“‘Give him a holy day once in a hundred years!’ cried one.
“The voice was hailed with cheers. The council voted that all future days should be as that day, except that Wollin and the old priest, Van Ness, should have a holy day once in a hundred years.
“Christmas came. No bell was rung; no chant was heard. Easter brought flowers to the woods, but none to the altar. Purple Pentecost filled the forest villages with joy; but here no one cared to recall the descent of the celestial fire except the old priest and Wollin.
“It was such a night as last night when Van Ness and Wollin came out of the church for the last time. The people were drinking at the inn, and dancing upon the green. Spring was changing into deep summer; the land was filled with blooms.
“A party of young men who had been carousing, on seeing Wollin come from the church, set upon him, and compelled him to leave the town. He came up this hill. When he had reached the top, he paused and lifted his face towards heaven, and stretched out his hand. As he did so, a sharp sound rent the valley, and caused the hills to tremble. He looked down. The village had disappeared. Only Van Ness was standing by his side.
“But as the villagers had promised Wollin a holy day once in a hundred years, so once in a hundred years these people are permitted to rise with their village into the light of the sun for a single day. If on that day a stranger visits them whose heart is untrue he disappears with them at midnight. Such is the story. You will hardly believe it true.”
The student crossed himself, and went on his journey towards the Rhine.
“They have one day in a hundred years,” he said. “How precious must that one day be to them! If I enter the ways of evil, and my heart becomes untrue, shall I have one day in one hundred years when life is ended and my account to Heaven is rendered?”
He thought. He read the holy books. He tried to find a single hope for an untrue soul; but he could discover none.
Then he said,—