"Is he of noble family, and rich?"
"I cannot speak of his riches."
"How beautiful his horses were! and the bed of his chariot was gold, and the wheels ivory. And his audacity! The bystanders laughed as he rode away; they, who were so nearly under his wheels!"
She laughed at the recollection.
"They were rabble," said Ben-Hur, bitterly.
"He must be one of the monsters who are said to be growing up in Rome—Apollos ravenous as Cerberus. Does he reside in Antioch?"
"He is of the East somewhere."
"Egypt would suit him better than Syria."
"Hardly," Ben-Hur replied. "Cleopatra is dead."
That instant the lamps burning before the door of the tent came into view.
"The dowar!" she cried.
"Ah, then, we have not been to Egypt. I have not seen Karnak or Philæ or Abydos. This is not the Nile. I have but heard a song of India, and been boating in a dream."
"Philæ—Karnak. Mourn rather that you have not seen the Rameses at Aboo Simbel, looking at which makes it so easy to think of God, the maker of the heavens and earth. Or why should you mourn at all? Let us go on to the river; and if I cannot sing"—she laughed—"because I have said I would not, yet I can tell you stories of Egypt."
"Go on! Ay, till morning comes, and the evening, and the next morning!" he said, vehemently.
"Of what shall my stories be? Of the mathematicians?"
"Oh, no."
"Of the philosophers?"
"No, no."
"Of the magicians and genii?"
"If you will."
"Of war?"
"Yes."
"Of love?"
