“Then I went home, but not to sleep. The veil was torn aside. I felt that something terrible was going to happen, and far on to midnight I tossed or walked about. They said afterwards that this had been the hour of His agony, that cruel fight of God with God, in which human soul is pierced and spirit torn in pain that may well bring sweat drops to the brow. They had not watched, heavy with sleep, whilst I within the city sat with eyes like burning coal staring at darkness. Then in the morning I heard that He was taken, that Judas had betrayed Him. I don’t think I ever understood the danger, except for one chill fear that came and went. He was so strong, so sure, so loved of all the people; but a week ago they had gone out to welcome Him, now they would rescue Him, their friend and teacher whom they loved. I felt somehow that this was going to be the climax, the great crisis that would begin and end the struggle that was to make Him king. And so with a beating heart and flying step I made to where the crowd was gathered outside the high priest’s house. There was a silence which I could not understand, one of those fatal, ominous silences that a spark can send crashing like a thunder-storm. “When, later, He came out to go to Pilate I expected to hear the cheers and cry that still were ringing in my ears. But no sound came save the dull murmur of disappointment—at nothing, perhaps. I strained my eyes to catch a sight of His beloved face. It was the same with a difference—and with the sight of it my empty dream of kingdoms vanished like air. The agony of the garden made the difference; this was a dying animal brought to bay—a broken heart holding itself together with the firmness of heaven to stand the last sad onslaught. “I saw the proud Pharisees and priests pass by in the procession. “How I hated them! “With a hate so black it poisoned all my blood. “I longed to cry out and raise the crowd against them, that crowd which, though it laughed, loved me in its own coarse way and hated them. An iron hand with fingers strong as death clenched at my throat and strangled every sound. That cry would have altered the day. The crowd longed for excitement and it found none. It grew sulky, ready to follow the first leader who came forward on either side, for good or bad. “I followed with the stream to Pilate’s house, and after that I remember nothing but one long, unnatural dream. I couldn’t understand a thing that happened; the crowd, which I thought would weep and fight for Him, was suddenly one great howling mass of laughter, ready for any jest or foolery that might present itself. And a crowd that laughs when a man is on trial for death is a fearful thing—it can be roused to any cruelty. Poor things! They were disappointed in Him. And those who hated Him, and wished to see Him dead, worked on this disappointment by laughter and derision. * * * * * _Passage here omitted_