“’The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul:  but the belly of the wicked shall want.’”

But his pleasant speeches were rare, which gave them the greater value.  For the most part he was silent, listening attentively to what was said, and always meditating.

When reflecting, Judas had an unpleasant look, ridiculous and at the same time awe-inspiring.  As long as his quick, crafty eye was in motion, he seemed simple and good-natured enough, but directly both eyes became fixed in an immovable stare, and the skin on his protruding forehead gathered into strange ridges and creases, a distressing surmise would force itself on one, that under that skull some very peculiar thoughts were working.  So thoroughly apart, peculiar, and voiceless were the thoughts which enveloped Iscariot in the deep silence of secrecy, when he was in one of his reveries, that one would have preferred that he should begin to speak, to move, nay, even, to tell lies.  For a lie, spoken by a human tongue, had been truth and light compared with that hopelessly deep and unresponsive silence.

“In the dumps again, Judas?” Peter would cry with his clear voice and bright smile, suddenly breaking in upon the sombre silence of Judas’ thoughts, and banishing them to some dark corner.  “What are you thinking about?”

“Of many things,” Iscariot would reply with a quiet smile.  And perceiving, apparently, what a bad impression his silence made upon the others, he began more frequently to shun the society of the disciples, and spent much time in solitary walks, or would betake himself to the flat roof and there sit still.  And more than once he startled Thomas, who has unexpectedly stumbled in the darkness against a grey heap, out of which the hands and feet of Judas suddenly started, and his jeering voice was heard.

But one day, in a specially brusque and strange manner, Judas recalled his former character.  This happened on the occasion of the quarrel for the first place in the kingdom of heaven.  Peter and John were disputing together, hotly contending each for his own place nearest to Jesus.  They reckoned up their services, they measured the degrees of their love for Jesus, they became heated and noisy, and even reviled one another without restraint.  Peter roared, all red with anger.  John was quiet and pale, with trembling hands and biting speech.  Their quarrel had already passed the bounds of decency, and the Master had begun to frown, when Peter looked up by chance on Judas, and laughed self-complacently:  John, too, looked at Judas, and also smiled.  Each of them recalled what the cunning Judas had said to him.  And foretasting the joy of approaching triumph, they, with silent consent, invited Judas to decide the matter.

Peter called out, “Come now, Judas the wise, tell us who will be first, nearest to Jesus, he or I?”

But Judas remained silent, breathing heavily, his eyes eagerly questioning the quiet, deep eyes of Jesus.