Two of the wandering students cried out upon that. “A half-step! Do you not call it more than that, Master Gabriel?”
Mayr raised and regarded his finely shaped, thin, corded, sensitive hands. “Eighty years have I lived. I remember years when it seemed that the snail and the world raced toward freedom, and the snail appeared to win. And I remember years when it seemed that the world began to say, ‘We shall not get there unless we move faster!’ And now I remember years when the snail seems left behind. And for a long while now we have seemed to move faster and faster.... The ice is breaking and thawing in the springtime.... Well, I worship before the springtime! But Freedom is a great word and holds all other words. Pour into it all that you know or guess of freedom, and yet it is not full.”
Eberhard spoke. “This is a cool and brimming pailful, Master Gabriel! Every pailful makes more of the desert bloom.”
As he spoke he was looking at Thekla. She was looking at him. Their eyes were talking—pure and sincere words of fellowship.
“You are right in that, Eberhard Gerson,” said the old man. “Every pailful makes more of the desert bloom!”
Thekla spoke. “It has been believed that God was not to be come at save through officers and courtiers.... What is here is that it is seen that no other human being stands between a human being and God.”
“So,” said Gabriel, and “So,” echoed the wandering students.
“Each growing straight to God, without running to any man’s door for permission.... Much is wrapped up,” said Thekla, “in that bundle!”
“Aye, truly!”
Thekla stood beside Gabriel’s chair. Her hands were young where his were old. The blue veins did not rise, her hands were not worn thin nor corded like his. But they were made like Gabriel’s, sensitive and most expressive like Gabriel’s. They commanded the eye as did his, they had their own intelligence. Now they were in motion. “All equal,” said Thekla ... “A republic.”