Mordecai, the Jew, still sat at the king's gate--probably, still wrapped
in sackcloth. His eye met that of Haman, but it quailed not. It was a
stern, reproving glance! And while all others did lowliest obeisance,
Mordecai neither bowed nor uncovered his head.

There was no word--there was no reproach--but there was a silent
defiance, that conveyed to the soul of Haman an assurance of disgrace
and defeat, and that told him he was despised, amid all his honours and
prosperity. He hastened to his home. He gathered his household around
him and told them of his riches, his honour, his prosperity, and the
assurance his large family afforded him that his riches would descend in
his own line, and that his ancient lineage and royal race should thus be
perpetuated. He told them of the high honour that day received at the
royal feast, and of a like honour in reserve for the morrow. But still
his pride was mortified by Mordecai's course. "All this availeth me
nothing," he said, "so long as I see Mordecai, the Jew, sitting at the
king's gate." Wretched, malignant man! What a picture of the power and
force of evil passions--of that selfishness which could find its
happiness in the misery and suffering of others!

His hatred of Mordecai seems the more insane, when we remember that
Haman held his fate in his hands, or rather had actually sealed his
doom. He might well forego forms of reverence from the man he had doomed
to death. Yet the desire for the humiliation of Mordecai, for some token
of abasement and fear, seems to have absorbed all other feelings; and as
this was the only thing withheld, so it was the only thing desired. To
soothe the disgust and allay the indignation of Haman, the family
council decreed the immediate death of Mordecai, and they doomed him to
the gallows--a most ignominious death. While this instrument of his