Son of God. He, too, was one of those who had feared the light, who had stolen stealthily by night to glean salvation from the teachings of the Nazarene. What a coward he had felt himself, how he had despised himself, and yet he had muttered to himself, when he had left the Lord: "If, after all, His teachings are but the outpourings of a madman or a wilful deluder if, after all, He is a blasphemer, calling Himself the Son of God, and being but a poor human being like myself, where, then, would the honoured Nicodemus, the mighty ruler, be, if he believed Him? Deprived of power in this world, scoffed at and derided, perchance doomed even to a shameful death. That would be his portion in this world; in the next to be condemned by the real God for having believed and acted on the ravings of a blasphemer."
So, in the darkness, stumbling at every step of the homeward way, sorrowful and puzzled at the words of salvation that still rang in his ears, Nicodemus, the great ruler, had taken the road outside Jerusalem and reached his home by one of the terraces that lay beyond the walls, lest his attendants should hear him enter at that hour of the night. Then, once within his own walls, he had cast himself on his bed, seeking in vain for sleep, and starting up at almost every watch of the night, to call out in mental agony, "Truly, truly, this is the Son of God."
And now just when the germs of belief seemed about to start into being in his heart, just when miracle after miracle was striking terror to his soul, in the intensity of its wonder, and just when the words of the Nazarene, with their sad persuasiveness
