“Hans Peter, thou knowest that the precious book may be spoiled in the ground. Try to think where it is.”
“Nay, I tell thee it is safe, for it is wrapped in the oil-skin in which thou didst keep it, and it is nailed in a great box that is covered with another box. I did work upon the boxes a large part of the night before I buried the Bible.”
“The village fool is not to be believed,” said Karl Weisel, “but he ought to be locked up until he can be made to confess that what he is telling is all a lie.”
The Herr Doktor descended from the platform, and, going to the door, clutched Hans Peter by the shoulder. “Thou shalt have a chance to collect thy wits, my boy. Come with me. In a dark room in the cellar of the gasthaus thou canst stay until thou hast some memory about the Bible.”
“Before we part it is well that we all agree to forget this misunderstanding,” said Walda. “I am sure Hans Peter will find the Bible, and that we can cast out all anxiety concerning it.”
Hans Peter made no reply. He stood with both hands thrust into his capacious pockets. The Herr Doktor pulled him through the door, and, followed by Karl Weisel, he went down the street towards the inn.
Gerson Brandt turned a white and troubled face to Walda when they were left alone together.
“Thou hast seen me in the clutch of an earthly passion,” he said. “Thou knowest now how unworthy I am to be counted as a counsellor of a prophetess. I have naught to say in extenuation, except that in man human impulses often triumph over the divine aspirations. Canst thou forget that I have thus resented an insult?”
Walda came closer to him.
“Gerson Brandt, it may be wicked of me, but somehow I like thee better because thou hast demanded that Karl Weisel retract his sinful words. He hath called his brother a liar, and God will judge him for that.”