"If you are wise, Jaspar Valden," answered Pastor Oshart, "you will not ask me to name and count up the misdeeds which have brought you and yours into disfavour with all Carfoos and its neighbourhood. But I tell you this, that should you be taken up for trial at Klingengolf, evidence will not be wanting to bring home to you some of these misdeeds. We would—to say truth—spare ourselves and you the disgrace of a public trial; but your lawlessness and the terror with which you have filled our quiet village cannot longer be suffered. This, then, is my message from my people your neighbours. What answer am I to take back to those who sent me?"
At this, the father and his two sons sullenly rose and went to the other end of the long low room, and there held a discussion in muttered tones, the meaning of which did not reach the pastor's ears.
At last the three men turned, and Jaspar came forward.
"Since the people of Carfoos are unjust and cruel," said he, "we willingly quit so unpleasant a neighbourhood. But mind you, sir pastor, let it clearly be understood that we do this, not because we acknowledge the truth of the accusations, or the right of our neighbours to dictate to us what we shall do, but because we care not to remain among those who hate us, and who do us an injustice."
"Is this, then, your reply?"
"It is, Master Oshart."
"It is well," said the old pastor. "So now that I have spoken on behalf of my people, and received your answer, I have yet something to say that concerns more particularly myself. It is about Freskel. I love the boy; he is fond of me; we understand one another. To you, with his wavering mind, his wayward will, his strange, wild ways, he can be of little use, and of no comfort. My wife is dead, I have no child; leave Freskel with me, and I pledge myself to be all to him that a father can."
There was a pause, broken only by a contemptuous snort from Dorlat and a shrill exclamation from Hervitz. Old Jaspar said nothing, but looked gloomily down, and clenched his great knotted right hand on the table. The pastor waited patiently for a minute or two; at last he said gently,—
"Jaspar Valden, you have heard my request; will you be pleased to grant it?"
The old man roused himself. Shaking back the masses of grey hair that overhung his brow, he straightened his mighty form to its full height and said, "Had it been any one but you, Pastor Oshart, that asked me this, I would have said, 'Take the boy and welcome'; but to you I say, 'No.' If I care not for the brat myself, none the more would I have him beloved by my enemy. For think not, sir pastor, that I have forgotten your impudent interference in speaking to us years ago. Who are you that you should presume to remonstrate with us? Who asked you to concern yourself with our affairs? I tell you—"