fitting reward. His broken
body might never be restored; nor was there riddance of the
recollection of his sufferings, or recall of the years embittered
by them; but suddenly a new life was shown him, with assurance
that it was for him--a new life lying just beyond this one--and
its name was Paradise. There he would find the Kingdom of which
he had been dreaming, and the King. A perfect peace fell upon him.

Over the way, in front of the cross, however, there were surprise
and consternation. The cunning casuists there put the assumption
underlying the question and the admission underlying the answer
together. For saying through the land that he was the Messiah,
they had brought the Nazarene to the cross; and, lo! on the
cross, more confidently than ever, he had not only reasserted
himself, but promised enjoyment of his Paradise to a malefactor.
They trembled at what they were doing. The pontiff, with all his
pride, was afraid. Where got the man his confidence except from
Truth? And what should the Truth be but God? A very little now
would put them all to flight.

The breaching of the Nazarene grew harder, his sighs became
great gasps. Only three hours upon the cross, and he was dying!

The intelligence was carried from man to man, until every one
knew it; and then everything hushed; the breeze faltered and died;
a stifling vapor loaded the air; heat was superadded to darkness;
nor might any one unknowing the fact have thought that off the
hill, out under the overhanging pall, there were three millions
of people waiting awe-struck what should happen next--they were
so still!

Then there went out through the gloom, over the heads of such as
were on the hill within hearing of the dying man, a cry of despair,
if not reproach:

"My God! my God! why hast thou forsaken me?"

The voice startled all who heard it. One it touched uncontrollably.

The soldiers in coming had brought with them a vessel of wine and
water, and set it down a little way from Ben-Hur. With a sponge
dipped into the liquor, and put on the end of a stick, they could
moisten the tongue of a sufferer at their pleasure. Ben-Hur thought
of the draught he had had at the well near Nazareth; an impulse
seized him; catching up the sponge, he dipped it into the vessel,
and started for the cross.

"Let him be!" the people in the way shouted, angrily. "Let him
be!"

Without minding them, he ran on, and put the sponge to the
Nazarene's lips.

Too late,