CHAPTER XIII.
NO wonder that when dawn began to steal across the sky and to struggle through the curtained windows of the High Priest's dwelling, it should find him still awake, perturbed and irritable, and pacing his room, as was his wont when greatly moved. It was a terrible face, this face of Caiaphas, when freed from the look of unctuous pomposity he strove to make impressive to the crowd. He, Caiaphas, had taken a false step; nay, more, he had exposed himself to Nicodemus, a powerful colleague. For once the great deliverer of the law had erred; erred in his assumption, erred in the plot he had concocted, and in the means he had resorted to for its achievement. What now, if Nicodemus should expose him to Pontius Pilate? Worse still, if Caesar should hear of the midnight flitting of the great High Priest to the house of Martha? Had his plan succeeded, he would have turned towards Nicodemus and twitted him with having been his tool. He had intended to try to entangle the Christ in His talk, to lead Him to speak of Himself; nay, more, to ask Him again the question that the Majestic God-Man had already so often meekly answered, yet with a power and emphasis none could fail to recognise as something more than human; the 'Who art Thou?" which had echoed from every lip during
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