Ere Ben-Hur could finish wondering whether he were to go farther, and if so, which road was to be taken, he was led off down into the gorge.

And still no hint of the purpose of the midnight march.
Down the gorge and over the bridge at the bottom of it.

There was a great clatter on the floor as the crowd, now a straggling rabble, passed over beating and pounding with their clubs and staves.
A little farther, and they turned off to the left in the direction of an olive orchard enclosed by a stone wall in view from the road.
Ben-Hur knew there was nothing in the place but old gnarled trees, the grass, and a trough hewn out of a rock for the treading of oil after the fashion of the country.

While, yet more wonder-struck, he was thinking what could bring such a company at such an hour to a quarter so lonesome, they were all brought to a standstill.
Voices called out excitedly in front; a chill sensation ran from man to man; there was a rapid falling-back, and a blind stumbling over each other.

The soldiers alone kept their order.
It took Ben-Hur but a moment to disengage himself from the mob and run forward.