Suddenly Jesus stood in the doorway. Peter's throat went dry. What had they done to his Master? His face was swollen from many blows. It glistened wet in the firelight--they had spit on him! Jesus stumbled as he came down the short stone staircase. A rough fellow kicked him. "Get along there!" He laughed coarsely. Pity flooded through Peter, then rage at the man who had hurt Jesus. "What is the verdict?" A man was speaking to Peter. "The verdict?" Peter mumbled the words stupidly. Another man answered the question. "He is doomed to die." Peter looked from one to the other. "Die?" "Yes. They are going to ask Pilate to sentence him to death." The others looked at Peter curiously. Someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Say, you! Didn't I see you in the olive orchard?" A guard! He waved to the others. "Come over here! Here is one of the Galileans. Listen to his accent!" Like icy water, fear swept Peter's daze away. Faces full of scorn surrounded him. Panic-stricken, Peter wrenched loose. "In the name of God, I never even heard of this Jesus!" he swore. "What are you talking about?" Then a shrill sound caught Peter's ear. The words stopped in his throat. Outside the wall a rooster was crowing. Peter's lips were open, but no sound came from them. He was staring at the man who had accused him, but he didn't see him. The flush of anger and panic drained from his face. Jesus had heard. With terrible dread, Peter watched his Master turn. Their eyes met. Time stood still. Peter forgot everyone else: there were just the two of them. Master and cursing disciple. The sadness in Jesus' eyes burned through Peter. "Do you betray me too, Peter?" the Master seemed to say. "Come on! Get going!" A guard slapped Jesus heavily. Driven by the rough men, Jesus went out of the gate. Like a sleepwalker, Peter followed. The guards did not try to stop him. The servant woman at the gate did not notice him. For an instant he stood in the street watching the men take Jesus away. The gate closed behind him. Then the terrible dream broke; scalding tears flooded Peter's eyes. They came from his very heart. He walked a little way down the dark street and stopped, leaning against a stone wall. Desperately he pressed his face into his hands. How could he stand this bitter remorse? If only he had been faithful to his Master! Peter was certain that the end had come; he dreaded seeing his Master condemned to death by the Roman governor, Pilate. All night he walked the deserted streets of Jerusalem. But when morning came he could not stay away from the fortress of Antonia, where he knew that Jesus would soon be brought before Pilate.