simply an impression made upon him; and, like strong light,
it was a sensation, not a thing of sight or enumeration. Thy lips are
like a thread of scarlet; thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate
within thy locks. Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away; for,
lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers
appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land--such was the
impression she made upon him translated into words.

"Come," she said, observing him stop, "come, or I shall think you
a poor sailor."

The red of his cheek deepened. Did she know anything of his life
upon the sea? He descended to the platform at once.

"I was afraid," he said, as he took the vacant seat before her.

"Of what?"

"Of sinking the boat," he replied, smiling.

"Wait until we are in deeper water," she said, giving a signal to
the black, who dipped the oars, and they were off.

If love and Ben-Hur were enemies, the latter was never more at
mercy. The Egyptian sat where he could not but see her; she,
whom he had already engrossed in memory as his ideal of the
Shulamite. With her eyes giving light to his, the stars might
come out, and he not see them; and so they did. The night might
fall with unrelieved darkness everywhere else; her look would make
illumination for him. And then, as everybody knows, given youth
and such companionship, there is no situation in which the fancy
takes such complete control as upon tranquil waters under a calm
night sky, warm with summer. It is so easy at such time to glide
imperceptibly out of the commonplace into the ideal.

"Give me the rudder," he said.

"No," she replied, "that were to reverse the relation. Did I not
ask you to ride with me? I am indebted to you, and would begin
payment. You may talk and I will listen, or I will talk and you
will listen: that choice is yours; but it shall be mine to choose
where we go, and the way thither."

"And where may that be?"

"You are alarmed again."

"O fair Egyptian, I but asked you the first question of every
captive."

"Call me Egypt."

"I would rather call you Iras."

"You may think of me by that name, but call me Egypt."

"Egypt is a country, and means many people."

"Yes, yes! And such a country!"

"I see; it is to Egypt we are going."

"Would we were! I would be so glad."

She sighed as she spoke.

"You have no care for me, then," he said.

"Ah, b