Soon the clanking of the fetters notified him of the progress the chief was making in his round.

He would come to him in turn; but would not the tribune interpose for him?
The thought may be set down to vanity or selfishness, as the reader pleases; it certainly, at that moment, took possession of Ben-Hur.
He believed the Roman would interpose; anyhow, the circumstance would test the man's feelings.

If, intent upon the battle, he would but think of him, it would be proof of his opinion formed--proof that he had been tacitly promoted above his associates in misery--such proof as would justify hope.
Ben-Hur waited anxiously.

The interval seemed like an age.

At every turn of the oar he looked towards the tribune, who, his simple preparations made, lay down upon the couch and composed himself to rest; whereupon number sixty chid himself, and laughed grimly, and resolved not to look that way again.
The hortator approached.