“In thy eyes, then, he is the lost son of the Prince Hur?”
“If he is not—” She hesitated.
“And if he is not, Esther?”
“I have been thy handmaiden, father, since my mother answered the call of the Lord God; by thy side I have heard and seen thee deal in wise ways with all manner of men seeking profit, holy and unholy; and now I say, if indeed the young man be not the prince he claims to be, then before me falsehood never played so well the part of righteous truth.”
“By the glory of Solomon, daughter, thou speakest earnestly. Dost thou believe thy father his father’s servant?”
“I understood him to ask of that as something he had but heard.”
For a time Simonides’ gaze swam among his swimming ships, though they had no place in his mind.
“Well, thou art a good child, Esther, of genuine Jewish shrewdness, and of years and strength to hear a sorrowful tale. Wherefore give me heed, and I will tell you of myself, and of thy mother, and of many things pertaining to the past not in thy knowledge or thy dreams—things withheld from the persecuting Romans for a hope’s sake, and from thee that thy nature should grow towards the Lord straight as the reed to the sun.... I was born in a tomb in the valley of Hinnom, on the south side of Zion. My father and mother were Hebrew bond-servants, tenders of the fig and olive trees growing, with many vines, in the King’s Garden hard by Siloam; and in my boyhood I helped them. They were of the class bound to serve forever. They sold me to the Prince Hur, then, next to Herod the King, the richest man in Jerusalem. From the garden he transferred me to his storehouse in Alexandria of Egypt, where I came of age. I served him six years, and in the seventh, by the law of Moses, I went free.”
Esther clapped her hands lightly.
“Oh, then, thou art not his father’s servant!”