Slowly it rose, supported by poles, and as soon as it stood straight the foot of the cross was set so roughly in its hole that the body shook with a dull groan.

The wounds made by the nails in the hands and feet were torn open, the blood ran in dark streams over the white body, down the stake, and dropped on the ground.

And from the lips of Him on the cross this loud cry was heard, "O, Father, forgive them, forgive them! For they know not what they do." A strange murmur arose in the crowd, and those who had not understood the cry asked their neighbours to repeat it.

"He asks pardon for His enemies?
For His enemies?
He is praying for His enemies ?" "Then--then He cannot be human!" "He forgives those who despised, slandered, scorned, beat, crucified Him?
When dying He thinks of His enemies and pardons them?
Then it is as He said, He is indeed the Christ! I always thought He was the Christ.

I said so only last Sabbath!" The voices grew louder.
Schobal, the old clothes dealer, pushed about in the crowd and offered the Messiah's coat for twenty pence.
"If He is the Messiah," shouted a Rabbi hoarsely, "let Him free Himself.