“Nay, ask not my forgiveness,” he answered, sternly. “Seek the forgiveness of the Lord, whom thou hast offended. Repent now, when it is not yet too late.” “There is no repentance in my heart,” she said, rising to her feet. “This love must ever seem to me a holy thing.” “Come away with me now, for I would talk to thee alone. Let us flee from the presence of this man and the people of Zanah,” pleaded Wilhelm Kellar. “Yea, we will go away together,” Walda answered. She drew his arm through hers, and gently led him to the end of the platform. They slowly descended the steps and walked to the middle aisle, which offered them a chance of egress. As they passed the women, Mother Kaufmann hissed Walda, and taunts and jeers from the crowd assailed her. Wilhelm Kellar stopped. Raising himself on his cane, he said, with a tremendous effort: “Wag not your tongues, ye women of Zanah. Ye have no right to heap insult upon her whom an hour ago ye were proud to hail as the prophetess.” “Lo, this prophetess is but a Jezebel!” sneered Mother Kaufmann; and the women near her repeated the name “Jezebel! Jezebel!” Wilhelm Kellar heard the insult to his daughter, and once more raising himself on his cane, he called out: “Let your evil tongues be silent! There is none in Zanah who hath suffered the bitterness of disappointment that hath come to me, yet now do I forgive Walda Kellar, and bespeak for her your mercy and loving kindness.” His voice died in a rattle in his throat. His gray head sank upon his breast. His arm loosened its tense hold upon Walda, and he fell in a heap at her feet. Walda bent over him with a cry of such agony and fear that it pierced to the outer edge of the great assembly. Raising his head, she looked upon his face, ghastly with the touch of death. In his eyes a last flicker of light faded as she stooped to pillow his head upon her bosom. “Stephen, Stephen,” she called, “come to my father!” Everett gently lifted the emaciated form of the elder, and, waving the crowd apart, laid his burden down upon the ground. A glance told him that a soul had gone out of Zanah. “My father is dead! Dead!” shrieked Walda. Sinking on her knees, she wrung her hands and gave way to her grief. “Wilhelm Kellar is dead,” Gerson Brandt announced, in solemn tones. He stood for a moment on the edge of the platform, where he could see the white face upturned to the sky. Then his eyes fell upon Walda, who was weeping with her head supported on the shoulder of Everett. The school-master jumped from the platform, and, pointing to Everett, ordered that he be bound. With his own hands he loosed the stranger’s arms, and would have made the weeping girl lean upon him, but she proudly drew away. “Brothers of Zanah, bind this man,” he said, repeating his command. “Through him, death and grievous trouble have come to the colony.” Everett waited, ready to defend himself, but the men hesitated before making a second attempt to carry out the elder’s orders.