For three days after the Untersuchung Zanah was in mourning. The body of Wilhelm Kellar lay in the meeting-house, and there the colonists spent many hours in prayer and fasting. Gerson Brandt shut himself in the upper room where Wilhelm Kellar had been so long ill and where Piepmatz still hung in the big wicker cage. The school-master sat for hours looking towards the bluffs which shut out the busy world. He thought constantly of Walda. He had given her a pledge that he would make reparation for his part in the Untersuchung, but his heart rebelled against his task. He coveted Walda with all the strength of a nature in which the best human impulses had been thwarted. He knew that he must give up the woman he loved to the stranger in Zanah, but his soul cried out against the fate that took her from him. He looked back upon the years in Zanah, and he knew that she had become all of life to him. At first he was dead to the sense of his own unfaithfulness to the colony. Gradually he realized that his had been the part of the unconscious traitor. He felt relieved when he looked forward to his release from the irksome duties of a leader of Zanah.

A sense of terrible loneliness took possession of him whenever he thought of the death of his friend, but his grief became more poignant with the thought that Wilhelm Kellar’s death made Walda’s departure from the colony possible. There was no reason why she should not go out into the world as Everett’s wife. Night after night he battled with himself to the end that he might be strong enough to help the woman he loved to the attainment of happiness. He gained many partial victories over himself, but at first he could not summon the courage to go to see Walda in the House of the Women where she was kept under surveillance. The day after the Untersuchung he compelled himself to ask that Everett be released, but he found that the cupidity of Adolph Schneider had been aroused by the possibility of exacting a fine from the stranger, who was locked in his room at the inn. It was a rule of the colony that a member who brought money into the community should, in case of departure from Zanah, receive just what he had contributed. Wilhelm Kellar’s share was not small, and the danger of Walda’s marriage, and consequent demand for her portion of her father’s property, was one that the elders desired to avert.

“Thou canst persuade Walda Kellar that the curse of God will descend upon her if she leaveth Zanah,” Karl Weisel said to Gerson Brandt, at the close of a long conference of the elders. “She is suffering from remorse, and thou canst sway her woman’s heart.”

“I refuse to have aught to do with inclining Walda’s will to the will of Zanah,” said the school-master, in a tone so decisive that the matter was dropped.

It was two days after Wilhelm Kellar’s death that Gerson Brandt, who had gone to look once more upon the still face of his friend, encountered Walda. The girl was kneeling alone beside the bier.

“See how peaceful he looketh,” she said, in a voice that was shaken with sobs. “It is a comfort to remember that his last words told me and all the people that he had forgiven my failure to fulfil his hopes.”

“He hath attained greater wisdom. He knoweth that thou wast led by a stronger power than thine own will,” the school-master answered.

“As thou art my friend, point out the path of duty to me,” Walda implored, rising to her feet. “I have prayed constantly, and it seemeth that it is right I should stay here in Zanah serving the people, and proving to them that while love must ever be in my heart, I can still follow in the paths of righteousness.”

Gerson Brandt was silent. He stood looking at her as if he would have her image graven on his mind for all his coming years. The tempter spoke to him. One word of counsel, given as from her father’s friend, and he could keep her safe in Zanah.

“Art thou strong enough to let Stephen Everett go back into the world without thee?” he questioned.

“I have prayed for fortitude. I have found courage to think of living on here without him,” she replied. “I have seen myself an old woman of Zanah who goes her way dreaming still of the love of her youth.”

“Thou knowest that I would watch o’er thee,” said the school-master.

“Yea; but thy brotherly compassion hath not the sustaining power of love.”

“Thou knowest not what sustaining power brotherly compassion may reveal.”

Gerson Brandt’s voice betrayed suppressed emotion, and, looking up, Walda saw that his face had become suddenly old and drawn.

“I have pained thee by my seeming ingratitude for all thy kindnesses,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. The school-master’s face flushed, for her touch made his heart throb.

The tempter’s voice spoke insistently.

“Shall I send Stephen Everett away?” Walda asked, after a brief pause. “Direct me aright. Help me to do what my father would have me do.”

Gerson Brandt did not answer.

“The people of Zanah accused me of murdering my father,” Walda said, after a long silence. “All the night after the Untersuchung I was filled with terror, but now I know that I could not have spared him the sorrow. I was, indeed, but the instrument of fate. I had to tell the truth as it was made clear to me. Oh, tell me that thou dost not deem me guilty of my father’s death.”

She was weeping again, and Gerson Brandt was stirred to compassion.

“Cease thy lamentation,” he said, gently. “I have thought much about thee ever since thou didst make thy confession of love. I have come to know that thou must follow the dictates of thy heart. It is right that thou shouldst go out into the world as Stephen Everett’s wife. There thou wilt find pain and suffering, but all will be glorified by thy love.”

The tempter was vanquished. The school-master had listened to him for the last time.

“Nay, speak to me as my father would speak.”

“As thy father’s friend, and as one who holds thee in the deep recesses of his heart, I tell thee to go forth from Zanah with the man thou lovest.”

“And do I owe no duty to the colony? Is it not right that I should strive to make amends for my unfaithfulness to the trust reposed in me? Tell me the whole truth. Spare me not, for I would do the Lord’s will.”

“The colony hath forfeited all claim upon thee, for the men and women did shamelessly flout thee. Thy father hath recompensed the people of Zanah a hundredfold for whatever may have been done for thee.”

Walda gazed at the face of her dead father. Its calmness gave her assurance of his forgiveness. Then the realization of her loss impressed itself on her. She wept again. Stroking his stiffened hands, she prayed that he might know she had not meant to disregard his teachings or to bring him to dishonor.

Distressed at the sight of her remorse, Gerson Brandt urged her to leave the meeting-house, and when she gave no heed to him he led her away, holding her hand as was his custom in the years of her childhood. Two colony mothers were waiting on the steps.

“Remember my counsel,” said the school-master. “There is but one path for thee.”

Walda walked slowly towards the House of the Women, and left him standing on the threshold of the meeting-house. A mist came before Gerson Brandt’s eyes, and as it cleared away he saw Hans Peter running up the hill.

“The stranger, who is still bound at the inn, would speak with thee,” said the simple one, when he had reached the meeting-house steps.

“What doth he want?” said the school-master.

“He hath not talked with the village fool,” answered Hans Peter, “but even the simple one might guess that he wants thee to have him set free.”

Gerson Brandt thought for a moment. Walda’s presence still exerted its influence over him. He had not the courage to see the man she loved.

“Tell Stephen Everett that I cannot go to him until after Wilhelm Kellar’s funeral,” said the school-master, “and you may give him the message that he may trust me to work for his deliverance.”

“He hath made threats that he will not be patient much longer,” Hans Peter volunteered. “He hath told the Herr Doktor that it will cost Zanah much if he is imprisoned another day.”

“According to the laws of the United States he hath right on his side,” declared Gerson Brandt.

“He hath offered to pay much money if they will let him take Walda Kellar away, and every hour that he remaineth with his hands behind him he is more wasteful of his dollars.”

“Stand not here gossiping, Hans Peter. Hasten back with my reply to the stranger’s message,” admonished the school-master, to whom the words of the simple one had suggested an easy method of obtaining permission for Walda to leave Zanah. If the elders were seeking to profit financially from the loss of money as a compensation for the loss of their prophetess, they would be likely to consent to let Walda leave the colony on one condition—the forfeit of her property rights.

In his room at the inn Everett received Hans Peter with much impatience, and, after he had heard Gerson Brandt’s message, gave expression to his views on Zanah’s methods of dealing with strangers.

“So I am to remain bound until to-morrow,” he said. “Since Diedrich Werther consented to tie my hands less tightly I am not so uncomfortable. But I want you to summon the Herr Doktor immediately.”

Adolph Schneider was slow in making his appearance, and Everett, who had fretted under the delay, was not in his usual self-contained mood.

“I sent for you to tell you that I am tired of this outrageous treatment,” he said, as soon as the Herr Doktor’s burly form appeared at the door. “You must come to an understanding with me to-night, or I will show you that Zanah cannot ignore all the laws of the United States. I will have you and all the leaders arrested for falsely imprisoning me. I will cause an investigation of the affairs of the colony.”

Adolph Schneider’s fat face was deeply lined and his thick skin was a pallid yellow. He showed plainly that he was worried with the numerous troubles that had come upon the colony. He sat upon the nearest chair, and, letting his head sink into his neckcloth, studied Everett furtively.

“What do you intend to do with me?” the prisoner asked, after his first outburst had remained unanswered.

“After the funeral to-morrow thou art to have a trial, and then the people of Zanah will fix thy penalty.”

“Penalty? Penalty for what? I have broken no law. I have done nothing for which you can deprive me of my liberty.”

“Thou art not the judge of that,” declared the Herr Doktor. “Thou hast acknowledged that thou hast wronged the people of Zanah, for hast thou not offered to pay a fine?”

“I have offered to buy my freedom, because I cannot expect to obtain justice here among you bigots,” returned Everett. “I warn you that if you do not take this rope off my arms, I shall see that you do not get a penny from me, and that you pay for this week’s work.”

“So long as Walda Kellar is guarded it will be safe to let thee have thy freedom, but we take no chances now.”

“Walda Kellar is my promised wife, and I demand her liberty as well as my own.”

“Walda Kellar belongeth to Zanah, and thou canst not assert any claim to her,” Adolph Schneider retorted, angrily.

“You will see what I can do,” Everett said. “But I do not want to try coercion. Give your consent to our marriage, and I will make Zanah a gift of money to signify my gratitude.”

The Herr Doktor’s little eyes glittered.

“How much?” he asked.

“We will not discuss terms until I am freed from these ropes,” said Everett. “My imprisonment would be much easier to bear if you would let me have my hands free, so that I can smoke.”

Adolph Schneider surveyed the stranger in Zanah with a look of suspicion.

“Zanah would not be doing the will of God if Walda Kellar was not punished for causing her father’s death,” he remarked.

“How dare you accuse her!”

The prisoner strained his bonds, as if he would use his hands to some purpose in defending the woman he loved.

“Her confession broke her father’s heart,” said the Herr Doktor.

“The cruelty of you zealots of Zanah made Wilhelm Kellar die,” declared the prisoner. “I warn you to be careful how you blame an innocent girl, who simply told the truth at your Untersuchung.”

Everett’s face was so stern in its expression that the wily colonist thought it wise not to pursue the subject.

“When thou art ready to make an offer of money, the elders will weigh it against Walda Kellar’s transgression,” he said. “If it is found better for the colony that she be cast out with thee, consent to the marriage may be given.” He thought for a moment, with his chin in his neckcloth. Shaking his head, he added: “There is still a chance that Walda Kellar may receive the true inspiration. She may yet lead the people. It is but small hope that I can give thee.”

He turned to go out.

“Stop! How about these ropes? Have them taken off,” Everett said, in a tone that was menacing. “I shall be here to my trial. Don’t think I would miss that. I shall stay in Zanah until I can leave the colony with Walda Kellar.”

Adolph Schneider paid no attention to Everett’s demand. Instead, he stalked through the door, his cane pounding in unison with every other step.