His prepossessions all moved him to mercy.

His faith was won.

Yet, he said to himself, there was no haste--or, rather, there was haste to Cythera; the best rower could not then be spared; he would wait; he would learn more; he would at least be sure this was the prince Ben-Hur, and that he was of a right disposition.

Ordinarily, slaves were liars.
"It is enough," he said aloud.

"Go back to thy place." Ben-Hur bowed; looked once more into the master's face, but saw nothing for hope.