"Thou wert sore-pressed, truly, Pilate," said the just Claudia, "but yet thou hadst power to release this Man; and now thou wilt see that all our glory will fade away and great misfortunes will befall us, and through endless ages we shall be cursed for this thing which thou hast done; for a dream this night did tell me that He was the Son of God and that He will come with power again upon the earth." Then, changing her tone, she shrieked out: "But why converse we here? There is yet time. He is not dead. Release Him yet. O Pilate, for love of me, the wife of thy bosom, whom thou sayest thou lovest; O Pilate, noble Pilate, release Him, save Him yet!" And she flung herself at his feet, appealing to him by every loving name.
One faint gleam of almost savage hope flashed up, then flickered feebly in the Roman's eyes.
"Ye know not these vile Jews, they thirst for blood; like dogs, they would lick sores; they have no mercy. If I release Him now, Caiaphas will excite the people and they will rend Him limb from limb. Leave Him to die, Claudia, for 't is the kindest thing that thou canst do. Let Him sleep tonight in heaven."
Awed by his words, Claudia said after him: "In heaven? Dost thou, too, believe He is the Son of God?"
And Pilate stood there silent, while his deep-set eyes gazed far beyond the hills to where he knew a cross was being raised against the sky.
As in a vision he saw the bleeding body on the cross. He knew the torture, for he had seen many hanging so; the body, with its weight, tearing the
