Now so it was that, while we were at meat, behold, one of the women came behind Jesus, having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head, at the same time uttering most piteous cries and lamentations. Then Judas changed colour; for his heart misgave him, as I judge, that the lamentations of the women might prove true; and besides, he was wrath perchance because the love wherewith this woman loved Jesus put his semblance of love utterly to shame. Therefore he rose up from his seat in indignation and said, “To what purpose is this waste? for this ointment might have been sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor.” We also ourselves in like manner murmured against the woman. But Jesus said, “Why trouble ye the woman? for she hath wrought a good work upon me. For ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body she did it for my burial.” Then he paused, and mused for an instant, and added a prophecy, that wheresoever his good tidings of Redemption should be proclaimed in the whole world, there also should this that this woman had done be told for a memorial of her. Now before these words, while we had sat at meat listening to the discourse of Jesus, Judas seemed as if his heart were enlarged towards Jesus; and albeit at times he fell to pondering and musing (like unto a man doubting of two courses which to take), yet anon he would be aroused by some word that Jesus spake; and then his countenance would kindle, and he would stoop forward, as in old times, with his eyes all a‐glow, listening as if he would fain devour each syllable with his ears. But now his countenance fell, and he was filled with rage because he had been rebuked by Jesus; and he went forth from the chamber, and we saw him that night no more. But as for us that remained, our hearts became exceeding sorrowful; for now indeed it pressed upon us that the departure of Jesus must needs be sad and grievous and full of sorrow, like unto death. But still, that he should die indeed, and be buried: this, even now, we could in no wise believe. CHAPTER XXVIII