g distance of each other down by the
balustrade overlooking the arena. In providence of comfort,
they sat upon cushions and had stools for footrests.

The women were Iras and Esther.

Upon being seated, the latter cast a frightened look over
the Circus, and drew the veil closer about her face; while the
Egyptian, letting her veil fall upon her shoulders, gave herself
to view, and gazed at the scene with the seeming unconsciousness
of being stared at, which, in a woman, is usually the result of
long social habitude.

The new-comers generally were yet making their first examination of
the great spectacle, beginning with the consul and his attendants,
when some workmen ran in and commenced to stretch a chalked rope
across the arena from balcony to balcony in front of the pillars
of the first goal.

About the same time, also, six men came in through the Porta Pompae
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 jeweled
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 Pompae;" 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