“The simple one would have the stranger freed,” said Hans Peter. Standing with both hands in his pockets, he waited to be dismissed. He had uncovered his head, and as he stood there before the people something of the tragedy of the simple one’s life was revealed to Zanah. He was a creature apart; one who had reached the years of manhood without attaining to the full stature and the full knowledge of maturity. Some strange recesses of his brain were closed to memory, and yet nature had made compensation by giving him queer flashes of wit and odd shreds of intelligence that often confounded Zanah. In the crowd were some, more superstitious than the rest, who looked at the village fool with fear written on their faces. “Let us free the stranger and send him out of Zanah. He hath brought a curse with him. The sooner he goeth from among us the better,” spoke Mother Werther, who, since the _Untersuchung_, had gone about with care marked upon her good-natured face. “He whom you call the simple one is the only man in Zanah who hath not transgressed the colony law forbidding all who would attain to serve the Lord in singleness of purpose to put away earthly love,” said the school-master. “Would not your own weaknesses teach you lenity?” From his place on the stocks Everett scanned the dull faces below him. The idea of associating sentiment or romance with the heavy-featured men of Zanah brought a contemptuous smile to his lips. “How is it that thou dost not judge the stranger?” asked Mother Kaufmann. “Surely thou hast not loved a daughter of Eve?” She laughed, mockingly, showing her hideous tusks. “Let Gerson Brandt, the elder and school-master, be the judge of the stranger,” cried a sturdy colonist, who had been quietly looking on from the porch of the inn. A chorus of voices bade the school-master deal with the prisoner. Gerson Brandt motioned to Hans Peter to retire from the place in front of the stocks. “Thou hast this day taught Zanah a lesson,” he declared, in a kindly voice. “Thy verdict is right. It should be accepted by the people.” “Faugh! Wouldst thou let a fool decide a matter of great importance to Zanah?” angrily inquired Adolph Schneider, who had with difficulty smothered his rage when he saw the chief law of the colony made ridiculous by Gerson Brandt’s declaration that the man who had never loved should judge Stephen Everett. “We demand that the school-master shall fix the penalty,” shouted Mother Schneider. “He knoweth best to what extent the madness of an earthly love hath afflicted her who would have been a prophetess; he hath lost his best friend through the iniquitous influence of the stranger.” The people became unruly, for their patience had been tried by the suspense. They clamored for speedy justice to him who had made trouble for them. “Gerson Brandt, thou shalt pass the verdict,” said Karl Weisel. “Since thou didst order Stephen Everett made a prisoner, thou shouldst make sure that he suffers for his misdeeds.”