"But if you really.... But why be angry with poor Judas, who only
desires his children's good. You also have children, young and
handsome."

"We shall find some one else. Be gone!"

"But I--I did not say that I was unwilling to make a reduction. Did
I ever say that I could not too yield? And do I not believe you, that
possibly another may come and sell Jesus to you for fifteen oboli--nay,
for two--for one?"

And bowing lower and lower, wriggling and flattering, Judas submissively
consented to the sum offered to him. Annas shamefacedly, with dry,
trembling hand, paid him the money, and silently looking round, as
though scorched, lifted his head again and again towards the ceiling,
and moving his lips rapidly, waited while Judas tested with his teeth
all the silver pieces, one after another.

"There is now so much bad money about," Judas quickly explained.

"This money was devoted to the Temple by the pious," said Annas,
glancing round quickly, and still more quickly turning the ruddy bald
nape of his neck to Judas' view.

"But can pious people distinguish between good and bad money! Only
rascals can do that."

Judas did not take the money home, but went beyond the city and hid
it under a stone. Then he came back again quietly with heavy, dragging
steps, as a wounded animal creeps slowly to its lair after a severe and
deadly fight. Only Judas had no lair; but there was a house, and in
the house he perceived Jesus. Weary and thin, exhausted with continual
strife with the Pharisees, who surrounded Him every day in the Temple
with a wall of white, shining, scholarly foreheads, He was sitting,
leaning His cheek against the rough wall, apparently fast asleep.
Through the open window drifted the restless noises of the city. On the
other side of the wall Peter was hammering, as he put together a new
table for the meal, humming the while a quiet Galilean song. But He
heard nothing; he slept on peacefully and soundly. And this was He, whom
they had bought for thirty pieces of silver.

Coming forward noiselessly, Judas, with the tender touch of a mother,
who fears to wake her sick child--with the wonderment of a wild beast
as it creeps from its lair suddenly, charmed by the sight of a white
flowerlet--he gently touched His soft locks, and then quickly withdrew
his hand. Once more he touched Him, and then silently crept out.

"Lord! Lord!" said he.

And going apart, he wept long, shrinking and wriggling and scratching
h