He smiled a sweetly-satisfied smile, and continued.
"Yes, pretty, but more than pretty—-it is historical. You have, of course, heard of my ancestor?"
"N—no. I don't remember just now."
"What? Never heard of Pontius Pilate?"
"Pontius Pilate? Oh, yes—died of a skin disease, didn't he?
He approached me with a proud and stately stride, and, tapping his manly bosom with a forefinger, said, in a voice thick with emotion, or something stronger—
"That man was my ancestor. I am proud of it. But for him there would have been no sacrifice of the blood of the lamb, and no atonement. He was the greatest benefactor that mankind ever saw, and I—I am his descendant. I am proud of it."
I said: "This is very interesting—I should like to see your pedigree."
"Ah! I regret to say that the family records have been sadly neglected—but I have the skin disease of which you spoke. It is hereditary."
I moved a little further off.
He continued: "Yes, I have the skin disease. It is a proof of what I tell you. Would you like to see it?"
"N—no thanks; I'm afraid I haven't time just now."
