swered respectfully, "We seek Jesus, the Nazarene." He took a step forward further into the circle of the lights that flickered more each minute from the cowardly trembling of those who held them, and said in that same voice of his, which reminded me now of the far-off murmur of a cataract: "I am he."
When the man uttered these words, that group of hirelings wilted to the earth in rows as if cut down by some giant sickle. Am I a coward? No, you know that I am not; but when he had finished speaking, I was on my knees. I said I was not a coward. These others fell before his glance because his eye swept them as a scorching fire, because they were arrant cowards. I fell upon my knees in admiration of the man. But while I looked, the kingliness seemed to retire. That self-assertion of a high-born majesty went back a little into the face of him. Something as though a man could do, yet would not do what he could. Once, I am told, when a woman pressed upon him in a throng for healing and touched the hem of his garment, he said, "My power goeth out from me." Now, it was as though his power went back into him from without. Even the cowards felt the change. And that sneaking hang-dog of a Judas disentangled himself from the crouching group and went forward, saying, "Master, I salute thee," and kissed him on the brow. With that the curs became very brave. They swarmed around him like jackals and began to hustle him—such treatment as I permit not to any prisoner in my charge; but before I could act, a great raw-boned giant of a Galilean had swung a rusty fish knife that he plucked from out his tunic so hard at Malchus, the cowardly leader of the cowardly pack, as to
