Temple veil still hung there, mute witnesses of what had been, and the crouching, panic-stricken multitude were living ones; moreover, they must have seen his horror and alarm.
The position was indeed an awful one; but there was no escaping it: he must face it, and endure the penalty; for, if the Nazarene were indeed the Son of God, and if He should return, Caiaphas would find no mercy.
Then, one after another, people came with stories of graves open and risen saints, and heart-rending tales of the last hours of Christ—tales in which terror had lent strength to their imagination. All was confusion and horror and doubt and consternation.
But Caiaphas hurried off the scribes and elders to his house, lest in their alarm they should commit themselves. The rending of the veil was no easy matter to explain away; nor was the darkness (earthquakes, forsooth, were plenteous enough).
"We must speak no word of this in the Sanhedrim, nor amongst the people," enjoined Caiaphas. "Then they will forget, as all else is forgotten. As for those tales of opened graves, I believe them not. Perchance the earthquake did so shake the tombs that, to the terror-stricken people, the clouds of mouldering dust borne upwards by the wind did in the darkness look like shrouded mortals rising to heaven. So must we tell the people, for if the idea of the resurrection do but get abroad 't will be worse even than the preaching of the Nazarene."
"God forbid!" aspired the elders piously. "Already we have suffered enough through this one
