over this pathway with his disciples to find repose at night in this very garden of Joseph where now they made his tomb.
We laid the body in the inner crypt and after I had examined carefully the outer chamber, that it was all hewn from solid rock, my stout fellows rolled the heavy stone in its well-proportioned groove to the door, dropped it into the niche and across the stone I stretched a purple cord that spoke of the imperial dignities, and upon either end of the cord smeared the wax and made the imprint of Pilate's signet ring. I bade the soldiers turn their faces from me while I myself did the foolish thing, for I knew the grinning rascals mocked me, especially that black-browed Stephen whose own spear had pierced the prophet's heart. Too often he had given the death thrust not to know when it was well done, and here, while the very heavens mocked and while the deep, breaking sobs of women chanted a dirge of death, we were making confession of a procurator's shameful fear. Do I err, Marcus, when I set you this down in such painful detail? I trow not; for those trivialities, impressed upon me then because of their shameful uselessness, now burn into my memory.
I remained about the garden until the watch had been changed and saw all disposed for the night, then made the best of my way down the darkened sides of the valley and up by the Pool of the Angel to the temple mound and thence to the tower where, weary as I was, I could not refrain from writing you of the death of the Jew.
It was a strange thing that on the morrow the grove and the garden cast a spell over me. I could not wait
