“Do not leave me,” said Messala.
The other stopped irresolute.
“Gods, Judah, how hot the sun shines!” cried the patrician, observing his perplexity. “Let us seek a shade.”
Judah answered, coldly,
“We had better part. I wish I had not come. I sought a friend and find a—”
“Roman,” said Messala, quickly.
The hands of the Jew clenched, but controlling himself again, he started off. Messala arose, and, taking the mantle from the bench, flung it over his shoulder, and followed after; when he gained his side, he put his hand upon his shoulder and walked with him.
“This is the way—my hand thus—we used to walk when we were children. Let us keep it as far as the gate.”
Apparently Messala was trying to be serious and kind, though he could not rid his countenance of the habitual satirical expression. Judah permitted the familiarity.
“You are a boy; I am a man; let me talk like one.”