So she departed as one who must, but who willeth not to go, and the night hours came upon all the city of Jerusalem.
Now at an earlier hour of that day there had been standing in the private room of Pontius the Spearman a tall and stately matron attired in costly garments, and before her stood a youth whose face was full of great agony.
"Be thou silent!" she commanded. "This was my doing. Questionest thou me? What is my freed woman unto such as thou art? Thou hast naught to do with Sapphira! Speak not of the matter to the procurator! I do counsel thee well. Thou art but a youth, O Lysias, and in youth there is folly!"
Low bent his head and his bosom heaved with pain, but he was silent. The face of the matron was noble in shape, and not unkindly, but in it was great haughtiness, for the wife of the procurator was as a queen and no man might question her will. She looked now at the young Greek, pitying him for a moment, and then she went from the room, saying no more, for the matter was ended, and he yet stood there alone.
"All the gods have forgotten me," murmured Lysias. "I will but make my report to the procurator and I will depart—I care not whither."
Even as he spoke the ruler of Judea entered the room, striding as if in haste.
"Thou art here?" he said, and his face was red, as if in hot anger. "Speak on, O Greek! Tell me of all thy doings, from the first to the last, beginning with Cornelius at Cæsarea."
"O most noble Pontius," said Lysias, "from the centurion, this parchment, sealed. He gave me no words to utter."
"I will read," said Pontius, but the epistle may have been not only brief but troublesome, for his face darkened yet more angrily.