It was Judas Iscariot who spoke. "Why was all this ointment wasted?" he asked. "It would have been better to have sold it and given it to the poor."
Simon frowned indignantly at this low-browed guest, who was so lacking in courtesy, and Mary looked up distressed.
"Let her alone!" said the Master, gently. "Ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will, ye may do them good: but me ye have not always. She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying."
A dark look gleamed in the eyes of Judas,—there was that reference again to His burial. There seemed to be no use of making any further pretence to follow Him any longer. His kingdom was a delusion,—a vague, shadowy, spiritual thing that the others might believe in if they chose. But if there was no longer any hope of gaining by His service, he would turn to the other side.
That night there was another secret council of some of the Sanhedrin, and Judas Iscariot was in their midst.
"A DARK FIGURE WENT SKULKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT"
When the lights were out, and the Temple police were making their final rounds, a dark figure went skulking out into the night, and wound its way through the narrow streets,—the dark figure that still goes skulking through the night of history,—the man who covenanted for thirty pieces of silver to betray his Lord.