nsequently,
Ben-Hur had withdrawn from the procession, and seated himself upon
a stone to wait its passage.

From his place he nodded recognition to many of the people--Galileans
in his league, carrying short swords under their long abbas. After a
little a swarthy Arab came up leading two horses; at a sign from
Ben-Hur he also drew out.

"Stay here," the young master said, when all were gone by, even the
laggards. "I wish to be at the city early, and Aldebaran must do
me service."

He stroked the broad forehead of the horse, now in his prime of
strength and beauty, then crossed the road towards the two women.

They were to him, it should be borne in mind, strangers in whom he
felt interest only as they were subjects of a superhuman experiment,
the result of which might possibly help him to solution of the
mystery that had so long engaged him. As he proceeded, he glanced
casually at the figure of the little woman over by the white rock,
standing there, her face hidden in her hands.

"As the Lord liveth, it is Amrah!" he said to himself.

He hurried on, and passing by the mother and daughter, still without
recognizing them, he stopped before the servant.

"Amrah," he said to her, "Amrah, what do you here?"

She rushed forward, and fell upon her knees before him, blinded by her
tears, nigh speechless with contending joy and fear.

"O master, master! Thy God and mine, how good he is!"

The knowledge we gain from much sympathy with others passing through
trials is but vaguely understood; strangely enough, it enables us,
among other things, to merge our identity into theirs often so
completely that their sorrows and their delights become our own.
So poor Amrah, aloof and hiding her face, knew the transformation
the lepers were undergoing without a word spoken to her--knew
it, and shared all their feeling to the full. Her countenance,
her words, her whole manner, betrayed her condition; and with
swift presentiment he connected it with the women he had just
passed: he felt her presence there at that time was in some way
associated with them, and turned hastily as they arose to their
feet. His heart stood still, he became rooted in his tracks--dumb
past outcry--awe-struck.

The woman he had seen before the Nazarene was standing with her
hands clasped and eyes streaming, looking towards heaven. The mere
transformation would have been a sufficient surprise; but it was the
least of the causes of his emotion. Could he