“Forgive me, and I will make reparation for mine offence,” he pleaded. “For the sake of the past, for thy father’s sake, bear no enmity against me.”
“Thou wilt see that no harm befalleth Stephen Everett?” she said. Unconscious of the tumult in the school-master’s heart, and indifferent to his touch, she thought only of the stranger in Zanah. The mob moved forward, and Gerson Brandt gently put Walda away from him.
“Let Walda Kellar follow the bier of her father,” he commanded.
Again the women hissed their fallen prophetess.
Raising her hands to heaven, Walda uttered the words:
“Lord, have mercy upon us, thy people in Zanah. Forgive us our transgressions.”
The colonists’ jeers were silenced. As Walda passed down the aisle, the majesty of her carriage and the exaltation that was written on her face cast a fear upon the people. One woman who had but a moment before uttered bitter gibes kissed the hem of the white garment of the fallen prophetess.
Hans Peter, who had been watching the proceedings from the limb of a tree, slid from his high seat and walked a few feet behind Walda.
A hush fell upon the multitude. Standing with uncovered head, Gerson Brandt waited until the bier disappeared among the trees and the last glimpse of Walda’s white-robed figure was obscured.
The distant bell of the meeting-house tolled. The sunset hour of prayer had come. Beneath the sky, dyed in crimson and purple, the people of Zanah bowed their heads.