amidst the uproar, I or Annas should lay hands on Him." So thought Caiaphas aloud; so, later, he expressed himself; but, deep down in his heart, he knew that the Man who boldly in the Temple had denounced the scribes and Pharisees, even the very ruler of Israel himself, and called them hypocrites and whitened sepulchres, could have no fear. Yes, he had noted in the eyes of the Messiah, the only time he had seen Him in the multitude, a look that could goad a man only to untempered penitence, or to deepest hellish hate. That look had pierced Caiaphas to his inmost being. It had seemed to read the secret of his heart, with pity and with scorn that one so learned could be so ignorant, or that, knowing, could so wilfully withhold his knowledge from the nation, and try to cheat his God. That look had ranked Caiaphas with the devils, and surely the sin of Caiaphas was one with that of Satan, who pitted his strength against his God, and tried, poor puny atom of evil, to strive with the Creator and Director of the Universe.
Wearied with his ceaseless pacings to and fro, Caiaphas threw himself upon his couch. His triumph, the triumph of the law, was close at hand. With the failure of Jesus (for what could it be but failure, if Jesus was afraid to save His friend for fear of the multitude?) would begin again the power of the Pharisees, only it would be a thousand times more strong and more despotic. Like wayward children, the people would return. Like one repulsed, they would fall back beneath the sway of Caiaphas. He could hear himself denouncing from the altar their temporary infidelity.
