“It is my duty to pronounce upon Gerson Brandt the ban of silence,” Karl Weisel said, taking the Herr Doktor’s place at the front of the platform. “As head of the thirteen elders I hereby declare to the people of Zanah that his office of counsellor and guide to the colony is vacant. Like the fallen prophetess, he hath forfeited all right to a high place in Zanah by opening his heart to an earthly love.” Walda could not repress an exclamation of surprise. She glanced questioningly among the women, as if she would discover the one upon whom the school-master had bestowed his heart, but she received such looks of anger and indignation that she turned to Gerson Brandt, as if she would read his secret. He gave her a smile, and she listened sadly to the terrible sentence pronounced upon him. “For the space of a year no man or woman of Zanah shall speak to Gerson Brandt,” the elder continued, in a loud voice. “Although he hath been the school-master, the children shall not be permitted to utter one word to him. He shall no longer be a teacher in the colony. Instead, he shall dwell alone, avoided by all. Because Zanah harboreth no drones, he shall serve the colony as night-watchman. During all the hours of darkness he shall pace up and down the street of Zanah. He shall call out the hours from sunset until sunrise, and he shall be forgotten by all who serve the Lord.” Gerson Brandt heard the words unmoved, as if the sentence were of little concern to him. In a moment, after Karl Weisel ceased speaking, his thoughts were far away. He exulted over the solitude before him. He knew that he could live in memories; precious dreams would be his. Each night, while he walked alone, he told himself that he could send to Walda his best hopes. He could speak her name in his prayers. After all, he had triumphed over himself and over the laws of Zanah. Unconsciously he drew his thin body to its full height. The light of victory illumined his face. He looked at Walda and saw that she was weeping for him. Then he was troubled. “This sentence is monstrous,” Everett asserted, with wrath in his voice. “Gerson Brandt shall come out into the world with me. Walda Kellar and I owe him whatever of happiness may be ours in the future, and we shall see that he has some of the joys of life.” “Nay, nay,” spoke Gerson Brandt. “I would be out of place in the great world. I thank thee, but I am better here. I shall be quite contented to remain in Zanah. Outward conditions count for naught.” When Everett still would have insisted, he showed such evident embarrassment and uneasiness that it was kindlier to cease to importune him. “Stephen Everett, thou shalt take Walda Kellar to the _gasthaus_, there to wait until darkness falls,” snarled Adolph Schneider, who had begun to feel that he had not made the stranger’s fine large enough.