As John the Prophet passed, the revolutionary crowd threw themselves at his feet; young girls strewed flowers in his path, the choir chanted. Then, the Anabaptists having deposed the Elector Princes, were to take their places. The Prophet was anointed with holy oil, a great and impressive ceremony took place, and all the city rang with the cries that proclaimed him king. Faith and Bertha could not see the new king, but they were in the crowd, and they cursed this Prophet again--none so vigorously as Bertha, while Faith hailed her as a new Judith. After a time, all being prostrate upon their knees awaiting the reentrance of the Prophet from the church, John appeared upon the great staircase which led from the cathedral. As he stood there looking unhappily upon all of those abased people who seemed to be worshipping him, he thought he heard the voice of his dream of long ago. "Woe through thee! Let him be accursed!" Overcome by the memory, he uttered those words aloud. Faith heard the voice and screamed: "My son! my son!" John of Leyden trembled and started toward her, his arms outstretched, but Mathison, knowing the disastrous effect such an acknowledgment would have upon the crowd who believed him of holy origin, said in a low voice to John: "Speak! reply to her, and she shall die, instantly! Deny thy mother, or she shall be killed before thine eyes." The Anabaptists had no mind to lose all they had risked so much for, when it was just within their grasp. John looked at his mother, in agony and then he regained his self-possession. "Who is this woman?" he asked: it was to save her life that he did it. At that cold denial of her, Faith clasped her hands and wept. Then she became enraged at his ingratitude, and began to upbraid him. "This poor wretch is mad," he said, but by that time the crowd was beginning to murmur against him. "He said he was the son of God! He is an impostor." The Anabaptists seeing how fatal the effect of Faith's words was going to be, spoke menacingly to John. Then John cried, as Jonas raised his sword to strike the old mother down: "Hold! respect the day! I, thy Prophet, hath to-day received His crown. No bloodshed. This poor creature is demented. A miracle alone can restore her reason," and he went toward Faith. "Woman, to thy knees!" he said, but she made a gesture of indignation. He continued to go toward her, then laying his hands lovingly upon her head he looked meaningly into her eyes. "To thy knees." His voice was soft and gentle, and slowly Faith fell upon her knees, half comprehending that he was acting as fate compelled him. "Put up thy swords!" he commanded the people who had drawn them. Then to Faith: "Thou wert wrong, good mother!" She looked at him a moment longer. "Yes!--wrong," she said, and bowed her head. At that the people burst into cries of enthusiasm. "Is he thy child?" Jonas asked loudly, placing his sword-point upon her breast.