"Wait, I must examine these," returned the man, releasing her.
He bent toward the dark objects on the altar. The first touch of his hand told him what they were--books! The light was too dim for him to make out what books, yet as he lifted the cover and turned the leaves of the one on the right he decided that it was a printed volume. He examined the one on the left in the same way and decided that it was a manuscript volume. One would be the Bible, of course; the other, longer and thinner, less bulky, the manuscript volume that would tell the story.
He picked them both up and tucked them under his arm. Truda had told him that the church would not be entered until another month had passed and the full moon came again. He could replace them in good time. He must examine them at his leisure.
"Do you think it well to take those things from your God?" whispered the girl.
"One," said the man, "is His story. In it He tells us of Himself."
"And do those things speak?" she asked, wonderingly.
"To him who understands, yes."
"And do you understand?"
"Yes."
"But I cannot."