that is, since yesterday.

Tirzah, reclining against her mother in half embrace, moans piteously.

&quot;Be quiet, Tirzah. They will come. God is good. We have been mindful of him, and forgotten not to pray at every sounding of the trumpets over in the Temple. The light, you see, is still bright; the sun is standing in the south sky yet, and it is hardly more than the seventh hour. Somebody will come to us. Let us have faith. God is good.&quot;

Thus the mother. The words were simple and effective, although, eight years being now to be added to the thirteen she had attained when last we saw her, Tirzah was no longer a child.

&quot;I will try and be strong, mother,&quot; she said. &quot;Your suffering must be great as mine; and I do so want to live for you and my brother! But my tongue burns, my lips scorch. I wonder where he is, and if he will ever, ever find us!&quot;

There is something in the voices that strikes us singularly—an unexpected tone, sharp, dry, metallic, unnatural.

The mother draws the daughter closer to her breast, and says, &quot;I dreamed about him last night, and saw him as plainly, Tirzah, as I see you. We must believe in dreams, you know, because our fathers did. The Lord spoke to them so often in that way. I thought we were in the Women’s Court just before the Gate Beautiful; there were many women with us; and he came and stood in the shade of the Gate, and looked here and there, at this one and that. My heart beat strong. I knew he was looking for us, and stretched my arms to him, and ran, calling him. He heard me and saw me, but he did not know me. In a moment he was gone.&quot; &quot;Would it not be so, mother, if we were to meet him in fact? We are so changed.&quot;

&quot;It might be so; but—&quot;The mother’s head droops, and her face knits as with a wrench of pain; recovering, however, she goes on—&quot;but we could make ourselves known to him.&quot;