Part 8

The hand of Johann Werther was raised, and, when he had been given permission to speak, he asked:

“Are all women daughters of Eve?”

“Yea, yea,” declared the Herr Doktor. “Thou knowest that Eve was the mother of all.”

“And Walda Kellar is to be the instrument of the Lord?”

“Why ask foolish questions? Thou knowest she is to be the inspired one.”

“I would know why a man was not chosen instead of a daughter of Eve?” said Johann.

“Thou shouldst use thy silly brain for less mighty questions,” was the stern reply. Turning to the school-master the Herr Doktor gave the order:

“Dismiss thy pupils.” Adding: “We would talk with thee.”

Gerson Brandt sent the boys out-of-doors, and then waited for the president of the colony to speak.

“Brother Weisel and I are dissatisfied about many things in the colony,” announced Adolph Schneider, taking a seat on the platform. “There is general discontent. If the _Untersuchung_ were not so near, we should be alarmed for the peace of Zanah. The loss of the Bible hath cast suspicion upon thee, Brother Brandt. It is not my desire to say unpleasant things to thee, but in Zanah we are all truthful. Thou wilt not again be elected as elder unless thou canst trace the Bible.”

“It would be better for thee to say that Brother Brandt cannot be elected unless he decides to bring the Bible from the hidden place that he hath found for it,” broke in Karl Weisel.

“Silence!” commanded the school-master. “Thou shalt not accuse me of stealing the Bible from the colony of Zanah and then of denying all knowledge of it. Take back thy cowardly words.”

“It is the custom to speak what we hold to be the truth,” said Karl Weisel, in a mocking tone. “I believe that thou knowest where that Bible is secreted.”

“It hath been said that men always suspect other men of being what they themselves are, and so I make some allowance for thy words; but thou shalt ask my pardon.” Gerson Brandt spoke calmly, but his tone as well as his words made the elder cringe.

“I spoke merely for thine own good. It were better that I told thee what I thought than that I thought these things and turned to thee a dissembling face.”

“Crave my pardon,” said Gerson Brandt.

“I humiliate myself before no man,” said Karl Weisel. “It is my right to say what I think.”

“It is not thy right to cast aspersions on mine honor. I give thee one more chance to retract thy base charges.”

Karl Weisel put his fat hands into his deep pockets, rose from his chair, and walked back and forth upon the platform.

“This quarrel is most unseemly,” remarked Adolph Schneider, who had been leaning on his cane and idly listening.

“Speak!” said Gerson Brandt. “Thou shalt not leave this room until thou hast taken back thy words.”

Karl Weisel laughed, but in an instant the school-master had sprung upon the platform. He clutched the man by the collar, and, with the strength born of a tremendous indignation, he shook the heavy body of Karl Weisel until the elder’s teeth chattered.

“Loose thine hold upon me!” cried Karl Weisel, who had turned pale with terror.

Gerson Brandt flung him off. He knew he had forgotten all the precepts of the colony, but again the elder laughed, this time to disguise his fright.

“I give thee a chance to defend thyself,” said Gerson Brandt. “As man to man we shall fight this out.”

Adolph Schneider put himself between the two combatants, but Gerson Brandt, stepping past him, dragged Karl Weisel to the open space beside the platform, and there, facing him, said:

“I give thee thy last opportunity to beg my pardon.”

Karl Weisel did not open his lips. Instead, he covertly measured the distance to the door, and with a movement of unusual quickness turned in flight. He had not gone half a dozen steps before Gerson Brandt had him by the collar, and, dragging him back to his position, waited an instant for him to recover himself. Then he struck a blow that felled the elder.

“Help! Help!” shouted Adolph Schneider, who still stood upon the platform.

At first the prospect of a fight between the two influential men of the colony had suggested possibilities likely to redound into material good for himself, and he had been content to play the part of listener and spectator. Now, as he looked at Gerson Brandt, he no longer saw the school-master, but a man tall, sinewy, and muscular—a man in whose eye flashed anger and whose pose revealed an unsuspected strength.

“Help! Help!” he shouted again.

Gerson Brandt assisted his adversary to rise. The elder was stunned; the school-master pushed him into a chair, where he sat dazed and silent. Just then Hans Peter came shuffling in at the door. He walked as if he had heard an ordinary summons.

“Didst thou call?” he asked, addressing the Herr Doktor. His pale eyes rested on the figure of Karl Weisel, and there was just the faintest gleam of understanding in them. Before Adolph Schneider had a chance to answer, a rustle of skirts and a light step was heard on the stair that led from Wilhelm Kellar’s room.

“Hath anything gone amiss here?” asked Walda, throwing open the door and standing on the threshold. With a woman’s intuition she saw that there had been some quarrel.

“Be not alarmed,” said Gerson Brandt, walking down a side aisle at the end of the long benches. “The elder, Karl Weisel, accused me of stealing the Bible and of bearing false witness concerning it. The man in me resented the insult. He refused to apologize, and I struck him. Even now I am sorry that I should have hurt one of my fellow-colonists.”

“Nay, Gerson Brandt, thou didst forget that the Lord hath said, ‘Vengeance is Mine,’” cried Walda, going near to Gerson Brandt. “It is not like thee to let human passions triumph.”

“This will cost Gerson Brandt his place as an elder,” declared Karl Weisel, coming to himself enough to smooth his ruffled hair and settle his loosened stock.

“This is bad, indeed!” exclaimed Adolph Schneider. “In all my years of colony life I have never known one man in Zanah to raise his hand against a brother-colonist.”

“Surely my provocation was great,” said Gerson Brandt, “but I am sorry that I allowed anger to control me even for a moment.”

“This very night shall I prefer charges against thee,” Karl Weisel said, rising and waving his hand with a threatening gesture.

“This very night thou shouldst think well over the quarrel,” said Walda, advancing. “Thou knowest there hath been wrong on both sides. Art thou willing to confess that thou hast called thy brother a liar?” There was a simple majesty in the pose of the girl. For the moment she was the prophetess of Zanah. “Beware lest thou bring disgrace and dishonor to the people of Zanah. It is best that this hour be forgotten. Blot out thine enmities.”

“When Gerson Brandt hath explained what became of the Bible the cause of all the trouble will be removed,” said Karl Weisel, turning away from the intense gaze of the girl.

“Thou knowest the Good Book is lost. Thou knowest that Gerson Brandt never told aught but the truth. How darest thou impute evil to him? He hath been always one of the most faithful men in all Zanah.”

Turning to the school-master, she said:

“Ah, Gerson Brandt, I have prayed much about the Bible. Disturb not thyself. I have faith that it will be found. I would that it could be brought to thee to-day.”

In the back of the school-room, Hans Peter, who had been sitting cross-legged in the doorway, pulled himself to his feet.

“I could find the Bible; it is not far away,” he said.

“What dost thou know of it?” asked the Herr Doktor.

“I know that it lieth in the earth beneath a great stone. It is safe. Have no fears for it.” Hans Peter balanced himself first on one bare foot, and then on the other, and in his face was such a stupid look that Karl Weisel said:

“Look at the fool! He would shield the school-master, to whom he shows a dog’s devotion.”

“Dost thou really know where the Bible is, Hans Peter?” asked Walda, laying her hand upon the simple one’s shoulder.

“I have not said I knew. I said I knew I could get it,” answered the fool.

“Nay, dissemble not,” pleaded Walda. “I know now it was thou that didst hide the Bible from the elders.”

The boy looked down to the floor.

“Yea, I did take the Bible so that the stranger in Zanah could not buy it with his silver. It was for thy sake and for Gerson Brandt’s that I took it.”

“Listen not to the fool,” said Karl Weisel. “I tell thee he would shield Gerson Brandt.”

“There is a likelihood of truth in his words,” declared the Herr Doktor. Then, in a thundering tone, he commanded: “Bring the Bible to me.”

“It may not be easily found,” Hans Peter answered, still keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Dare not try to put me off,” thundered Adolph Schneider, shaking his cane at the simple one. “Without more ado, fetch it to me.”

All this time Gerson Brandt had been standing silent and sad. He now waited expectantly for the last answer. He knew that his precious book was, indeed, in jeopardy.

Hans Peter gently took Walda’s hand from his shoulder, and, backing to the door, said, rolling his great head from side to side:

“The fool hath no memory. If he would know the thing that happened yesterday he must mark upon a gourd words that will bring back to his poor mind what is past.”

“Let him not make terms; let him not trade upon his folly,” interposed Karl Weisel.

“Thou hast not forgotten where the Bible is hidden?” inquired Walda, very gently.

“I did bury the gourd that told me where the Bible is, and upon another gourd I marked where that gourd was hidden.”

“Quick! We care not about thy lunatic pastimes. Bring the Bible!” shouted the Herr Doktor, overcome with impatience.

“And the second gourd I carried in my pocket until one day, when I was marking on it something the stranger had told me, the Herr Doktor struck it out of my hand with his cane and put his heel upon it. The Bible is safe, but it cannot be found without long search.”

When the simple one had made his tantalizing speech, the school-master spoke in a quiet tone:

“Hans Peter, thou knowest that the precious book may be spoiled in the ground. Try to think where it is.”

“Nay, I tell thee it is safe, for it is wrapped in the oil-skin in which thou didst keep it, and it is nailed in a great box that is covered with another box. I did work upon the boxes a large part of the night before I buried the Bible.”

“The village fool is not to be believed,” said Karl Weisel, “but he ought to be locked up until he can be made to confess that what he is telling is all a lie.”

The Herr Doktor descended from the platform, and, going to the door, clutched Hans Peter by the shoulder. “Thou shalt have a chance to collect thy wits, my boy. Come with me. In a dark room in the cellar of the _gasthaus_ thou canst stay until thou hast some memory about the Bible.”

“Before we part it is well that we all agree to forget this misunderstanding,” said Walda. “I am sure Hans Peter will find the Bible, and that we can cast out all anxiety concerning it.”

Hans Peter made no reply. He stood with both hands thrust into his capacious pockets. The Herr Doktor pulled him through the door, and, followed by Karl Weisel, he went down the street towards the inn.

Gerson Brandt turned a white and troubled face to Walda when they were left alone together.

“Thou hast seen me in the clutch of an earthly passion,” he said. “Thou knowest now how unworthy I am to be counted as a counsellor of a prophetess. I have naught to say in extenuation, except that in man human impulses often triumph over the divine aspirations. Canst thou forget that I have thus resented an insult?”

Walda came closer to him.

“Gerson Brandt, it may be wicked of me, but somehow I like thee better because thou hast demanded that Karl Weisel retract his sinful words. He hath called his brother a liar, and God will judge him for that.”

“And I should have remembered that I am not the judge,” said Gerson Brandt. “I should not have let myself take vengeance into mine own hand. When thou art the prophetess thou wilt become my teacher, and, Walda, I am half glad I shall need thine aid to overcome sin.”

“Thou hast been my teacher so long it seemeth I could never have any wisdom greater than thine.”

Gerson Brandt looked into her eyes.

“Being a woman, thou hast wisdom and power of which thou little dreamest,” he said.

“If I have aught of wisdom, it is because thou hast been my guide ever since I was a child. Gerson Brandt, thou hast been nearer to me than my father; thou hast been more to me than all the brothers in the colony.”

“It hath always seemed, Walda, that thou wert sent to reconcile me to life in Zanah. Thy presence hath helped me to overcome all rebellion. Having prayed for the time of thine inspiration, it is a struggle for me to give thee up. It is as if I were losing thee, even though thou wilt still be in the colony.”

“Nay, Gerson, it seemeth to me that when the light of inspiration cometh to me thou must share it, for, after all, it is thy knowledge and thy faith that is in me. There hath come to me lately something of the illumination thou hast told me to expect, Gerson Brandt. There are days when it is as if I stood on the threshold of heaven. My heart is lifted up with a strange joy. I hear harmony in the rustling of the leaves in the trees and the flowing of the water under the bridge and the faint night-sounds that come to mine ears when the village hath gone to sleep. Long after the curfew-bell hath sounded I open my casement and look out into the sky. It is then I feel the vastness of the universe, and yet know that God hath not forgotten me.”

As Walda spoke her face was radiant with new joy, and Gerson Brandt knew she was even then far removed from him.

“Thou lookest from thy casement every night? Dost thou gaze at the moon?” he asked.

“Yea, Gerson Brandt, I look long at the moon.”

“Walda, that is a habit maidens have when they think not of God but of man. Thou hast in thy thought no human being?”

“There is often a light in the inn; it shineth from the window of him whom we not long ago called the stranger in Zanah. It bringeth him into my mind, and I thank God for his coming to the colony.”

Walda’s words smote the school-master. A faint color came into his thin cheeks. He steadied himself against the desk.

“It is not thy duty to pray for the stranger. The elders can do that,” he declared.

“Nay, but he hath helped me much. He hath brought me strength.”

“Beware lest that strength become thy weakness.” There was a tremor in Gerson Brandt’s voice, and his manner puzzled the girl.

“Thou dost speak in riddles,” she said. “Thou knowest his world could not touch me. When I gaze from my window I am glad, indeed, that the bluffs shut me out from all the wickedness of the life beyond the colony.”

“I beg thy pardon, Walda. It was an unworthy suspicion that crossed my mind. Surely to-day Satan is close to me. And when thou gazest at the moon dost thou think of any one else?”

“Of my father, Gerson Brandt, and always of thee.”

“And how do I come to thee in thy thoughts, Walda?”

“Thou comest as one that is ever dear to me. Since thou didst first take me on thy knee thou hast shared with my father all the earthly love of my heart. Have I not often told thee so?”

“Thou didst never think of me as nearer to thine own age than thy father? Do I always appear so old to thee?”

“Truly, thou dost seem like my father.” In her voice was an infinite tenderness, and the school-master, with a tremor in his voice, answered:

“And yet I am but fifteen years thy senior.”

“But thou lovest me as if I were thy daughter. I have always felt that thou didst give me something more than the neighborly regard in which all the people of Zanah hold one another.”

Gerson Brandt made no answer.

“Thou dost love me as if I were thy daughter?” she repeated.

“Thou hast forever a place in the sanctuary of my heart, Walda.”

The school-master and the prophetess of Zanah looked into each other’s eyes for a brief moment.

“Then I know that thou wilt always pray for me—that thou wilt always keep me safe from all worldly temptations.”

“Yea, thou wilt always have my care. Thou wilt always command my services and my prayers. To-day I feel humble, indeed, because I lost my self-control, but I shall strive always to be worthy to be counted as one who walketh near to the prophetess of Zanah. Walda, to-day I am weak indeed. I feel how much I shall need divine strength in the years to come. My way is a lonely one. It is said that after the inspiration is vouchsafed to a prophetess her soul withdraws itself from all human companionship, and that even if it were not the custom to separate the instrument of the Lord from the colonists of Zanah, there would be naught in common between her and those who try to serve God in humbler ways. Lately, Walda, I have looked forward with a feeling that the years without thee will be weary. When thou art the prophetess there will be none with whom I can speak of the dreams I have shared with thee.”

“Thy dreams, as thou callest them, first made me feel the mysteries of life. Gerson Brandt, it was thou who didst awaken my soul; it was thou who didst turn my heart to God, and now, verily, thou wilt not be sorrowful when my day of inspiration comes?”

“To-day there is so much of self victorious in me that I know the day of the _Untersuchung_ will make me sad. It was my intention on that day to give thee the Bible that is lost. For many months thou knowest I worked upon it, making the letters beautiful for thine eyes, and it was a solace to me to feel, every day as I turned the pages upon which I had worked with many a prayer and blessing for thy welfare, that thou wouldst take pleasure in its beauty.”

“And was that Bible for me, Gerson? On the last day when thou didst give it to me to read before the school I did covet it.”

“I did think that I should never tell thee, and it was a sore trouble when Adolph Schneider demanded that it be sold. I tell thee this because, as I have said to-day, I am weak, and I would say something in extenuation of my unseemly conduct towards the head of the thirteen elders.”

“And I am very human, for I am glad that the book is lost, and that the elders had no chance to take it from thee.”

“I could not endure the thought that the stranger from the outside world should possess what I had come to believe belonged to thee.”

Walda turned her head away a moment. Then she answered:

“I want the Bible very much indeed; but, Gerson Brandt, if any stranger were to have it, it had been better it should go to Stephen Everett than to any one else.”

A look of pain came into the school-master’s face. His eyes sought the girl’s with a glance that strove to read her heart.

“And I would rather that the Bible be destroyed, that its pages be scattered and its letters obliterated, than that Stephen Everett should call it his own.”

“Why, Gerson Brandt, thou speakest with much stress. Thou art, indeed, unlike thyself to-day.”

“Perhaps my real self is uppermost, Walda, and the school-master, who was always so submissive and passive, is not the actual man.”

“Peace to thy heart.” Walda came close to him. “Let me tell thee that I should have held the Bible as a precious token from thee, and that I am grateful for the kindly thought with which thou hast wrought it for me.”

Tears were in her eyes. She hesitated a moment, as if waiting for an answer. Gerson Brandt, with arms folded across his breast, pressed his lips tightly together lest he might speak with the fervor of one who covets from God a supreme gift that must be forever beyond reach.

XIII

When Hans Peter was led away from the school-room after his confession concerning the Bible, Karl Weisel and Adolph Schneider conducted him towards the inn. The Herr Doktor, thoroughly upset from his usual phlegmatic tranquillity, held the ear of the simple one in a pinching grasp. With a speed that caused the colony president to pant, the three descended the hill on their way to the inn.

“Hans Peter should be locked up until he confesseth that he hath borne false witness,” said Karl Weisel.

“I believe he knoweth where the Holy Book is hidden,” answered Adolph Schneider. “We will lock him up where he can have a chance to think over his transgressions.”

Hans Peter, dragging slowly after the Herr Doktor, who every now and then jerked his head, appeared not to hear what was said about him.

“Tell us now what thou didst mean by thy foolish lie about the Bible,” urged the head of the thirteen elders.

“I spoke the truth. But not every one knoweth the truth to understand it,” answered the simple one.

“He still defieth us,” exclaimed Karl Weisel. Then, giving Hans Peter a cuff, he added, addressing him:

“Thou shalt spend the night in the cellar of the _gasthaus_, and if thou dost not speak so as to make it clear that thou dost share all thy knowledge with the elders and those in authority, thou shalt be put in the stocks.”

“Threaten not too hastily, Brother Weisel,” said the Herr Doktor. “Thou knowest the stocks have not been used these ten years, and the dismembered timbers pertaining to it are stored in the hay-loft of the _gasthaus_ barn.”

“The stocks can be put together easily enough,” muttered Karl Weisel; and Hans Peter, turning his head as much as Adolph Schneider’s hold upon his ear permitted, said:

“The village fool feareth no punishment thou canst devise. Ye men of Zanah shall never get possession of Gerson Brandt’s Bible.”

“Hear! He defieth us!” cried Karl Weisel; and Adolph Schneider responded with an angry grunt, that he punctuated with a superfluous pinch administered to Hans Peter’s ear.

They reached the inn, where Diedrich Werther received them with his customary imperturbability.

“Hast thou a place in the cellar where thou canst lock up this culprit?” Karl Weisel inquired. At the same time the Herr Doktor pushed the simple one into the middle of the room.

“There is a heavy bolt on the potato-bin,” said Werther, taking his pipe out of his mouth and leaning upon the dog-eared register.

“Conduct Hans Peter to it, and be his jailer until to-morrow morning. Mind that he hath no supper.”

“What is Hans Peter’s offence?” Mother Werther asked, opening the door from the kitchen and putting her black-capped head into the room. “Tut, tut, my boy! I hope thou hast not been exhibiting thy folly in some hazardous manner.”

Hans Peter put his hands into his deep pockets, hung his head, and made no reply.

“The simple one is to be locked in your potato-bin until he tells the truth about the Bible,” announced the Herr Doktor.

“Nay, be not too severe with him. Hans Peter will tell—wilt not thou, boy?” said Mother Werther, coaxingly.

But the simple one only shook his round head.

“You may have to stay down there in the darkness with the rats for a week,” said Karl Weisel.

“Yea, thou shalt not baffle the elders of Zanah,” declared the Herr Doktor. “It will be the cellar or the stocks until thou dost wag thy stubborn tongue to good purpose.”

“Now thou art speaking wisely, Brother Schneider,” said Karl Weisel. “Why dost thou not order Diedrich Werther to conduct the fool to his prison?”

“Take him away,” commanded the Herr Doktor.

“Thou knowest I permit no rats in the _gasthaus_ cellar,” said Mother Werther, shaking her head indignantly at Karl Weisel; and edging up to Hans Peter, she bent low to whisper: “Thou shalt have the best supper I can carry to thee.”

“Verily, even Mother Werther appears to be encouraging sedition in Zanah,” remarked Karl Weisel, pointing to the innkeeper’s wife with a backward movement of his thumb.

“If there is sedition in Zanah, it is thou that sowest discontent.” Mother Werther put her arms on her broad hips, and looked at him for a moment with such contempt in her kindly face that the head of the thirteen elders slunk aside to a chair behind the high counter.