“Bring it here to me,” he commanded, and the simple one, almost staggering under its weight, obeyed the wish of the school-master.
The people whispered among themselves, and the elders looked sullenly at the volume about which there had been so many conjectures.
“I will read from the Scriptures,” announced Gerson Brandt, motioning to the village fool to help him hold the heavy book. He turned to the fourteenth chapter of St. John, and, scanning a page more beautiful in its illumination than all the rest, he began to read the message of peace. After he had finished he closed the Sacred Book. One of the elders prayed, and while the people’s heads were bowed Hans Peter stole away with the Bible.
Diedrich Werther began to shovel the earth into the grave. Walda, with a sudden feeling of horror, clutched Gerson Brandt’s arm, upon which she buried her face. The school-master forgot the people of Zanah. He leaned over her, whispering words of comfort and strength. Half fearfully he touched her on the shoulder, and bade her remember that the Lord worketh in wondrous ways. He told her that the Father in heaven had planned for her deliverance from Zanah.
The people had begun to leave the graveyard before Walda was calm. Two of the colony “mothers” waited for her, and she bade the school-master return to Zanah, leaving her alone with the women.
Gerson Brandt hesitated, loath to walk away from the place that had become to him one of the outer courts of heaven.
“I would pray here for a time,” Walda said, “and thou shalt be remembered in my petitions.”
He looked at her, not trusting himself to speak.
He led her close to the new-made grave and left her there. Not until he had closed the graveyard gate behind him did he dare to look back. Gazing with straining eyes he beheld the prophetess as she lay face downward on the ground, with the scarlet cloak still wrapped around her. From a place a little distant the colony women watched her.