"And who are they that follow Thee hither and thither, yet in Thine hour of need desert Thee?"
A spasm of grief overshadowed the face for one instant, then passed away.
The priest asked again: "What are these doctrines that Thou teachest; these tales of miracles, this comradeship with poor and sinner? Where hast Thou learned them? Whence art Thou?"
But still the Nazarene said nothing, gazing upwards, as though in prayer, for strength to drink the cup. Of what avail to answer with words of truth creatures whose only cleverness lay in planning and detecting lies? The occasion was too sacred, the minutes for prayer too precious, the attempt to argue would but provoke words of greater sin.
"Wilt Thou not speak to me?" cried Annas, presently, infuriated. "Wilt Thou defy me by Thy silence, or art Thou afraid?"
And one of the soldiers shook Him roughly and said: "Speak, answer the priest or 't will be the worse for Thee."
Then, lifting His great, angelic eyes, pure as a holy child's, deep with the wisdom and the truth of ages, the Nazarene prepared to raise that voice which would ring for evermore in the old man's ears. With scorn it rang out now, with pity it would return to him on his death-bed; and in the far, dark distances of hell that voice would ring, in accompaniment to his despair, the words, "Too late, too late!"
"Wilt Thou not speak? Then, after all, Thou art a coward," snarled Annas, some faint glimmering in
