Then the old woman perceived that Tiberius had never expected any help from the Prophet of Nazareth. “Why did you let me make the journey to that distant land, if you believed all the while that it was useless?” “You are the only friend I have,” said the Emperor. “Why should I deny your prayer, so long as I still have the power to grant it.” But the old woman did not like it that the Emperor had taken her for a fool. “Ah! this is your usual cunning,” she burst out. “This is just what I can tolerate least in you.” “You should not have come back to me,” said Tiberius. “You should have remained in the mountains.” It looked for a moment as if these two, who had clashed so often, would again fall into a war of words, but the old woman’s anger subsided immediately. The times were past when she could quarrel in earnest with the Emperor. She lowered her voice again; but she could not altogether relinquish every effort to obtain justice. “But this man was really a prophet,” she said. “I have seen him. When his eyes met mine, I thought he was a god. I was mad to allow him to go to his death.” “I am glad you let him die,” said Tiberius. “He was a traitor and a dangerous agitator.” Faustina was about to burst into another passion—then checked herself. “I have spoken with many of his friends in Jerusalem about him,” said she. “He had not committed the crimes for which he was arraigned.” “Even if he had not committed just these crimes, he was surely no better than any one else,” said the Emperor wearily. “Where will you find the person who during his lifetime has not a thousand times deserved death?” But these remarks of the Emperor decided Faustina to undertake something which she had until now hesitated about. “I will show you a proof of his power,” said she. “I said to you just now that I laid my kerchief over his face. It is the same kerchief which I hold in my hand. Will you look at it a moment?” She spread the kerchief out before the Emperor, and he saw delineated thereon the shadowy likeness of a human face. The old woman’s voice shook with emotion as she continued: “This man saw that I loved him. I know not by what power he was enabled to leave me his portrait. But mine eyes fill up with tears when I see it.” The Emperor leaned forward and regarded the picture, which appeared to be made up of blood and tears and the dark shadows of grief. Gradually the whole face stood out before him, exactly as it had been imprinted upon the kerchief. He saw the blood-drops on the forehead, the piercing thorn-crown, the hair, which was matted with blood, and the mouth whose lips seemed to quiver with agony. He bent down closer and closer to the picture. The face stood out clearer and clearer. From out the shadow-like outlines, all at once, he saw the eyes sparkle as with hidden life. And while they spoke to him of the most terrible suffering, they also revealed a purity and sublimity which he had never seen before.