The day of the _Untersuchung_ came at last. A brilliant sun shone upon
Zanah. An early frost had turned the maples yellow and had touched the
oaks with crimson. In the vineyards the last purple grapes hung in the
shrivelled foliage. Along the winding road the golden-rod was blossoming
in the tall, feathery grasses. A hush fell upon the quiet valley in the
morning. The brown fields on lowland and hill-side were deserted. At the
edge of the village the mill-wheels had ceased their busy whir.
Everett had walked out under the autumn sky nearly all night. In the
days that had passed since his interview with Walda at the meeting-house
all the villagers had avoided him. Even the school-master had passed him
by with scarcely a nod of recognition. Time had dragged. Of all the
people of Zanah, Hans Peter alone remained on friendly terms with him.
At dawn Everett arose from a brief sleep, and dressed himself with
unusual care. The thought came to him that before sundown he might be
robbed of Walda. All his strength left him. He dropped upon a chair near
the window. Love had become life to him. Sitting with his elbows on his
knees he looked out upon Zanah. Walda represented hope, worship,
aspiration. The touch of her lips had awakened all that was good in him.
He, who had rarely prayed, petitioned, in an agony of longing, that he
might be given the woman of Zanah.
Some one knocked. Everett jumped to his feet to open the door. Hans
Peter, freshly scoured with soap until his round face shone, stood in
the hall, twirling a cap that had been recently mended.
“The elders have sent me to tell thee that thou art to remain away from
the timber-land where the _Untersuchung_ is to be held,” announced the
simple one.
“And why is my absence desirable?” Everett asked.
“Question not the village fool,” Hans Peter replied. “He knoweth not
what the great men of Zanah think inside their wise heads.”
“What do you think inside your foolish head?” Everett laughed, as if he
made light of the order.
Hans Peter looked down at a pair of copper-toed shoes, which were to him
the insignia of an unusual occasion.
“It seemeth to the simple one of Zanah that it is wise for the stranger
to be far away when the prophetess doth pledge herself to love only God
and the angels.”
“I intend to go to the _Untersuchung_, Hans Peter, and I want you to
find a good place from which I can look on during the hours when the
people give their testimonies concerning the state of their souls.”
“Thou canst not sit among the colonists,” said Hans Peter. “The men and
women of Zanah have turned against thee. They will not permit thee to
mingle with them on the most solemn day of all the year.”
“Whether or not they permit me, I shall go to the _Untersuchung_,”
Everett replied. “Would it not be safe for me to wait behind the line of
poplars not far off from the platform upon which the elders will sit?”
“If thou shouldst go out there early, and stay where the wild hop-vine
might hide thee, there is a chance no one would behold thee,” admitted
the simple one.
“When does the prophetess go before the elders?” Everett inquired. “I
know nothing of to-day’s arrangements, because here at the inn no one
will give me any information. You are my only friend, Hans Peter. I
expect you to tell me all you know.”
“Thou forgettest that the fool hath no memory.”
“Where are your gourds? Is there not one that will help me to find out
when to hide among the poplars?”
Hans Peter twirled his cap.
“Thou wert merciful to me when I was in the stocks,” he said, slowly.
“The fool’s memory hath still a knowledge of that day. The fool doth
know that, last of all Zanah, Walda Kellar will appear before the
elders.”
“That means I need not go to the _Untersuchung_ until this afternoon?”
queried Everett.
“Yea, thou shouldst wait until late in the day.” Hans Peter turned as if
to run away, but Everett caught him by the sleeve of his gingham shirt.
“Have you been to the meeting-house to-day?” Everett asked, looking at
the simple one with such entreaty in his eyes that Hans Peter answered:
“Yea, I have but just come from the place where the prophetess of Zanah
hath been keeping her vigil.”
“You went there on an errand, I suppose?”
“I carried orders from the elders.” At this point Hans Peter closed his
mouth very tightly and stared stupidly. Everett saw that further
questioning would be of no avail.
As soon as he had had breakfast Everett walked out to the timber-land
where the _Untersuchung_ was to be held. The elders had chosen a strip
of woods near the lake as a place for the ceremonies of the inquisition.
The road leading to it was that over which Everett had walked with Walda
the first day she visited the cemetery to pray at the grave of Marta
Bachmann. About two hundred yards from the shore of the lake a large
clearing had been made. A rude platform for the elders had been built
between the lake shore and rough benches, which had been arranged in
orderly rows beneath the intertwining trees. Everett saw that the line
of poplars was beyond the place where the path led into the out-door
chapel. Hidden there he could easily escape detection, and he would be
near enough to hear most of what was said from the platform. He walked
to the farther shore of the little lake, and lay down upon the ground to
wait as patiently as he could for the laggard hours to pass. The quiet
beauty of the day appealed to him, and, thinking of Walda, he was
finally lulled to sleep. It was mid-day when he awoke. He sauntered back
to the scene of the _Untersuchung_. He made a seat for himself at the
foot of one of the poplars where the vines were thick. Through the
screen of leaves he saw the people slowly gathering. The women occupied
the benches nearest him.
By two o’clock all the colonists had assembled. The thirteen elders
formed a solemn row, Adolph Schneider holding the middle place, with
Wilhelm Kellar at one end of the platform and Gerson Brandt at the
other. After a droning hymn and a tedious prayer, those who were
candidates for preferment in the colony went before the elders. The men
first were catechised by Adolph Schneider, who did not rise from his
chair. Everett was astonished to see how few signified ambition for
colony honors. When the women’s turn came the applicants greatly
outnumbered the men. In both cases those who pleaded for advancement
boasted of spiritual conflicts and victories. Their sing-song voices
maddened the impatient lover. At last, when he had begun to fear that
Walda would not be summoned until the next day, Everett noticed that the
people, who had sat stolid and unmoved through the hours of dreary
recitative, stirred with something like interest. Everett pulled himself
to his feet, and, looking down the road, saw a sight that made his heart
beat.
Two by two, a long line of girls approached slowly. All wore the blue
gowns of the colony, but white caps and white kerchiefs were substituted
for those of every-day use. Each carried in her hand a large hymnbook.
When the procession turned into the path of the woodland chapel Everett
caught sight of Walda, walking last of all. As they marched slowly
onward, the girls chanted a hymn. Walda carried her head in the old,
proud way, and her manner reassured the watcher who loved her. She was
clothed in a trailing gown, fashioned of the white flannel from the
colony mills. The clinging folds brought out the noble lines of her
figure. The kerchief crossed upon her bosom was of some thin material of
the same tint as the flannel. The cap, pushed back from her brow,
revealed the waves of her fair hair, which was confined in two long
braids. Her face was pale; her lips were firmly set; her eyes shone with
the light of peace and courage. The little procession passed quite near
Everett, but, although his heart called to her, and his eyes followed
her, she appeared unconscious of his presence. He noticed that her hands
hung at her sides, and he read a meaning in the fact that she no longer
crossed them upon her breast in the old fashion, signifying that she
would keep out the world and all its emotions.
When the procession appeared before the colonists all the people knelt
in their places, none daring to lift curious eyes to her whom they
hailed as the instrument of the Lord. The procession moved back of the
assembly, crossing to the farther side of the clearing, and then
advancing to the front of the platform. Here Walda took the central
position, the girls separating to stand on either side of her. The
chanting ceased, and Walda bowed her head in prayer.
All the elders rose to receive the prophetess of Zanah. Wilhelm Kellar,
still weak from his illness, leaned upon his cane and murmured a
thanksgiving to the Lord. Gerson Brandt, at the other end of the
platform, looked at Walda, and then turned his eyes away, as if the day
and hour held something that brought a severe test to the spirit long
disciplined to self-control.
“Stand not before me, O ye elders,” Walda said, in a clear, steady
voice, lifting up one hand to claim attention. “Bow not, O ye people of
Zanah, for I am unworthy to be your prophetess.”
“Speak not such words of humility,” said Adolph Schneider. “We know that
the inspiration hath come to thee. Thou hast already shown to us that
thou hast received the gift of tongues. To-day thou shalt be anointed
prophetess of Zanah.”
“Amen!” shouted one of the elders, and the word was repeated in a chorus
by the men.
Walda’s face became as white as marble. She stood immovable, with one
hand pressed against her breast as if she would stop the beating of her
heart. She would have spoken, but the Herr Doktor turned to command that
the chair of the prophetess be lifted to the centre of the platform. The
elders moved to give it space, and, when it had been put in position,
Adolph Schneider said:
“Come hither to thy rightful place among the elders.”
“My place is among the lowliest of the colonists,” said Walda. “Let me
stand here while I speak to the people of Zanah.”
The elders shook their heads, and the people murmured that they could
not hear. Walda walked to the end of the platform where the steps
ascended. She moved slowly, pausing for a moment as she passed Gerson
Brandt. She crossed the platform with head bowed, but when she faced the
multitude there shone in her eyes a strange radiance that filled the
colonists with awe.
“To all you of Zanah I have a last message,” she said, turning first to
the elders and then to the people. “From the years of my childhood ye
have led me in the ways of the Lord. Ye have looked upon me as the
instrument chosen to reveal the divine will of Zanah. I have prayed
through the months and years for the day of inspiration. It was not
until this summer that mine eyes were opened to the glory of God. In my
heart suddenly gushed a well-spring of happiness. I read meanings in the
stars, and the smallest things of earth spake to me. It was as if I
walked very near to God.”
Walda, pausing, swept the assembly with her eyes. In the exaltation of
her mood she had become clothed in a majesty that overawed the people.
Some of the women fell to their knees, weeping.
“Behold the prophetess! Behold the prophetess! Blessed be her name!”
shouted one of the elders.
Walda continued, unheeding:
“In my heart I felt a gratitude, for I believed that at last the divine
revelation had come to me. I thought that the love in my heart, which
made all that pertaineth to life sacred, belonged to heaven alone. I
thanked God that the baptism of the Holy Spirit had been given me.”
Cries of joy ascended from the throng.
“In the first days of the inspiration that had come to me I was
impatient for this time, when I could dedicate my whole life to the
service of Zanah. It seemed easy to live always near to God. Voices
spake to me. I believed that I was, indeed, the prophetess of Zanah—the
prophetess who could live untouched by human emotions. But one day there
was given to me a clearer vision. Just before the beginning of my vigil
it was shown to me that mine was not the rapture of the saints”—Walda
paused and caught her breath—“I came into the knowledge that my
inspiration had its origin in human love.”
She pronounced the last words distinctly, with her eyes uplifted. Gerson
Brandt uttered her name in an agonized groan. Wilhelm Kellar strove to
speak, but his voice died in his throat.
“What sayest thou, Walda Kellar?” demanded Adolph Schneider, rising from
his chair. The colonists listened stolidly, as if they did not
comprehend the meaning of Walda’s speech.
“Nay, surely thou hast not been touched by an earthly love?” said Gerson
Brandt, in a tone which told that despair was clutching at his heart.
“Thy words are vague.”
Walda saw the horror in her father’s face. She looked away from him and
the school-master, waiting a moment that she might choose her words so
that they would not give unnecessary pain.
“We believe thou hast not looked with favor on any man,” Adolph
Schneider said, encouragingly, and then he added, as if to convey a
covert warning to the people of Zanah: “Yet thou art a woman, and all
that are made in the image of Eve are easy to be persuaded by the voice
of Satan, speaking through man.”
“A love that is of heaven, and yet of earth, hath taken possession of my
heart,” declared Walda, fixing her eyes upon the people. “It came to me
like a great light shining through the gates of heaven. I did not know
the glory that enfolded me was what ye of Zanah call an earthly love,
for, truly, even now it seemeth to have in it more of heaven than of
that which pertaineth to earth. I did not fight against this love which
hath been revealed to me, for I did not know it was human love which
made me feel a kinship with God. Here, in Zanah, ye have taught me that
the love of men and women is a sinful thing, and there came to me no
prick of the conscience—no warning that I was transgressing the law of
God.”
She was transfigured with the mystery and beauty of her new heritage of
love, and the people listened in awe. When she had stopped speaking, she
turned to her father with a look of such pleading and entreaty that the
old man, who had heard as one that dreams, moved his lips in an effort
to speak. Presently there arose a murmur from the people. The Herr
Doktor commanded that all should hold their peace.
“What man in Zanah hath stolen thy thoughts from God?” the Herr Doktor
asked, in a stern voice.
“I love Stephen Everett, the stranger who belongeth not to Zanah,” Walda
answered, in unfaltering tones.
A wail arose from the people. It grew into a mighty sound that was like
the autumn winds rushing through the tall trees on the slopes of the
bluffs.
“The tempter hath come to Walda Kellar even as he came to Marta
Bachmann, but repentance is possible for her who hath been chosen to be
the instrument of the Lord,” declared Adolph Schneider. “Daughter of
Zanah, pluck this love from thine heart.”
“I have proclaimed to you that this love seemeth a holy thing sent from
heaven. It is fixed in my heart forever.”
Walda was again the prophetess. She spoke slowly, and it was as if she
were but repeating the promptings of some inner voice.
“Walda, I command thee, let the fountains of thy tears wash away this
earthly love!” Wilhelm Kellar cried, rising from his chair and lifting
his arms as if he were beseeching the intervention of Heaven.
“Nay, I cannot repent. There is that which tells me this is the love
that is stronger than death,” Walda said, softly. “Father, I crave thy
forgiveness, and the forgiveness of all that belong to Zanah.”
She went to him and knelt humbly before him. Gerson Brandt stood with
arms folded across his breast and head bowed over them. Karl Weisel
gathered some of the other elders close to him and talked to them in
whispers. The people looked on breathlessly. Suddenly, from her place
among the women, arose Mother Kaufmann.
“Behold the unfaithful one asking for forgiveness,” she cried, in rage.
“Through her vanity and her weakness the divine messages that were to
direct Zanah how to prosper are withheld from the colony. Our crops may
fail and we may starve, but she careth for naught if she may love a man.
She hath chosen a stranger sent by Satan from the outside world to
confound us.”
Cries of derision and reproach were heard among the women. At first they
were but low mutterings. Then an old hag jumped upon a bench and
shouted:
“Send her back to the room where the watchers can guard her. Cast the
stranger out of Zanah.”
“Yea, yea, cast out Satan’s messenger,” shouted the women. The men took
up the cry, and in a moment the orderly crowd of religionists became a
mob of fanatics which pressed towards the platform.
“Repent, repent!” shouted the people. “Remember thy duty!” “Put aside
thy sinful love!” “Ask the Lord to forgive thee for thy transgression!”
Walda faced the angry mob fearlessly. Her personality still impressed
the people, so that none dare lay hands upon her.
“Let the curse of Heaven descend upon the head of the stranger in
Zanah!” Mother Kaufmann shrieked.
“Curse him! Curse him!” called out the men, repeating the woman’s
imprecation.
In an instant Walda compelled silence. She raised her arms in a warning
gesture, and shamed the people by the contempt she showed for their
weakness as she looked down upon them.
“How are ye fitted to judge the stranger in Zanah?” she asked, in a
scornful tone. “Have ye the Christian charity the Bible enjoins you to
cherish in your hearts? If there is any one to be blamed for the loss of
your prophetess it is I, Walda Kellar, that should bear it all. But
again I tell you there is naught concerning love of which I would
repent.”
“She would defy Heaven!” shouted Mother Kaufmann. “Let the elders take
her away that the sight of her shall not breed sinful thoughts of love
in the hearts of the maidens of Zanah.”
“Yea, lock her up until she cometh to her right mind,” said the old hag,
waving her hands to invite the elders’ attention.
The uproar became deafening. Gerson Brandt stepped forward where he
could stand between Walda and the mob. Through all the commotion
Everett, with difficulty, had restrained himself from rushing out to
protect Walda from the maddened colonists, but he realized that his
appearance would but fan the flame of wrath and increase the confusion.
In the centre of the women’s division of the out-door chapel Mother
Schneider and her daughter Gretchen had been sitting. Both had taken
little part in the demonstration against the fallen prophetess. When
Gerson Brandt was seen to move forward on the platform Mother Schneider
said to the women near her:
“It is a sorry day when the women of Zanah are permitted to hear a
maiden boast of a love that knoweth no bounds. It is an indecent
confession that Walda Kellar maketh. Truly, she belongeth to the class
of women that should be stoned.”
“It is such as she that cast wicked spells upon men. Behold, the elders
fear to discipline her,” answered a mother, who that day had been
promoted to the highest grade of the colony because she testified that
she had found earthly love an unholy thing.
“She should be stoned! She should be stoned!” repeated the women; and
the words passed from mouth to mouth until they reached a boy who
loitered on the edge of the crowd. The boy picked up a flat stone, and,
aiming it at Walda, threw it with all the force at his command. It
sailed above the heads of the people. Gerson Brandt, with a quick
movement, pulled Walda aside. The stone struck him on the forehead,
making a deep gash, from which the blood coursed down his cheek. Walda,
with a woman’s quick instinct of ministration, undid the kerchief around
her neck, and gave it to Gerson Brandt.
“Stanch the blood with this,” she said, and when he made no effort to
take it, she pressed it against his cheek.
Everett threw every consideration of prudence to the winds when he saw
the stone hurled towards Walda. He pushed his way to the platform, but
he had to fight his path through the crowd, which had been dazed at the
sight of the blood on the school-master’s face. The men frowned at him
sullenly, and some muttered low imprecations. Everett climbed to a place
near Walda. When the people of Zanah saw him they shouted in angry
protest. One burly man sought to lay hold of him, but he shook off the
colonist and would have gone closer to Walda, but Gerson Brandt put out
a restraining hand.
“Profane not this place with thy presence,” said the school-master,
stepping between Everett and Walda. “Thou art a traitor. Thou hast
betrayed the trust we put in thee. The brother of Zanah doeth well to
hold thee back.”
All the pent-up emotion of the hour suddenly burst out as Gerson Brandt
spoke. His gaunt form trembled with the strength of his passion.
“It is this man who should bear all the curses of Zanah,” he continued,
turning to address the people. “We took him into close communion with
us, and he hath repaid our faith in him by seeking to ensnare the love
of our prophetess. He pledged me his honor, and he cared naught for his
word given with the seal of a hand-clasp. He is a Judas who hath worked
secretly for the undoing of Zanah—a Judas who hath cared for neither
honor nor truth, so that he might win the woman whom he coveted. He
deserveth not mercy. Let us cast him out of Zanah, and when he hath gone
back to the wicked world to which he belongeth, the soul of Walda Kellar
can be cleansed of the stain of an earthly love. Much prayer and fasting
will restore her to fellowship with God.”
Everett moved close to Walda, and, laying his hand upon her arm, would
have drawn her away from the infuriated mob. When he touched her, the
sight of what seemed an assertion of his claim enraged Gerson Brandt.
The school-master was imbued with the strength of a giant. He thrust
Everett away with a mighty stroke of his arm.
“Seize this man!” he commanded. “Bind him, and put him out of the sight
of the people!”
Four or five colonists sprang forward to obey Gerson Brandt’s orders,
but Everett threw them off as lightly as if they were children.
“You have no right to touch me,” he said, towering above even the
tallest. “I have broken no law, and I can hold you responsible if you
deprive me of my liberty.”
The elders had gathered about Gerson Brandt and Walda. Wilhelm Kellar
tottered to his daughter’s side, and implored her to surrender her will
to the will of Zanah.
“Shame on you! Shame on you, men of Zanah!” cried Mother Kaufmann, who
had climbed to the top of a high tree-stump. “Will ye let one man make
cowards of you? Do the bidding of Gerson Brandt.”
Some of the women hissed, and a score of the mill-hands fought their way
to the platform. Surrounding Everett, they closed in upon him. One, more
daring than the rest, sought to seize him. Everett felled the colonist
with a quick blow. The others endeavored to detain him, but none was a
match for the athlete with muscles of steel. Knocking down two or three
of the most aggressive of his assailants, Everett went to Walda, who
trembled with fear for his safety. He drew her close to him. The
quavering voice of Wilhelm Kellar sounded in their ears.
“Offend not the eyes of Zanah by parading your unseemly love,” he said,
raising his cane as if he would strike the man of the world. The effort
was too much for his feeble strength. He almost fell, and Walda knelt
before him to support him with her outstretched arms. His indignation
changed to grief, and, looking down at the daughter upon whom he had
built all his ambition, he gave way to bitter lamentation.
“Oh, Lord, how have I deserved this punishment?” he cried.
Walda sobbed, still holding his frail body close to her. “Forgive me,
father,” said she, looking up through her tears.
“Nay, ask not my forgiveness,” he answered, sternly. “Seek the
forgiveness of the Lord, whom thou hast offended. Repent now, when it is
not yet too late.”
“There is no repentance in my heart,” she said, rising to her feet.
“This love must ever seem to me a holy thing.”
“Come away with me now, for I would talk to thee alone. Let us flee from
the presence of this man and the people of Zanah,” pleaded Wilhelm
Kellar.
“Yea, we will go away together,” Walda answered. She drew his arm
through hers, and gently led him to the end of the platform. They slowly
descended the steps and walked to the middle aisle, which offered them a
chance of egress. As they passed the women, Mother Kaufmann hissed
Walda, and taunts and jeers from the crowd assailed her. Wilhelm Kellar
stopped. Raising himself on his cane, he said, with a tremendous effort:
“Wag not your tongues, ye women of Zanah. Ye have no right to heap
insult upon her whom an hour ago ye were proud to hail as the
prophetess.”
“Lo, this prophetess is but a Jezebel!” sneered Mother Kaufmann; and the
women near her repeated the name “Jezebel! Jezebel!”
Wilhelm Kellar heard the insult to his daughter, and once more raising
himself on his cane, he called out:
“Let your evil tongues be silent! There is none in Zanah who hath
suffered the bitterness of disappointment that hath come to me, yet now
do I forgive Walda Kellar, and bespeak for her your mercy and loving
kindness.”
His voice died in a rattle in his throat. His gray head sank upon his
breast. His arm loosened its tense hold upon Walda, and he fell in a
heap at her feet.
Walda bent over him with a cry of such agony and fear that it pierced to
the outer edge of the great assembly.
Raising his head, she looked upon his face, ghastly with the touch of
death. In his eyes a last flicker of light faded as she stooped to
pillow his head upon her bosom.
“Stephen, Stephen,” she called, “come to my father!”
Everett gently lifted the emaciated form of the elder, and, waving the
crowd apart, laid his burden down upon the ground. A glance told him
that a soul had gone out of Zanah.
“My father is dead! Dead!” shrieked Walda. Sinking on her knees, she
wrung her hands and gave way to her grief.
“Wilhelm Kellar is dead,” Gerson Brandt announced, in solemn tones.
He stood for a moment on the edge of the platform, where he could see
the white face upturned to the sky. Then his eyes fell upon Walda, who
was weeping with her head supported on the shoulder of Everett. The
school-master jumped from the platform, and, pointing to Everett,
ordered that he be bound. With his own hands he loosed the stranger’s
arms, and would have made the weeping girl lean upon him, but she
proudly drew away.
“Brothers of Zanah, bind this man,” he said, repeating his command.
“Through him, death and grievous trouble have come to the colony.”
Everett waited, ready to defend himself, but the men hesitated before
making a second attempt to carry out the elder’s orders.
“Let them bind thee, Stephen,” Walda said. “In the presence of death it
is not meet there should be strife.”
“I want my liberty in order that I may defend you from these mad
zealots,” Everett answered.
“Nay, Stephen, thou forgettest that I am in the Lord’s hand,” Walda
replied, with a little quiver of the lips.
“I surrender myself as your prisoner,” Everett said, addressing Gerson
Brandt. “It will not be necessary for you to have me tied. I give you my
word that I will not try to escape.”
“It hath been shown to me that thou hast no regard for thy promises,”
Gerson Brandt said, in an angry voice. “When thou art securely bound I
shall have faith in thy word, and not till then.”
The insult kindled Everett’s anger. He would have retorted, but a sign
from Walda compelled his silence. He let the men tie his hands behind
him. They used the rope clumsily, and drew it so tightly over the flesh
that it was painful. During the process Gerson Brandt looked on, and
Walda stood with eyes upon the ground. The colonists waited quietly. The
elders on the platform had resumed the air of stolidity which generally
distinguished them. They watched the proceedings without interference.
By common consent they permitted Gerson Brandt to take the initiative in
dealing with the tragic climax of the _Untersuchung_.
“Let a bier be brought that the body of Wilhelm Kellar, who hath fallen
into his last sleep, may be carried back to the village,” Gerson Brandt
directed.
Diedrich Werther with three other colonists carried a heavy bier, over
which was thrown a black pall, down the grassy aisle of the out-door
chapel. Following it walked Hans Peter, carrying a gourd in his hand.
The body of Wilhelm Kellar was lifted upon the bier and covered with the
pall. When the men stooped to raise the bier, Adolph Schneider spoke:
“Behold, this day we have lost one of the leading men of Zanah. Wilhelm
Kellar hath guided the business affairs of the colony. He hath been my
strong arm. Lo! he is slain by the frowardness of the daughter upon whom
he had centred too much affection. He hath suffered because he let her
become an idol of earth. If she repenteth, so that she may become the
prophetess of Zanah, her crime may be blotted out of the book of life.”
He paused, but the people made no demonstration.
“Repent, O daughter of Zanah!” the Herr Doktor shouted, in a voice
intended to terrify all who heard it. “Repent now. Pledge thyself to put
earthly love out of thy heart, and to serve the Lord forever.”
“Love that hath taken root in the heart cannot be plucked out at will.
This love must remain always with me,” Walda replied.
“Let thy shame be upon thine own head,” shouted Adolph Schneider. “Thou
art a woman possessed of Satan. Thou hast caused thy father’s death, and
yet thou darest to defy the laws of God and the laws of Zanah.”
“She hath committed murder,” cried a woman. “The mark of Cain is set
upon her forehead.”
The colonists surged around the place where Walda and Gerson Brandt
stood. Straining at his bonds, Everett, who had been dragged back upon
the platform and thrown before the vacant chair of the prophetess,
shouted to the elders to preserve order. Seeing Walda’s peril, he
demanded that he be released, and poured forth such a torrent of
invective and entreaty that Adolph Schneider and Karl Weisel were moved
to action. The two elders tried in vain to obtain a hearing. The crowd
was clamoring for revenge. Infuriated by disappointment and goaded by
superstition, the colonists pressed so closely upon Walda that she was
in danger of being crushed.
Some of the women would have spat upon her, but Gerson Brandt pushed
them away. Terrible in his anger, he widened the circle around the
white-clad figure of the fallen prophetess, who seemed unmindful of the
turmoil about her. She stood with bowed head, and her lips moved in
prayer.
“Make way for the bier!” Gerson Brandt said. Diedrich Werther and his
three companions lifted the bier, and slowly started down the grassy
aisle. When Walda would have followed, one of the most turbulent of the
colonists roughly shoved her back. Gerson Brandt threw out his arm with
a protecting gesture, and in the surging of the crowd Walda was pressed
close to him. His arms folded about her, and for one moment he felt her
heart beating upon his. In that moment the fires of life that had long
smouldered in him flamed up and illuminated his soul. In that moment
came to him the knowledge that he, the elder of Zanah, had long been
possessed of the earthly love against which he had preached so many
years. For a few seconds the golden autumn day faded from his sight. He
passed into a new existence. His divinity was unveiled to him. When the
mist before his eyes cleared away he looked into Walda’s face, and,
still clasping her close to his breast, said:
“Canst thou forgive me for mine anger, which hath brought upon thee much
unnecessary trouble this day? Until this moment I have been blinded. I
have done thee and him whom thou lovest a grievous wrong.”
“Thy provocation hath been great,” Walda answered. “Yet there is
resentment in my heart since thou hast caused Stephen Everett to be
bound.”
“Forgive me, and I will make reparation for mine offence,” he pleaded.
“For the sake of the past, for thy father’s sake, bear no enmity against
me.”
“Thou wilt see that no harm befalleth Stephen Everett?” she said.
Unconscious of the tumult in the school-master’s heart, and indifferent
to his touch, she thought only of the stranger in Zanah. The mob moved
forward, and Gerson Brandt gently put Walda away from him.
“Let Walda Kellar follow the bier of her father,” he commanded.
Again the women hissed their fallen prophetess.
Raising her hands to heaven, Walda uttered the words:
“Lord, have mercy upon us, thy people in Zanah. Forgive us our
transgressions.”
The colonists’ jeers were silenced. As Walda passed down the aisle, the
majesty of her carriage and the exaltation that was written on her face
cast a fear upon the people. One woman who had but a moment before
uttered bitter gibes kissed the hem of the white garment of the fallen
prophetess.
Hans Peter, who had been watching the proceedings from the limb of a
tree, slid from his high seat and walked a few feet behind Walda.
A hush fell upon the multitude. Standing with uncovered head, Gerson
Brandt waited until the bier disappeared among the trees and the last
glimpse of Walda’s white-robed figure was obscured.
The distant bell of the meeting-house tolled. The sunset hour of prayer
had come. Beneath the sky, dyed in crimson and purple, the people of
Zanah bowed their heads.