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.

“I will take Hans Peter to the potato-bin, and he shall have a clean straw tick to lie on,” she said. “Come, Hans Peter.”

Mother Werther put a hand on the simple one’s shoulder and walked out into the kitchen with him. Presently they were heard descending the stairs, and then their voices sounded from the distant place of imprisonment.

It was late that night when Everett returned to the inn after a walk far a-field. At supper-time he had asked about Hans Peter, but he had learned nothing of the whereabouts of the simple one. He had a faint idea that he ought to search for the fool, but his thoughts were absorbed by Walda. He spoke to Diedrich Werther, who dozed in an arm-chair, and the landlord slowly lighted a tall tallow dip and passed it to Everett. He lingered to ask whether any message had come from Wilhelm Kellar. The landlord replied that the school-master had stopped to ask for the stranger in Zanah, but it was nothing urgent, for Gerson Brandt had told how fast Wilhelm Kellar was gaining strength.

Everett stumbled along the dark, narrow passage that led to his room. A draught blew out his candle, which he did not relight. Feeling his way to his bed, he threw himself down upon it and tried to think what course was wisest for him to pursue in winning Walda. He was not blind to the many obstacles between them, but he was a man who was accustomed to obtain what he coveted, and he admitted no thought of defeat. He wanted Walda with all the intensity of a strong nature. He knew now that he loved her, and he felt that she was his by right of that claim. A sense of his own unworthiness haunted him when he thought of her innocence and her unworldliness, but there had been born in him a new spirit that consumed all his old desires. He knew that even if he could make the prophetess of Zanah love him, it would be impossible for him to persuade her to leave the colony as long as her father lived. He felt a hot wave of shame every time he realized that if love came to Walda it would bring her only dishonor before her people. Whenever this view of the end of his wooing presented itself, he resolutely refused to face it. He listened to the cry of his heart. He loved the woman of Zanah; he coveted her for his wife.

Women are happy to enshrine love in their hearts even when it must burn in a vestal flame, but men are not content unless they can carry it as a torch from which to light the fires in the hearts of those whom they would make their own. Women can kneel before the embers of a great passion and be grateful, even though it must burn out before it can reach their own hearth-stones; men would snatch the holy fire at any cost. Everett had slowly reached the point where he had deliberately determined to make Walda love him. He had eased his conscience by the plea that it was a crime for a woman of such rare beauty to be buried in the colony. He was sure he could make her happy in the world that held so much for him. He could reason himself into the belief that he was saving her from a wasted life. Yet, with all his reasoning, he could not see how he was to obtain her consent to marry him and to go away with him. Still, he hugged to his heart the belief that fate would befriend him, and he resolved not to look beyond the one great aim of making Walda love him.

He could not sleep. The thoughts that had harassed him, since suddenly he had come to know Walda had all his love, disturbed him as he lay on the high bed. He stared at the window, which afforded glimpses of a starlit sky between the leaves and branches of a tree that had become black in the night. Day was breaking before he began to feel drowsy. Finally he fell into a deep slumber that was not disturbed until the sun was high in the heavens. He was awakened by a remittent pounding, the sound of which came from the front of the inn. He went to the latticed window, whence he could see that several men were building something in the village square. He made a hasty toilet in his primitive dressing-room, where two buckets of water and a wooden wash-tub were provided for his bath. The cold water refreshed him, but he still had a sense of depression.

Everett hastened out into the village square. In all the time he had sojourned in Zanah nothing unusual had happened. It was pleasing to hope that at last something out of the common might be taking place. Three middle-aged men and two boys were engaged in putting together a most extraordinary structure. They had fixed in place several weather-beaten beams and a number of old planks that led up to the rude platform.

“What are you building?” Everett asked, but the men pretended not to understand, although he spoke in German. They kept on with their work.

“Cannot you tell me what this is?” Everett asked. The men were still uncommunicative, but one of the boys said:

“These are the stocks in which Hans Peter must sit until he tells where the school-master’s Bible is hidden.”

“Where is Hans Peter now?”

The boy had been silenced by the men, and he dared not reply.

During the breakfast-hour Everett could obtain no further information. He was desirous of seeing the simple one, for he felt in a measure responsible for poor Hans Peter’s trouble. He made a perfunctory visit to his patient. Walda Kellar had ceased to be on duty in the sick-room, and the case had lost much of its interest.

Wilhelm Kellar was sitting up in a big chair. He looked weak and ill, but he proudly announced, with a tongue slow to respond to his thoughts:

“I shall be able to attend the Untersuchung. The Lord hath decreed that I shall see the day of my daughter’s final victory over earthly temptations.” The old man’s joy smote Everett, to whom the Untersuchung might mean the loss of Walda. He turned to whistle to Piepmatz.

“I owe thee much for thine aid in helping nature to overcome my illness,” said the old man, speaking slowly. “Thou hast been so kind that thou hast won my enduring confidence. For the first time in a score of years my faith in a man of the outside world is almost restored.”

Again Everett’s heart smote him. He who had come to love Wilhelm Kellar’s daughter knew that he stood ready to tempt Walda away from her vocation as prophetess. He had always held honor first, and he was ill at ease. The day had gone by, however, when he could consider the possibility of renunciation where his heart’s desire was concerned. He had meant to flee from Zanah, but he had stayed because he loved Walda, and because he did not mean to be disappointed in the hope of winning her.

“You are not indebted to me,” he said to Wilhelm Kellar. “The weeks spent in Zanah have been very pleasant to me.”

“Thou art truly a good man, Stephen Everett, and I am thankful that the Lord did turn thy steps to Zanah,” the old man replied.

Piepmatz, looking out from his rustic cage, moved his head from side to side as if he were listening to the conversation. Presently he whistled the bar of the love-song that Everett had taught him. The first notes sounded clear and true, and then Piepmatz sang a false note or two. He began the bar a second time and broke down. Everett heard the song, and the bird-voice carried with it an accusation against his loyalty.

“You had better go back to your doxology,” he said, snapping his fingers at the bird.

He said a hasty farewell and went back to the inn. The stocks had been completed and Hans Peter had just been placed in them. His fat, red hands and his bare feet were held so firmly that it was plain the pressure was most uncomfortable. The simple one’s face, however, betrayed no sign of pain. He kept his eyes shut so that he could not see the passers-by, who paused to stare at him. His shock of tow hair was matted on his head, and his blue shirt-sleeves were torn from the arm-holes by the unusual strain upon the garment, which was too small for him. When Everett beheld the simple one thus ignominiously punished his indignation arose. Without speaking to Hans Peter he went into the inn, where he found Adolph Schneider and Karl Weisel.

“It is only fair to believe you do not know you are inflicting a cruel penalty upon Hans Peter,” he said, addressing the Herr Doktor. “You must lessen the pressure on the boy’s wrists and ankles, and you must do it now.”

“Whence didst thou get thine authority to issue commands to the president of the colony of Zanah?” asked Karl Weisel.

“I was not addressing you,” answered Everett, and the head of the thirteen elders, taking account of the athletic build of the man of the world, deemed discretion the better part of valor. He forbore to pick a quarrel.

“Speaking as a physician, I must protest against the use of the stocks,” said Everett. His tone was so cool and determined that Adolph Schneider adopted a conciliatory manner.

“Hans Peter will not remain long in the stocks,” he said, burying his heavy chin in his neckcloth. “He will soon tell what he knows about the Bible. He would have confessed this morning, but Mother Werther made him so comfortable in the potato-bin that he did not take the trouble to think over our injunction to lay bare the facts about the Bible.”

“Even though Hans Peter may not remain in the stocks an hour, you must confine his hands and feet less closely. I dare say he is numb now,” Everett insisted.

“Well, well, I will call one of the carpenters,” said the Herr Doktor, but he did not move from his chair.

“I will wait until the carpenter comes,” said Everett; “and he must come without delay.”

Adolph Schneider sullenly conceded to Everett’s humane demand, and they went out to the stocks together. A crowd had gathered in the square, and some of the boys who had escaped from Gerson Brandt’s care were jeering at the simple one. Hans Peter made no sign until Everett spoke to him.

Everett ascended the three steps to the platform of the stocks and waited impatiently while Hans Peter’s hands and feet were freed temporarily. The simple one was quite stiff when he was commanded to stand up. He straightened his back with some difficulty, although he had not been an hour in the stocks. Everett stooped to examine the marks upon the lad’s ankles.

“Can you call yourselves Christians, and torture a boy in this fashion?” he inquired, in anger, addressing the Herr Doktor.

“Hans Peter is none the worse for a little lesson that will teach him to obey the commands of Zanah,” Adolph Schneider answered.

“Do you intend to put him back?” Everett asked.

Adolph Schneider showed some signs of hesitation, but Karl Weisel replied:

“He shall stay there until his contumacious spirit is broken. He must be punished until he confesseth.”

“Are you sure that you do not wish to tell where the Bible is?” Everett asked, kindly. But the simple one replied:

“They can keep me in the stocks until I die. I care not. I will not deliver the Sacred Book into their hands.” His lips were white, and the perspiration stood upon his forehead, over which his matted hair hung into his eyes. He tried to raise his hand to his head, but the pain made the effort futile. Everett took one of the simple one’s swollen hands in his and began to chafe the arms, which were numb.

The carpenters soon had their work done, and Karl Weisel ordered Hans Peter back to his place in the stocks.

“Isn’t there something I can do to prevent this outrage?” Everett spoke in a threatening tone. “How can you stoop to such persecution?”

Involuntarily he clinched his hands and drew himself up to his full height. Towering above the men of Zanah, he looked from one to the other, as if undecided which to knock down first.

Karl Weisel took the precaution to leave the platform, and when safe on the ground he answered, tauntingly:

“Thine interference will not be tolerated in Zanah. Thou shalt not defeat the ends of justice.”

“Nay, mind not Hans Peter; the village fool doth not fear those who are called wise in Zanah.” The simple one spoke calmly, and he moved past Everett to the beam upon which he had been sitting.

It occurred to Everett that any violent measures might only cause another method of torture to be devised, and he went into the inn to think about some means by which he could deliver Hans Peter. The day wore away, and late in the afternoon the simple one was still in the stocks. An attempt to discuss the matter with the Herr Doktor had proved fruitless. Everett went to the school-master, and Gerson Brandt told him that protest was useless.

“I warned them that I would not consent to such a show of vengefulness,” said Gerson Brandt, “but they laughed at me, and hinted that the simple one was my accomplice.” He was sitting at his desk, and his attitude betrayed the deepest despondency.

Everett went back to the inn just as the afternoon bell rang. It was the signal for the girls’ knitting-school and the boys’ learning-school to dismiss pupils. At this hour the mill-hands had a brief respite for the drinking of coffee. Soon the village street was full, and all the men, women, and children turned their steps towards the square. Here they stood in groups, talking in low tones, and casting glances up at the simple one, whose face was not less stolid than usual. Hans Peter had become deathly pale, but as he sat with bent back and bowed head he appeared oblivious of the crowd that was gazing at him.

“At last the village fool hath found his right place in the world,” remarked Mother Kaufmann, taking a seat on the lowest step of the stocks and beginning to knit.

“I hope he will remember all the impertinent things he hath said to us, and know that he is receiving his just dues,” said Gretchen Schneider, who had come into the square with Mother Kaufmann.

“It seemeth to me that Hans Peter is one possessed of a devil,” declared Karl Weisel, joining Gretchen Schneider, and taking care to stand so close to her that his coat-sleeve brushed her arm.

On the other side of the stocks Frieda Bergen had stopped to look up at the prisoner with compassion written on her pretty face. She wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron, and Joseph Hoff, who saw her grief, passed by her once or twice, biding his time until he could speak to her without attracting the attention of the elders or colony mothers, among whom his attachment for the girl had become common gossip.

“Hans Peter may be free to-morrow,” he said, reassuringly. “Do not feel bad for him.”

“There is a tenderness in my heart for all God’s creatures, Joseph,” the girl answered.

“Be sure thou givest me most of thy sympathy,” Joseph Hoff said, and they smiled into each other’s faces with a look of perfect understanding.

Many of the children gazed silently at the culprit, and some of them climbed up the stout beams that supported the stocks. A few venturesome boys seated themselves upon the heavy plank that held poor Hans Peter’s hands. Mother Werther, who had been going back and forth all day between the stocks and the inn, sought a place whence she could speak a cheering word to the simple one. Several times Adolph Schneider had stepped to the inn-porch, and, with a flourish of his cane, had admonished the people of Zanah to preserve order. He had taken occasion to call attention to the ways that the Lord found by which the wicked were punished. He had just finished one of his exhortations when it was whispered that Walda Kellar was coming.

The prophetess of Zanah walked over the bridge with her head bent, as if she were preoccupied. When she looked up it was plain that the crowd astonished her. She quickened her steps, and, advancing with her eyes fixed on the stocks, said, in a clear tone, which was heard by all the people:

“What meaneth this thing?”

She turned flashing eyes from one to another in the throng, and those near her fell back.

“Where is some one who will answer me? I would speak to one of the elders. By what authority is Hans Peter placed in the stocks? Who hath dared to pass such severe judgment upon one of the most helpless in Zanah?”

There was no answer. Walda waited for a moment.

“I would speak to Adolph Schneider or Karl Weisel,” she said; but neither responded to her summons. Adolph Schneider had disappeared into the gasthaus when he saw her, and Karl Weisel had drifted out of sight. Walda turned to survey the crowd.

“Why are ye here, looking on calmly? Hath no one raised a voice in behalf of him who hath harmed none in the colony?” she cried.

She moved towards the stocks, men, women, and children separating to let her pass. Ascending the steps, she looked down upon the colonists. Suddenly she became clothed in a strange majesty. Her body swayed with the strength of her emotion. She opened her lips as if to address the throng, but some wiser impulse restrained her. She stood as if in prayer, and presently, raising her hand to command attention, she said:

“Hath it been forgotten that it is written in the Bible, ‘With what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again’? Are ye so wise that ye can know how guilty Hans Peter is in seizing the Bible? Can ye see into the heart of him whom all have called the simple one? Can ye know his motives? Has none of you, to whom the Lord hath given greater understanding than He hath vouchsafed to this humble child of Zanah, sinned in larger measure than Hans Peter? There hath been lost to Zanah a Bible of great value; but where is your faith? Can ye not believe that if it is best it will be returned unto you? Liberate Hans Peter, and I say unto you it shall be made plain that ye have done what is good. Your mercy will be rewarded twofold.”

After she spoke the last words she paused for a moment. A murmur passed over the crowd. One of the colonists cried:

“Free him! Free him!”

“Listen not to the voice of a woman’s pity,” warned Karl Weisel, from his place on the well-curb, which raised him above the heads of the crowd.

“Nay, hear her. The power may be upon her. She may be foretelling what will happen if Hans Peter is set free.”

It was Mother Werther who raised her voice. She was standing upon the steps of the inn, and her words caused a hush to fall upon the people of Zanah.

“All we in Zanah can learn a lesson to-day from Hans Peter,” said Walda Kellar, turning towards the simple one, who made no sign that he had heard her plea for him. “This poor lad hath meant no harm. He hath followed some strong impulse, born of the belief that he is doing right, and you put him into the stocks, where he remaineth firm in his determination not to undo what he hath thought was a noble deed. For some reason he hath desired to keep the Bible in Zanah, when you would have bartered it for gold and silver. Can ye say that it was not God’s will he should hide it so that it could not be sent out into the world, where it might not be valued at its true worth? How can ye be sure that it may not be you, instead of Hans Peter, who should be punished? Doth this structure built by your hands appear to be work that was inspired by God? Were not the stocks devised by Satan? Is it thus that the Father in Heaven would have ye deal with those subjects in your power?”

“Verily, she speaketh as if she were listening to the still, small voice with which the Lord quickeneth the consciences of his people,” said the meekest of the thirteen elders, a little, bent man, who supported himself against a fence-rail.

“The time draweth near for the Untersuchung, when you will listen to words of wisdom from me,” continued Walda, her voice softening into a tone of humility. “Much have I prayed that I may be worthy to be chosen from among you to be the prophetess of Zanah. In these last few weeks there hath come to me a new light. It is yet but as a candle-beam of divine knowledge, but it hath made all things sacred in mine eyes. The glory of God hath been revealed to me in the smallest ways. Instead of feeling the majesty of the Ruler of the universe, I have known something of the meaning of the eternal love which encompasseth the highest and the lowliest. In the Father’s eyes, when the day of judgment cometh, this hour in the stocks may be counted so much in outweighing the sins of the simple one that he will be placed above us all. This day’s record in the Book of Life may have a great significance.”

Walda, looking down upon the upturned faces before her, read fear written upon many and compassion upon a few.

“I beseech you, with one voice declare Hans Peter free,” she said, turning her face first towards one side of the square and then towards the other, so that all gathered there felt she addressed each separately. “Hesitate not. Each moment that ye wait adds to the pain suffered by your prisoner.”

“Dost thou believe the Lord will reward us if we show mercy?” asked the Herr Doktor, who had come out of the inn to hear what Walda had to say.

“The people of Zanah should not weigh the chance of reward for doing what is just and right,” answered the prophetess.

Walda stood as if she were listening for some word of pity from the colonists.

“If ye would show that ye have confidence in me, whom ye look to as the prophetess of Zanah, permit me to liberate Hans Peter. Can ye deny me this privilege?” she asked, presently.

“It is meet that we shift the judgment of the simple one to her upon whom the inspiration is already descending,” said Mother Werther. “Women of Zanah, pledge her your faith.”

Cries of “Give Walda Kellar the judgment!” “Let her loosen the stocks!” “The prophetess of Zanah hath spoken!” were heard on every side.

“Nay, the spirit hath not descended on her. Put not such power in a girl’s hands,” shouted Mother Kaufmann, waving the hand that still clasped her knitting.

Her words were followed by low hisses, and instantly several of the men were heard demanding Hans Peter’s release.

“She did say that the value of the Bible might be returned twofold,” said Diedrich Werther, who had been encouraged to speak by vigorous nudges from his wife. Mother Werther had pushed him from his place on the porch, where he had been hidden by the vines.

“Walda Kellar, is it the spirit which prompts thee to say the value of the Bible will be made good to the colony?” inquired the Herr Doktor.

Again Walda Kellar stood with her head turned, as if she were listening to the still, small voice of her conscience.

“Nay, Adolph Schneider, I cannot say that it is the spirit; I know not whether my words are words of prophecy. Yet my faith, looking up to God, maketh me believe that if thou showest mercy to the foolish one, a recompense will be given thee.”

Her words came slowly. They fell upon the ears of the people in Zanah with a distinctness and a fervor that awed them, and again the murmur was heard in the square.

“Free him! Free him!” shouted Joseph Hoff, and the cry was taken up by men, women, and children.

A tall, burly farm-hand pushed his way from the stocks to the porch of the inn, where the Herr Doktor still stood. He was followed by three or four of those who were known as the keepers of the vineyard.

“Beware how thou dost challenge the curses of Heaven,” said the farm-hand. “Dost thou intend to obey the prophetess, now that she hath spoken?”

“We have had bad luck enough already,” said one of the keepers of the vineyard. “Defy not Heaven now.”

Something like fear showed itself in the face of Adolph Schneider. He cast his small eyes towards Karl Weisel, who shook his head. The people had now turned their faces from the stocks, and the crowd gazed upon the village president, who was plainly hesitating concerning what would be the best policy.

“The men of Zanah have spoken wisely,” declared the meek elder, from his place near the fence. “Thou must listen to the voice of the people.”

“Free him! Free him!” the crowd shouted. Amid all the clamor Walda Kellar stood motionless, with her eyes fixed upon the far bluffs, and Hans Peter sat with head drooped so that his face could not be seen. While the crowd was threatening to become a mob, it was not noticed that the school-master had crossed the fields, pushed his way to the stocks, and ascended two steps.

“Men and women of Zanah, if ye turn a deaf ear to Walda Kellar, let me offer myself as the one upon whom to inflict the punishment ye deem fitting because the Bible upon which I put much patient work hath disappeared.” Gerson Brandt’s voice was low, but it had a determined ring in it as he spoke to the colonists. He had removed his hat, and those who looked upon his face marvelled that the gentle school-master could be so threatening in mien and gesture.

“Since the Sacred Book disappeared while it was in my custody, I am responsible for it. If any one is to be put into the stocks, it is I, that served you all as your elder—I, to whom you have intrusted the training of your boys. This day’s work shall long be a reproach to Zanah, for ye have stood by while the simple one hath been made to suffer. Even though he may have been guilty of the offence imputed to him, the penalty is greater than his deed hath merited.”

The uproar that followed this speech caused the Herr Doktor to tremble as he leaned upon his cane.

“Surely no one in all Zanah would see Gerson Brandt put into the stocks,” said Mother Werther, taking her place beside Adolph Schneider. “For shame, brethren and sisters of Zanah! Give Hans Peter his liberty.”

“We demand the release of the simple one,” said the vineyard workers. “Let him go! Let him go!”

“Gerson Brandt, thine offer to take Hans Peter’s place in the stocks is an insult to thy high office as an elder of Zanah,” said the Herr Doktor. “I will accede to the wishes of the people. Thou canst liberate the village fool.”

Adolph Schneider turned to go into the inn, and Stephen Everett, who had been watching the strange scene from the corner of the porch, went out into the square to offer aid to Gerson Brandt. The school-master had acted quickly, and before Everett reached the stocks Hans Peter’s feet were free. Everett loosed the simple one’s hands and raised him to an upright position. Hans Peter was so stiff that he fell upon the rude platform.

“He is exhausted. I will take him into the inn,” said Everett, addressing Walda, who was leaning over the prostrate form of Hans Peter.

“I know that thou wilt minister to him, and that thou wilt restore his senses. See, he hath swooned!”

“I will take care of him. You can trust me to see that he is made comfortable,” Everett promised.

“Yea, I always trust thee, Stephen.”

The man and woman bending over the form of the simple one looked into each other’s eyes for a second. Then Everett lifted Hans Peter in his arms, carried him down the steps, and, passing through the crowd, disappeared within the door of the inn.

Standing upon the platform of the stocks, Walda looked after them until the inn-door had closed. Turning, she beheld Gerson Brandt staring at her with terror in his eyes. He was ghastly pale, and his thin nostrils were widely dilated with the quickness of his breathing.

“Art thou ill, Gerson Brandt?” she asked.

“Nay, I have my usual health. Just now, fear clutcheth at my heart.”

“Fear, Gerson Brandt? Thou wert ever brave. What is it that thou couldst fear?”

“A shadow was cast over me. It hath passed.”

Gerson Brandt stooped to pick up his hat, and motioned to Walda to pass down the steps before him. As Walda walked through the square the people bowed before her, in token of their recognition that she was, indeed, the prophetess, for it was whispered that the stranger from the outside world had given his word to Adolph Schneider that he would pay twice the value of the Bible on condition that Hans Peter should not be further punished.