When they had all drawn back from the cross, and the executioners were preparing to raise up the two desert robbers, the woman who had swooned, supported by the disciple John, tottered up to the tall cross and put her arms round its trunk so that the blood ran down upon her.  So infinite was her pain that it seemed as if seven swords had pierced her heart.  Jesus looked down, and how muffled was the voice in which He said:  “John, take care of My mother!  Mother, here is John, your son!”

A murmur arose in the crowd:  “His mother?  Is that His mother?  Oh, poor things!  And the handsome young man His brother?  The poor creatures!  Look how He turns to them as if He would comfort them.”

Many a man passed his hand over his eyes, the women sobbed aloud.  And a dull lamentation began to go through the people—­the same people who had so angrily demanded His death.  And they talked together.

“He can’t suffer much longer.”

“No, I’ve had some experience.  I’ve been here every Passover.  But this time——­”

“If I only knew what is written on the tablet.”

“Over His head?  My sight seems to have gone.”

“Inri!” exclaimed somebody,

“Inri!  Somebody calls out ‘Inri.’”

“Those are the letters on the tablet.”

“But the man’s name’s not Inri.”

“Something quite different, my friend.  That is Pilate’s joke. Jesus Nazarenus Rex Judaeorum.”

“Don’t talk to me in that accursed Latin tongue.”

“In good Hebrew:  Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”

“Now, they’ve got Him in the middle,” said another, for the two robbers had been hoisted up to the right and left of Him.  The one on the left stretched out his neck, and mocked at Jesus with a distorted face:  “I suppose, neighbour, that you too are one of those who get executed just because they are weaklings.  Jump from the cross, rush among them, and the wretches will idolise you!”

Jesus did not answer him.  He turned His head towards the man who hung on His right who saw the moment approaching when his legs would be broken.  In the agony of death, and in penitence for his ill-spent life, he turned to Him whom they called Messiah and Christ.  And when he saw the expression with which Jesus looked at him, a curious shudder passed through the criminal’s heart.  How the man on the cross gazed at him, with His fading eyes—­My God!—­it was the never-to-be-forgotten holy look which a little child had given him in the days of his youth.  Dismas began to weep, and said:  “Lord, you are from heaven!  When you return home, remember me.”

And Jesus said to him:  “There is mercy for all who repent!  To-day, Dismas, you and I will be together at the Heavenly Father’s home.”

“He is from heaven!” was heard in the crowd.  “He is from heaven!” One of the Roman soldiers threw his spear away, and exclaimed in immense excitement:  “Verily, He is the Son of God!”