balcony to balcony in front of the pillars of the first goal.
About the same time, also, six men came in through the Porta Pompæ and took post, one in front of each occupied stall; whereat there was a prolonged hum of voices in every quarter.
"See, see! The green goes to number four on the right; the Athenian is there."
"And Messala—yes, he is in number two."
"The Corinthian—"
"Watch, the white! See, he crosses over, he stops; number one it is—number one on the left."
"No, the black stops there, and the white at number two."
"So it is."
These gate-keepers, it should be understood, were dressed in tunics colored like those of the competing charioteers; so, when they took their stations, everybody knew the particular stall in which his favorite was that moment waiting.
"Did you ever see Messala?" the Egyptian asked Esther.
The Jewess shuddered as she answered no. If not her father’s enemy, the Roman was Ben-Hur’s.
"He is beautiful as Apollo."
As Iras spoke, her large eyes brightened and she shook her jewelled fan. Esther looked at her with the thought, "Is he, then, so much handsomer than Ben-Hur?" Next moment she heard Ilderim say to her father, "Yes, his stall is number two on the left of the Porta Pompæ;" and, thinking it was of Ben-Hur he spoke, her eyes turned that way. Taking but the briefest glance at the wattled face of the gate, she drew the veil close and muttered a little prayer.
Presently Sanballat came to the party.
"I am just from the stalls, O sheik," he said, bowing gravely to Ilderim, who began combing his beard, while his eyes glittered with eager inquiry. "The horses are in perfect condition."
Ilderim replied simply, "If they are beaten, I pray it be by some other than Messala."
Turning then to Simonides, Sanballat drew out a tablet, saying, "I bring you also something of interest. I re-
