to him—­everything—­everything.  Now in His need they had left Him alone, had not even had the courage to acknowledge themselves His supporters.  “Oh, Simon!” he said to himself, “you should have stayed by your lake instead of playing at being the chosen of God.  He gave me His Kingdom of Heaven and this is how I requite Him!” His life was now so broken that he crept out into the desert.  There he threw himself on a stone, wrung his hands, and abandoned himself to weeping.

Jesus was at last brought into the hall before the Governor.  When Pilate saw Him in that unheard-of disguise, his temper began to rise.  He was not to be waked from His sleep for a joke.  Well, the Jews had mocked at their Messiah-King, and He would mock at them through Him.

He heard the accusation but found nothing in it.  “What?” he said to the High Priests and their supporters, “I’m to condemn your King?  Why, what are you thinking of?” Instead of terrifying the accused with his judicial dignity, he desired to enter into conversation with Him.  Although the Nazarene stood there in such wretched plight, He must have something in Him to have roused the masses as He did.  He wanted to make His acquaintance.  In a friendly manner he put mocking questions to Him.  Did he really know anything special of God?  Would He not tell him too, for even heathens were sometimes curious about the Kingdom of Heaven?  How should a man set about loving a God whom no one had ever seen?  Or which among the gods was the true one?  And for the life of him he would like to know what truth really was.

Jesus said not a word.

“You do not seem to lack the virtue of pride,” continued Pilate, “and that’s in your favour.  You know, of course, in whose presence you stand, in the presence of one who has the power, to put you to death, or to set you free.”

Jesus was still silent.

The crowd which already filled the large courtyard became more and more noisy and unmanageable.  Rabbis slipped through it in order to fan the fire, and on all sides sentence of death was eagerly demanded.  Pilate shrugged his shoulders.  He did not understand the people.  But he could not condemn an innocent man to death.  He would let the Nazarene just as He was step out on to the balcony.  He himself took a torch from a slave’s hand to light up the pitiful figure.  “Look,” he called down to the crowd, “look at the poor fellow!”

“To the gallows with him!  To the cross with him!” shouted the crowd.

“If,” said Pilate, preserving his ironical tone, “if you do not want to miss your Passover spectacle, go out there; no fear of criminals not being crucified to-day.  What do you say to Barabbas, the desert king?  O ye men of Jerusalem, be satisfied with one king.”

“We want to see this Jesus crucified,” raged the people.

“But why, by Jupiter?  I cannot see that He is guilty of anything.”