“This is my Bible, and I have been making the letters that begin the chapters. I learned the secret of the colors long ago from a monk. It is no sin to make the Holy Book beautiful, for I have put in it no images, only the letters in colors that are symbolic.”
He spoke as if he were making excuse for some transgression, but the Herr Doktor laughed leniently.
“Surely Zanah hath no fault to find with thy book,” Adolph Schneider said. “I want the stranger to see the letters in it.”
Gerson Brandt opened the Bible, and as he turned the pages Everett, who stood beside him, felt an overwhelming desire to possess the volume. The old German text was printed upon parchment. The pages had broad margins, and the letters beginning the chapters were illuminated with designs so delicate and so minutely worked out that each repaid long study. The coloring was exquisite, and gold, of a brilliancy equalled in few books Everett had ever seen, was applied with a generous hand.
“How long have you worked on it?” he asked.
“Five years,” the school-master said, “and it is not finished yet.” Gerson Brandt loosened the linen that he might display the binding of calfskin. On the front cover was a monogram, but before Everett could decipher the letters the linen was replaced.
“This is a beautiful book,” said Everett, taking it in his hand and turning the pages. “I would give much for it. Will you sell it to me?”
Gerson Brandt’s thin face paled. He stretched out a trembling hand and seized the Bible as he answered, coldly:
“This book was not made to be bartered to any man. It is mine. If there is aught in it that commands thy favor it is because the making of the letters has been a pleasant labor done with all my heart.”
The school-master held the volume close to his breast. The simple one, who had not left his place on the stool, opened his eyes. The Herr Doktor glanced from beneath his bushy brows with a look of surprise.