It was noontime when the colonists gathered in the meeting-house to attend the funeral of Wilhelm Kellar. The bier, placed before the platform of the elders, was covered with flowers—the late garden blossoms of autumn. White dahlias and asters, intwined in wreaths, almost concealed the lid of the coffin. The women, who wore gowns of black calico, gathered solemnly on their side of the big, bare room. The men stood in groups until the elders had taken their places on the platform where the vacant chair of Wilhelm Kellar was draped in black. This occupied the position formerly given to the chair of the prophetess, which was pushed back and turned so that it faced the wall.
The bell tolled the age of the dead elder. When its fiftieth stroke had died away Walda was brought in from the room where she had held her vigil before the Untersuchung. Mother Werther and Mother Kaufmann accompanied her. Her appearance caused a hush to fall upon the assembly, and some of the women covered their eyes, for it was seen that over her black gown was thrown the scarlet cloak, which betokened that her soul was clothed in the garment of sin. It was the same cloak that Marta Bachmann had worn during the time of her probation, and some of the softer-hearted of the colony “mothers” prayed that the fallen prophetess might follow in Marta Bachmann’s footsteps until she reached the height of final repentance. The maidens of Zanah gazed on Walda with fascinated eyes. A few were bold enough to hope that she might be able to leave Zanah with the stranger whose worldly ways and physical beauty had charmed even those who had never spoken to him. At the head of the coffin a stool had been provided for Walda, and she sank upon it as if overcome with sudden weakness. For a moment she bowed her black-capped head in prayer, and then, looking unflinchingly into the faces of the colonists, waited with courage for the service to begin. She was very pale, and once she threw off the cloak, as if it smothered her. In a second she remembered its significance, and drew it about her shoulders.
From his seat at one end of the platform Gerson Brandt, with pitying eyes, looked upon Walda. His thin face had a pinched look, and from his eyes had faded the last smouldering fires of youth and hope. He sat with hands tensely clasped, except when, now and then, he pressed his thin fingers to his temples, from which the long hair, touched with gray, fell back to his shoulders.
Karl Weisel read a long chapter from the Bible, and then a meek elder offered a prayer. Adolph Schneider next told the people of their dead brother’s services to the colony. His thick, droning voice, monotonous in its cadences, did not hold Walda’s attention, until presently she knew he was speaking of her and accusing her of unfaithfulness to Zanah. She listened with downcast eyes, her lithe body quivering with emotion, but she was too proud to show the pain she suffered. She choked back the tears and prayed for strength.
At last the funeral address was finished. The bier was carried out into the golden sunshine. Walda rose as if to follow it, but one of the elders detained her.
“Is it meet that one who wears the scarlet cloak should walk first behind the bier?” he asked.
Gerson Brandt answered by going to Walda’s side, pulling her arm through his, and waving the people aside.
“He hath touched Walda Kellar’s hand, and he is no kin to her!” cried Mother Kaufmann; but the school-master walked on as if he had not heard her. Tenderly he supported Walda’s faltering footsteps. The procession formed behind them, the men and women walking on opposite sides of the village street, while Gerson Brandt and Walda kept in the middle of the grass-grown road, directly behind Wilhelm Kellar’s coffin.
“Gerson Brandt, thou art, indeed, a friend in mine hour of trouble,” Walda said, when they had reached the strip of woods and the bier had been put down in order that its bearers might rest.
“Until death thou wilt be ever safe in my heart,” the school-master answered, solemnly.