The day I meet him, help me, thou good God of my people!--help me to some fitting special vengeance! And now the meeting was at hand.
Perhaps, if he had found Messala poor and suffering, Ben-Hur's feeling had been different; but it was not so.

He found him more than prosperous; in the prosperity there was a dash and glitter--gleam of sun on gilt of gold.
So it happened that what Malluch accounted a passing loss of spirit was pondering when the meeting should be, and in what manner he could make it most memorable.
They turned after a while into an avenue of oaks, where the people were going and coming in groups; footmen here, and horsemen; there women in litters borne slaves; and now and then chariots rolled by thunderously.
At the end of the avenue the road, by an easy grade, descended into a lowland, where, on the right hand, there was a precipitous facing of gray rock, and on the left an open meadow of vernal freshness.

Then they came in view of the famous Fountain of Castalia.
Edging through a company assembled at the point, Ben-Hur beheld a jet of sweet water pouring from the crest of a stone into a basin of black marble, where, after much boiling and foaming, it disappeared as through a funnel.
By the basin, under a small portico cut in the solid wall, sat a priest, old, bearded, wrinkled, cowled--never being more perfectly eremitish.

From the manner of the people present, hardly might one say which was the attraction, the fountain, forever sparkling, or the priest, forever there.

He heard, saw, was seen, but never spoke.