“He is possessed of a devil,” they said.  “He will die and repent not.”

But others nodded approvingly and wagged their filthy heads and said that when the fool had been chastised the evil spirit would depart from him.

Once more the cloud of passing time descended and was lifted.  Then the walls of the house were opened and in a low arched chamber the rabbis sat about a black table.  It was night and a single smoking lamp was lighted, a mere wick projecting out of a three-cornered vessel of copper which was full of oil and was hung from the vault with blackened wires.  Seven rabbis sat at the board, and at the head sat Lazarus.  Their crooked hands and claw-like nails moved uneasily and there was a lurid fire in their vulture’s eyes.  They bent forward, speaking to each other in low tones, and from beneath their greasy caps their anointed side curls dangled and swung as they moved their heads.  But Levi the Short-handed was not among them.  Their muffled talk was interrupted from time to time by the sound of sharp, loud blows, as of a hammer striking upon nails, and as though a carpenter were at work not far from the room in which they sat.

“He has not repented,” said Lazarus, from his place.  “Neither many stripes, nor cold, nor hunger, nor thirst, have moved him to righteousness.  It is written that he shall be cut off from his people.”

“He shall be cut off,” answered the rabbis with one voice.

“It is right and just that he should die,” continued the father.  “Shall we give him over to the Christians that he may dwell among them and become one of them, and be shown before the world to our shame?”

“We will not let him go,” said the dark man, and an evil smile flickered from one face to another as a firefly flutters from tree to tree in the night—­as though the spirit of evil had touched each one in turn.

“We will not let him go,” said each again.

Lazarus also smiled as though in assent, and bowed his head a little before he spoke.

“I am obedient to your judgment.  It is yours to command and mine to obey.  If you say that he must die, let him die.  He is my son.  Take him.  Did not our father Abraham lay Isaac upon the altar and offer him as a burnt sacrifice before the Lord?”

“Let him die,” said the rabbis.

“Then let him die,” answered Lazarus.  “I am your servant.  It is mine to obey.”

“His blood be on our heads,” they said.  And again, the evil smile went round.

“It is then expedient that we determine of what manner his death shall be,” continued the father, inclining his body to signify his submission.

“It is not lawful to shed his blood,” said the rabbis.  “And we cannot stone him, lest we be brought to judgment of the Christians.  Determine thou the manner of his death.”

“My masters, if you will it, let him be brought once more before us.  Let us all hear with our ears his denial, and if he repent at the last, it is well, let him live.  But if he harden his heart against our entreaties, let him die.  Levi hath brought certain pieces of wood hither to my house, and is even now at work.  If the youth is still stubborn in his unbelief, let him die even as the Unbeliever died—­by the righteous judgment of the Romans.”