He was from the East, now they knew, come from some triumph.

He had been hailed as King, adored as Divine, as was meet and right--He, the humble superhuman son of a Human Mother--who bore not a sword but peace, not a cross but a crown.

So it seemed He was saying; yet no man there knew whether He said it or not--whether the voice proclaimed it, or their hearts asserted it.
He was on the steps of the sanctuary now, still with outstretched hands and pouring words, and the mob rolled after him to the rumble of ten thousand feet and the sighing of ten thousand hearts....

He was at the altar; He was upon it.

Again in one last cry, as the crowd broke against the steps beneath, He hailed her Queen and Mother.
The end came in a moment, swift and inevitable.