He had written it all day, and dreamed of it all night.

He had been in the stable at Bethlehem, he had wandered by the Lake of Gennesaret, and spent nights in the wilderness of Judaea.

He had journeyed to Sidon, and across the mountains to Jerusalem.

He, a prisoner in jail and sentenced to death, had stood on the Mount of Olives, he had been in Bethany and supped at Jesus' side.

But now he felt almost indifferent to the thought.