The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 39.

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CONDEMNATION. Part 1.

Jesus Is Led from Caiaphas to Pilate by James Tissot

IN the morning all the chief Priests and Ancients of the people again assembled. Although they had judged Jesus worthy of death they could not arrogate to themselves the authority of pronouncing the sentence. For this the ratification of Pilate was necessary—since without the approval of the Roman Procurator who governed them, they had no power to carry out an edict of death.

This approval they hoped to wrest from the weak Pilate, and in consequence they hurriedly led Our Lord to the fortress Antonia, where the Roman official resided.

The Blessed Mother was still concealed from view in the place where she had watched and prayed during the whole of this terrible night. She saw her dear Jesus come forth, surrounded by those who were conducting Him to the Procurator. Soldiers and servants crowded after Him and formed a mock cortege.

"Oh, how changed, how changed He is!" whispered Magdalen, in an accent of deepest woe.

"Truly this is the Man of sorrows," said the other Mary, in as low a tone.

And so indeed He appeared, His adorable features covered with bruises, His garments rent and soiled with mud. The Virgin raised her veil, so that her loving glance might clothe Him, as it were, might linger upon Him, might prove, if proof were ever necessary, that she suffered with Him! Mothers will know what sentiments filled the heart of the Mother of God at this moment.

Her companions noted that she, too, had changed. Ah, yes! In spirit she had participated in His sufferings. She beheld that chaste body, fashioned by the Holy Ghost, bleeding with wounds—there, under her very eyes, besmeared with mud and clay; and God Himself the jest and byword of all the vile rabble!

What a price was paid for your soul and for mine!

And now Magdalen, looking upon Him who had shone with divine splendor before her, at last realized that danger of death was threatening.

"Where are those who yesterday kissed the print of His feet? Where those who followed Him with cries of joy and transport of love? All have vanished! Vanished!" She clasped her hands in agony. "Cowards! They have abandoned Him to a few madmen thirsting for blood and drunk with wine, whom a little boldness would scatter to their holes! Shall we allow Him to perish ? Oh, no, no!"

For she saw the weakness of the guard. His friends were many. A determined attack, and He might be rescued and carried to safety. With mouth firmly set, and despairing eyes, she whispered to the Virgin that she must go and see what might be done. Hurriedly drawing her veil about her, she turned swiftly toward the more secluded streets of the city, where many lived who had followed in the train of our blessed Lord, and who had received favors from Him. They had been friends and partisans of the Saviour, and to them she addressed herself.

"Come!" she cried. "He whom you love is about to perish; arm yourselves. Come, and defend Him! He will be put to death if you do not hasten! Come, come!"

She called each by his name. She called the lepers that had been healed, the sick that had been cured, the guilty who had been pardoned, the blind restored to sight, the deaf restored to sound, the lame made whole!

But those who heard her did not respond. They withdrew into their homes. She beat at the door of that house in which dwelt Joseph of Arimathea, but he Was already forth in the streets—whither she could not discover. She went to the disciples, but they anticipated all manner of evil, and would not show themselves. These men, one day to be the intrepid supporters of the Church, yes, martyrs of the new Faith, were now too timid even to appear.

Passing through one of the narrow streets she remembered that a paralytic who had been cured only three days before now lived within it. She ran to him, just opening the door of his house, that the sweetness of the morning might enter.

"Come and help Him who healed thee! He is being dragged through the streets like a criminal. The Priests would put Him to death. Come! You have many of the goods of this world! Use them now for His sake!"

But the Pharisees had already spoken with this man, and he coldly turned away from her appeal.

"I know that He cured me. But they say that He is wicked, the servant of Beelzebub. What can I do to help Him? If He is condemned justly, He must suffer."

"Oh, vile one!" said Magdalen. "Is it thus you repay His goodness? Thus?"

And tears rose to her eyes. Never, in all her life, had she thought hearts could be so hard. She was turning back in despair, when the name of Servilius suggested itself to her. He was rich and powerful, and could command the services of many friends. Alas! Magdalen the penitent could now but plead where Magdalen the sinner had only to wish to be obeyed! Servilius told her frankly that he would do nothing. He had just been named Procurator of the Gauls, and he did not propose to endanger his rising honors by any such futile attempt.

Magdalen left him abruptly. Time was flying. If Jesus was not rescued ere He reached the palace of Pilate, all would be lost. The guards would be increased. And now she understood how hopeless had been her quest, how useless her seeking of help.

Sobs broke from her. She pulled her veil across her face that none might observe her grief. As she went she could not control herself. Presently she knew that others had joined her—three of the disciples, James, Philip, and John. A sorrowful band, indeed! At the corner of the street a youth and maiden were passing. The face of the girl was stained with tears. As she approached with the three disciples, the young man addressed her.

"Can you tell me whither they have taken Jesus?" he asked.

"To the fortress Antonia," said Magdalen.

"Let us follow," said the young girl, nervously. "Let us die with Him if we can not save Him!"

"Poor children!" said Magdalen, in a broken tone. "All those who might have saved Him have abandoned Him. He is alone, in the hands of a furious mob. But we will join Him, and when He stands before Pilate, we will cry out for mercy and justice. Perhaps our voices may be heard."

Jezel and Melkam—faithful ones!—joined her, and soon a few other women—Melkam's mother and some of their relatives—followed. They hastened on, and finally located the cortege by the clamor which accompanied it. In traversing the lower part of the city the escort had been augmented by the meanest of the populace, who pushed and rolled like the waves of a roaring torrent.

Magdalen and the disciples looked at one another in sorrow. They felt their weakness. The only thing they could do was to reach the Virgin Mother's side, and keep a passage for her near her Son. It took them some moments to shove their way through the jostling crowd, but at last they did so.

The Mother of the Redeemer followed Him hopelessly.

"O God," she was crying out, in her pure heart, "must this dreadful sacrifice really be accomplished? Is not this enough? Are not these dread insults sufficient? Hear me, Father in heaven! Let humanity redeem humanity. I will search this earth for hearts pure enough to expiate the faults of their fathers. Young maidens, wise matrons. I will gather them together, and we shall go to the mountain and there pray to Thee day and night. But now save my dear Son, Thine only Son, in whom Thou art well-pleased."

But then she seemed to see Sin spread upon this earth through all the ages. She saw Sin soiling the creature. She heard a voice rising mournfully from the whole world. She understood that only the blood of a God could wash away so many iniquities.

The cortege arrived at the foot of the marble steps that led to the house of Pilate. The Doctors of the Law and the members of the Council ascended them. They could not enter this heathen domicile lest they should incur a legal Defilement which would prevent them from eating the Pasch, as they were expected to do that very day.

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 38.

CHAPTER XXXVI. BEFORE THE HIGH PRIEST

SURROUNDED by the soldiers, the servants of the High Priest, and the others who had followed in their train, the Saviour descended the mountain. He was alone among His enemies, and they —now that they had regained their audacity— laughed at themselves for the emotion they had experienced in the presence of this Man. His disciples had fled at the first moment of danger, like a flock before the destroying wolf, leaving Him to the mercy of His foes.

The night was gloomy and clouded; the stars were dimmed, even as human eyes are dimmed with tears. No sound was heard save that of the wind as it moaned through the tops of the trees, and that of the heavy steps, the blasphemies, or the coarse remarks of the rough men. No voice was raised save that of the sentinel, who, fearing surprise, challenged them sharply. Jesus experienced a great and bitter oppression of spirit, and His soul was overwhelmed at the sight of man's ingratitude, the cowardice of those He loved.

But, on approaching the Sterquilinarian gate, He perceived three women hidden in the shade of the wicket. At once He understood that Mary, His Mother, had followed thus to comfort Him.

"Oh, my Son, I suffer with Thee! My soul is indissolubly united to all Thy sorrows!"

This maternal sympathy was most precious to Him at this moment of utter dereliction. Tears of tenderness rose to His sacred eyes. Some of the peaceful hours of His infancy flashed across His mind. His Mother's caressing arms had been His cradle, her breast His pillow. The Son of Mary, the Man of sorrow, paid, in love, the love of His Mother.

The escort stopped to exchange the password, and the women approached noiselessly. Two of them knelt before Jesus, and kissed the hem of His robe. The third clasped Him in her arms for one moment—only one moment. And though this joy was bitter, there was sweetness in it for the Son and Mother separated so long.

All this passed with the rapidity of lightning. The gate was opened. The soldiers pushed Jesus forward, separating the Virgin from her Son. Yet, thanks to the obscurity, the women were able to mix with the escort, and re-enter Jerusalem in the train of the Saviour. The torches had been extinguished before filing into the streets of the city, save that carried at the head of the procession. They marched now in complete silence, without speaking a word. Presently the women felt that a stranger was close to them, and a few muttered words betrayed his identity. It was Simon Peter.

Ashamed at his cowardly desertion, he had turned back, determined to follow his Master, and to die with Him. His spirit was full of boldness—he contemplated a thousand rash projects—yet the smallest movement of the soldiers made him tremble. This was his nature—an enterprising spirit, united to a timid heart. There are many such in the world. In realizing that they exist, or that such is our own nature, God wishes us to understand our moral infirmities, in order to render us humble and forbearing.

Having perceived Mary Magdalen and Salome, Simon Peter joined them. The troop led the way to the house of Annas the Sacrificer, which was situated on the brow of the hill, near the gate of Sion. Close to its threshold grew a large olive-tree, and they bound Our Lord to this, while a guard watched Him. Then the tribune entered for further orders. The torches shone upon that sacred figure, and the holy women could contemplate His divine beauty. He had clothed Himself that morning in His festive garments, that He might celebrate the Passover, and He wore a seamless robe of the color of the hyacinth which the Virgin had spun and dyed and embroidered with her own loving hands.

For what a festival had she prepared it!

Intense sorrow, painful tenderness, filled the heart of the Mother, looking in silence on the face of her Son. She could not remove her gaze. . . . Then the tribune came forth from the house of Annas, and ordering the prisoner to be untied, they resumed the march to where Caiphas the High Priest waited— and where the Priests, Scribes, and Ancients had been assembled for some hours.

The palace was some distance away, and as the procession formed again, the Virgin and her companions followed at a distance. Once reached, the tribune knocked with the pommel of his sword. A wicket, hidden under the portico, was opened, and shut upon the troop. The Virgin and her friends were left outside in the darkness. Jesus, too, had disappeared with the soldiers.

"What will happen?" murmured Peter, after a few moments of oppressive silence. "They have seized Him at night, contrary to all our customs, and without any legal authority. All laws are violated! Yet what crime has He committed? Of what can they accuse Him?"

The Virgin said no word. She knew that hell was unchained; that it was employing the passions, each in its turn, of those who governed the city, to accomplish the death of the Just One. She understood that God was permitting all these things, in order that the expiation might be accomplished, the Sacrifice completed. And this knowledge sealed her lips, while it almost broke her heart.

As for Magdalen, the other Mary, and Salome, they wept, but hope had not died within them. The mystery had not been revealed; their faith in the power of the Saviour to turn all trials to a glorious triumph had not waned.

The door was shut upon Jesus, true, but now they supplicated Peter to penetrate into the house of Caiphas, in order to learn what was happening to their divine Master. Peter recalled to mind that he was acquainted with Obed, one of the servants of the High Priest, and placing Mary and the other women under a projecting porch opposite the palace, the depth of which would hide them from view, he left them in order to gain entrance.

Knocking gently at the door, which was opened to him at once, he inquired for Obed, and Obed, greeting him, motioned him to enter. This much the holy women saw—then the door was closed again and silence took possession of the place.

Secretly, Obed was a friend of Peter and a follower of Jesus. Now, sharing the Apostle's anxiety, he led ,him as far as the entrance of the tribunal itself and left him there with many cautions regarding silence and discretion.

The tribunal was on the ground floor, on one of the sides of the interior court. The hall was hung with purple, and appeared magnificent. It was lighted by torches set in chandeliers of massive silver. Here Caiphas was seated on an elevated throne, surrounded by the Ancients and the members of the council, and he had ordered Jesus, whose hands were still bound, to be brought before him.

Then began the most unjust trial the world has ever seen. Imagine, if one can, the furious and iniquitous joy which animated the whole council. They asked questions, but waited for no answers. Jesus replied to nothing—neither jibe nor taunt nor insult.

False witnesses, prepared beforehand, were heard. Peter listened, with indignant astonishment, to their lying depositions.

"And they found not—whereas many false witnesses had come in. And last of all there came two . . .

"And they said: This Man said I am able to destroy the temple of God, and after three days to rebuild it." (St. Matthew xxvi, 60, 61)

A triumphant joy played over the countenances of the judges. Caiphas smiled, and smote his hands upon his knees. Then rising, he said:

"Answerest Thou nothing to these things which these witness against Thee?"

But Jesus held His peace. He heard all with serene and unruffled dignity. The insults heaped upon Him left Him unmoved. The mockery flung at Him He met with majestic serenity. And this serenity at last had its effect. His very silence was casting scorn upon them.

And the High Priest said:

"I adjure Thee, BY THE LIVING GOD, that Thou tell us if Thou be the Christ, the Son of God?"

Silence once more—a silence that filled every nook of that impious court. And then in a firm, sweet, loud voice, Our Lord replied:

"Thou hast said it."

The words penetrated all hearts.

"Nevertheless, I say to you, hereafter you shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of the power of God, and coming in the clouds of heaven." (St. Matthew xxvi, 63, 64.)

Caiphas lifted his arms, and catching his robe at the throat, rent it, while his hands quivered with the passion that consumed him. His impious fury had sought but that pretext.

"He hath blasphemed! What further need have we of witnesses? Now you have heard His blasphemy—what think you?"

"He is guilty of death, He is guilty of death!" they shouted. And then ensued a scene such as had never before been witnessed in a court of inquiry or justice. Mad with fury, wild with rage and hatred, they spat upon His face. They struck Him with their open palms; with clenched fists they smote Him, each one striving to expend his frantic anger in a blow. And then, mocking and sneering, they cried:

'Prophesy unto us, O Christ, who he is that struck Thee!"

Then the soldiers led Jesus into the court where the servants and officers of the High Priest were warming themselves around a large fire. Caiphas had set them the example—they improved upon it. Outrages, injuries, scorn, violence, gross insults, fell, like the rain of the infernal regions, upon this Man, the Just among the unjust, the divine Redeemer of mankind.

O thrice-holy patience! How could a God endure and not annihilate these infernal wretches!

And Peter was there, hidden, Peter, who had declared, "Lord, I am ready to go with Thee both into prison and to death!" (St. Luke xxii, 33.) But here was prison and here was death, and Peter shrank in mortal fear from both. All courage had deserted him. He trembled and his face was ashen. He would have fled, but dared not until a favorable opportunity presented itself. He had forgotten everything. He had forgotten those words of his Master: "I say to thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day until thou thrice deniest that thou knowest Me!" (St. Luke xxii, 34.)

He was paralyzed with terror.

And at this moment a Galilean servant, passing by, observed him. From the peculiar shape of his robe she knew that he was from her native mountains.

"Thou art with Jesus of Nazareth?" she asked. "Perhaps thou art even one of His disciples?" Her voice testified the intensity of her pity. The sufferings which had been inflicted on the poor Prisoner had wounded her heart. But Peter, looking about him stealthily, fearing that these words would betray him to the cruel soldiery, exclaimed:

"I know not what thou sayest!"

He left her then. His fear gave him courage. He must make his escape. But even as he neared the door, another servant, the companion of the one who had already spoken, fixed her large dark eyes upon him.

"I have most assuredly seen thee among the disciples of Jesus" she said. "And not long since. It was the day on which we threw flowers beneath His feet. Why, I cast in His path the wedding-crown which Obed, whom thou knowest well, I am sure, had given me! How grand was that day. Who could have foreseen this?"

And the young girl turned to wipe the tears from her cheek.

"I do not know the Man," said Peter, desperately.

"Feasting and tears are bosom friends," said one standing close by, in rude accents.

"Po you not understand that some foolish people can not abide prosperity?" exclaimed another. More remarks followed, and presently, to Peter's great alarm, he saw that attention was concentrating round him. The executioners themselves began to look on with interest. One of them, still brandishing the short and cruel whip with which he had beaten the Prisoner, approached.

"Thou canst not make me believe that thou art not one of the disciples of Jesus" he said, mockingly. "Thy speech betrayeth thecf for a Galilian."

And he endeavored to imitate the thick and guttural accents which proclaimed the town of Peter's birth. The boisterous laughter of his companion^ greeted this sally. And Peter, quivering With fear, began to curse and swear in loud tones that he knew not Jesus of Nazareth.

At this very moment, a cock, roosting on the capital of one of the pillars, frightened by the noise and the brightness, began to crow and flap his wings loudly.

"And Peter remembered the words of Jesus." (St. Matthew xxvi, 75.)

At that cry, thrice repeated, he recovered from the passion of fear into which the events of this night had plunged him. Executioners, whips, cords, all faded. He was conscious only of his weakness, and of his Master's face—his Master, his beloved and loving Master, whom he had just denied! At this moment Jesus mildly turned His head and looked at the Apostle. That kind glance was full of pity and sweetness. A fearful sob burst from Peter's breast. He loved Him, his Master, so dearly! And this, this was how he had shown his love! With tears streaming down his cheeks, he rushed out into the night.

Mary was where he had left her; he fell on his knees at her feet. His bosom heaved with sighs which he could not repress. The Virgin, Mother of sorrows, let her sax! eyes rest upon the prostrate figure.

"Ah, Peter—why wilt thou not be at peace since He has pardoned thee?"

But such comfort was not for Peter yet. He buried his face in his cloak and wept. Magdalen and Salome dared not imagine what had happened. They only remembered that the Virgin knew all.

Her soul was pierced with so keen a sword of sorrow that she looked up to heaven, hoping thence to draw strength to bear the frightful hours that now stretched before her. She suffered with her Son, as only she could suffer, and prayed for the world, which God judged worthy of the immense sacrifice about to be offered.

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 35.

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE COUNCIL

TOWARD dusk a new council was held in the palace of the High Priest, Caiphas. The princes of the Priests, the officers of the Temple, the Doctors of the Law, the ancients of the people—all those who had premeditated the death of Jesus, united now to find the means of destroying Him.

One just man, Joseph of Arimathea, in secret a disciple of the Saviour, was there also. He had not been present during the first council, although a Doctor of the Law.

"This Man whom you wish to condemn does not seem a criminal to me" he said. "What is His guilt? He is touched by the miseries of the people, and seeks to appease and console them—not by deceitful hopes of riches and happiness, which can only be realized by revolting against the laws and authorities, but by the innocent and peaceful hopes of death.

"What is Reprehensible in this? To us who are rich and great, who are fed, perhaps unjustly, on the fat of the land, He has said we are not to amass treasures that the moth and rust can consume. If we were to follow these precepts, as wise as they are humane, the poor would suffer less, and would hate us less. What evil do you find in such instructions as these? I find none."

"The real evil is that He flatters the people in order to make Himself head," rejoined Caiphas, hotly. "To overthrow the Law; to destroy the respect which ought to be entertained for us, casting anathema both on our acts and our conduct. He fascinates the crowd by seditious speeches. Works false miracles to gain their affections! An impostor! Whose fallacious doctrines are to be condemned, since He plots against our personal security and against the security of the state."

Joseph saw, with alarm, that the real evil was the fear which Jesus had inspired in the hearts of these men. He tried to defend Him, but he knew how useless it was. The great never pardon those who cause them to tremble.

"But He is peaceable," he continued. "He is poor and He could have riches. He prays when He could menace. He commands patience and pardon of injuries. He returns good for evil, love for hatred. He would not crush the smallest worm. He would not extinguish the tiniest spark. And can you not recall how, in His boyhood, He astonished our intelligence by the force and sublimity of His doctrines?

"And is He not right? Should we not examine everything? Should we not combat all that is contrary to the Law? I have followed Him, I have tested His doctrine. The wisest of men could not, in a single instance, object to it. I have witnessed His miracles. I affirm to you that they are acts of love and mercy."

Seeing that some were listening to him with close attention, hope arose in Joseph's heart.

"Call to remembrance also, my brethren, the fact that He is loved by all, and that His partisans are united at Jerusalem for the feasts of the Passover, from which, as you see, He does not lead them. How would you attack Him in the midst of this crowd, which follows Him, and believes Him to be the Messias promised to the people of Israel? You said in the first council, I believe, that a revolt would occur in His favor if you permitted Him to live. Pear, instead, that the revolt will break out at once if you seek to seize Him in order to kill Him. Be guided by reason. Do not court certain peril to avoid one that does not threaten you. Precipitate nothing. Continue to examine His speech—"

He spoke warmly. He began to hope that he might turn the tide in favor of the Nazarene.

But at that very moment Judas Iscariot arrived upon the scene. He half-opened the door of the council-room. His eyes were wild, his face haggard, he was breathless. And he stood still, saying nothing.

"Who has given thee authority to enter here?" demanded Caiphas, recognizing him as one of the Twelve. (So they were called who continually followed Jesus.) "Dost thou come to spy upon us, that thou mayest repeat our words to thy Master?"

"I do not come to spy upon you," said Judas, contemptuously. "What need has He of spies? Does He not know everything that passes in heaven or upon earth ? I have long believed it and it may be so, but," he added, with a terrible smile, "He knows not what passes in hearts."

"What do you mean?" demanded Joseph of Arimathea. Judas' manner inspired him with dread.

"If He had been able to read the heart He would never have allowed me to approach Him."

"Why not?" continued Joseph, anxious to distract the attention of his fellows. "Perhaps He believed that His goodness toward thee would enkindle repentance."

A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the traitor. He cast savage glances about him, and his burning hands clutched convulsively at his mantle.

"What does it matter?" he asked huskily. "Whether He could or could not read the depth of the heart? He has wounded me and I have left Him."

"Thou hast left Him!" cried Caiphas. He and several others approached nearer to Judas.

"Thou hast left Him?" repeated Joseph with indignation. "Wretch, what comest thou here to do?"

"Friend, what comest thou here to do?" asked Caiphas, in a soft, insinuating tone.

"Let me breathe," said Judas."I am suffocated. I have walked so quickly."

It was not the walking that made his breathing difficult. Judas was a powerful and indefatigable man, who could Have marched from Jerusalem to Joppe without losing breath.

No. It was that sudden oppression of spirit which seizes upon the heart, overpowering it, when a crime of such dread import is about to be committed.

"Well, then, we shall listen," said one of the Doctors, and the whole council seated itself in order to hear him.

"I come," said Judas, in a steady tone, "to offer to betray unto you, secretly, Jesus, the Nazarene."

"Infamous ingrate!" exclaimed Joseph.

But the others, rising at once, surrounded the traitor.

"If you do this you will merit well of your country," said Caiphas. "Your name will be famous from age to age."

"As the name of Cain is famous," said a voice in the crowd. It was lost in the midst of the interested encouragement of Priests and Doctors.

"What is the price you would set upon your treachery?" asked Joseph in a tone of contempt.

Judas looked at him with resentment, but Caiphas had no intention of letting such an opportunity as this slip by. They made Judas seat himself, and presently Joseph heard the bargain being concluded.  The traitor agreed to deliver Jesus for thirty pieces of silver—the price for which the death of a slave was bought among the Hebrews.

During this frightful bargaining, hell leaped with joy, and the devil in the soul of Judas saw the accomplishment of his dearest desire. All the chiefs of the damned accompanied him, and rejoiced around him—for the children of darkness live in an ever-present, blind hatred and the future is hidden from them.

They hate the just, and behold the~accomplishment of a crime with as much pleasure as the angels of light view with joy a noble and generous act. But had it been able to see the future, hell would have been shaken to its depths. For this crime was to limit its power and set bounds to its daring.

The Priests and Doctors applauded the deed of this wretched being. He swore to deliver Jesus into their hands on the following day, and they paid him the money agreed upon.

At that very moment the evil spirits came forth from the abyss. They spread themselves upon the earth. Bad passions were loosed. Trouble entered into every soul. At once a combat arose; for the celestial angels redoubled their solicitude, striving to make their voices heard by those with whose guardianship they were entrusted.

They spoke of the joys of heaven and the horrors of hell of the promises of God, and of His threats; of the joys of the elect, and of the wailings and gnashings of teeth of the reprobate. They wept and moaned, and strove to bring back those who went astray.

But the fallen angel laughed derisively at the works of God, at His menaces and His promises.

"What matters the future? Is not life its own goal? To pass through it happily is all that need be sought after."

So they promised to some the favor of Caesar if the impostor were destroyed. To others the favor of the tetrarch if this object of his fears should be taken from before his eyes. To superiors the favor of the prince's favorites; to the lowest some object of ambition or cupidity—that ever powerful bait which the rebellious angel has successfully employed to lure souls to destruction.

At a distance the world continued to be plunged in the same distractions, giving itself up to works of foolishness, to ephemeral joys, to brute pleasures, to agitations ending in death. And the destiny of the human race was here decided, in this small corner of Judea—between a God, a voluntary victim—and His blind creatures.

And Mary, with the gift which her Son had bestowed upon her intensified in this atmosphere of hate and anger and bitterness, cast a look of sorrow upon the Magdalen.

"It has come," she murmured. "The Son of God has been betrayed."