“Pray that I may have fortitude when I see the earth cover my father’s body,” she whispered, as the procession started again, and he pressed her arm to give her the assurance of his aid.
The school-master could have prayed that the walk to the graveyard might last forever. He knew that, in all the coming years which might belong to him on earth, he might never again touch her or be close to her. He trembled in the excess of his joy. He felt a great strength taking possession of him. They came to the lake, and he looked out upon it as it lay undisturbed by wave or ripple. Around the water’s hem the yellowing willows dipped into the placid pool. The sumach flamed among the oak-trees.
“When thou art gone from me out into the world I shall pray that thy soul shall be untroubled as is this lake to-day,” he murmured, softly.
“Ah! To-day I feel that I must remain here in Zanah to make atonement for my betrayal of the people’s trust,” she answered.
The tempter had spoken to him for the last time, and so he made haste to say:
“Thy love leads the way of thy duty. Harbor no longer the thought of sacrificing thyself to no purpose.”
They reached the high gate of the graveyard. The bier was carried to the rise of ground where Marta Bachmann’s burial-place had been selected many years before. A grave had been hollowed out near that of the prophetess of revered memory. The colonists gathered around it. Walda and the school-master stood on one side and the elders on the other while the coffin was lowered. The simple one, who had not been seen at the meeting-house or in the procession, looked on from a place of vantage on the gravestone of Marta Bachmann.
Adolph Schneider announced that there would be a reading of the Scriptures. An awkward pause followed. It was discovered that the Bible had been forgotten. The elders held a conference, while the villagers waited stolidly.
“Hans Peter shall be sent back for the Holy Book,” announced the Herr Doktor, motioning to the simple one.
Hans Peter advanced with slow steps.